The Vale of Sloth
In high school I was Class Valetudinarian, though naturally enough indolence (not to mention snobbery) kept me from my graduation ceremony. Though, to be perfectly truthful, I didn't actually possess enough credits to legally graduate anyway; a panicked school administration invented two survey course grades in order to forcibly evict me from their precincts and into the arms of the Selective Service. Who received me gratefully, in due course. But I digress.
Of late, I'm afraid that I have finally become the professional valetudinarian that life always seemingly intended me always to be. In addition to the soporific effects of the high blood pressure medication, I also need (at least) two minor operations, an oral surgery and my gall bladder removed. I also await the results of many more tests and cat-scans. Understandably, I have spent a lot of time lately in my natural habitat, the couch. Here, therefore, are a few brief reviews of what has been dancing before my eyes for the last two weeks.
To begin with, an unexpected televisual bonus--of little interest to those with DirecTV no doubt but immensely comforting to those of us with only very basic cable--has arrived in the form of the 'RTN' or RetroTV Network. This is a cobbled-together network of old 60s and 70s TV shows, complete with 'Retromercials" (grainy lo-res downloads from TVParty.com) which serve as markers for future advertising. It's broadcast over air on the digital sub-carrier band of the local ABC affiliate at 7.3. Weekends are particularly indulgent for me with 'Alias Smith & Jones' at 1, 'It Takes a Thief' at 2, and 'Run For Your Life' (in which a goopy Ben Gazzara plays a guy with but a single year to windsurf and race cars) at 3. Weeknights, the 'Rockford Files' are on at 10 and 'Alfred Hitchcock Presents' at 11. Highly recommended for those with a taste for nostalgia--or just plain camp.
On the historical fiction reading front: the great discovery of the summer for me has been Allan Mallinson's 'Hervey' series. This 10-book sequence (so far) chronicles the military career of an English light dragoon from Waterloo until 1828, a sort of land-based analogue to Patrick O'Brian's 'Captain Aubrey' series, from which the delightfully satisfying film 'Master & Commander' was made. Mallinson is not as brilliant a 'pure' writer as O'Brian was, but he subtitutes for it a meticulous attention to every aspect of military detail and Georgian life that over time adds up to an overwhelmingly immersive experience. Moreover, this is in my opinion, the most accurate portrayal of a military career--the ins and outs of promotion, the financial and health worries--that has ever been written about a soldier in any age, and many of the minutiae of army life are the same now as they were then. As luxurious as it is to read these books, listening to them as audiobooks is even more langorously addictive; read by the amazingly talented Errick Graham, they are alas, $100 a copy. Luckily, I was able to acquire them for substantially less. Here is an excerpt: http://www.lovereading.co.uk/author/286
It is heartbreaking to come to the end of such a sequence of books (I have saved two of the early audiobooks for the hospital), so naturally one casts about for alternatives. One such is the 'Alan Lausard Adventures' by Richard Howard ('Bonaparte's Sons', 'Bonaparte's Invaders', etc). Like the Mallinsons, only one of which, 'The Sabre's Edge', was ever printed in the US, the Howards are British imports and thus cost about three times more than they should. This series is the story of a heavy dragoons regiment that is the diametrical opposite of the Mallinsons, since it is French. The action begins, as I recall (I bought and read the first many years ago) early in Napoleon's wars against Austria and presumably goes on until Waterloo. So far, I believe, there are 8 in the series (I'm up to #3). Howard's style, far less meticulous and militarily knowledgeable than Mallinson's is similar stylistically to another writer of British historical fiction, Robert Carter (whose 'Armada' was a masterpiece, similar to Tim Powers' 'On Stranger Tides' but without the magic) in that it focuses on melodrama and veers into the trite with depressing frequency. In terms of accuracy about Napoleon's campaigns it places a poor second to Patrick Rimbaud's ambitious series (translated from the French), which I highly recommend. Howard, at such premium prices, is only for fanatics. While we're on the subject of the French, btw, I confess disappointment in Jean-Christophe Rufin's last two, 'The Siege of Isphahan' and 'Brazil Red', after his magical beginning with 'The Abyssinian'. Similarly, Arturo Perez-Reverte's attempt to revive the Alexandre Dumas swordsman genre, the 'Capitan Alatriste' series, seemed a bit bogged down in its third installment, 'The Sun Over Breda'. Burned by the plodding plot and extraordinarily thin number of pages, I have held off ordering the latest 'The King's Gold', until it's available used. Or better yet, at the library.
Speaking of which, I've just read Cecilia Holland's 'Varanger', which is a sort of hodgepodge apparently based on the film 'The 13th Warrior'. Longtime fans will be pleased that it's perfectly consistent with her past efforts. Longtime fans will also be disappointed that it's perfectly consistent with her past efforts. There are several lovely scenes, particularly when a group of Viking warriors conquer Colchis and spenda few nights in a Greek house with plumbing. however it suffers from her usual sloppy inattention to military detail (warriors polish their weapons from time to time. And remember to carry them on their persons--most of the brawling in this book is done with tree branches), not to mention her usual nihilistic and pointless ending. Which I won't mention.
Well, since I've droned on a bit, as valetudinarians tend to do, I'll save my science fiction, pulp fiction, and non-fiction reviews (among them John Darwin's study of empire, 'After Tamerlane') for another day.
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References -
I could use pointers to new stuff. FYI to anyone who hasn't bought the new Alistair Reynolds in hard cover - don't. It's the work of a tyro, and must be something he found in the basement when throwing out rejected junk from his early career. Maybe try Maurice Dantec's Cosmos Incorporated, as there's a story there if you can stand excessive doses of French existentialist noodling on the way to it.
Please take care, k.
--In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
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)I remember you starting the review and saying you didn't think it matched up to his past stuff. You probably completed the review sometime later, which I missed. So how about a link to the comment (or may a rewrite for all who missed)?
I'm returning to civilisation in about a fortnight at which point I intend to go on another book purchase. I have a bad habit of only buying stuff as second hand paperback, so there's a lead time of about 8 weeks before I can get my hands on the latest...unless a kind friend offers a free sample (as K has recently).
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| parent )although it was a slow start (and I liked the Algebraist a lot, too). It's based again in The Culture; all Banks fans will enjoy it IMO.
My problem is that I read Consider Phlebas first so I tend to think that's his greatest book, and measure everything else against it.
--In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
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| parent )Liked it a lot. I'm assuming I should read Phlebas now.
--To think is not enough; you must think of something -- Jules Renard
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| parent )But it was still too redolent of the Gothic 'mini-verse' of 'Fearsum Enjin', for example. Banks was also working on another novel--the trivial but well-written mainstream puff-piece 'The Road to Garbadale' at the same time--and it shows, I think.
Banks' work is informed by two factors in his life: the internet and gaming. They provide metaphors for most of his speculative constructions (as they do, increasingly, for most SF writers). When this works--as in the delightful communications between whimsically named ships and drones--it works wonderfully; when it overwhelms the narrative with absurd architectural universes, toy soldiers eternally trapped inside an alien diorama, for instance, it becomes repetitive and annoying. Perhaps this is a peculiarly Scottish mindset. For centuries Scotland has existed as an English economic diorama.
Several of Banks' early non-SF novels were outright Gothics. 'The Wasp Factory', his most popular, contained all the Dickension elements that recur in his mainstream work--the old wealthy family, the Victorian castle or mansion, the nursery toys as weapons, the mounting fear of violence and penury, the 'surprise ending' of gender confusion or wrongful paternity. These elements also suffuse his SF novels to a surprising degree.
And he has his influences, too. 'Consider Phlebas', which is a fine novel indeed, was heavily influenced by Brian Stableford's 'Journey to the Center'. The prolific Stableford, who once wrote a trilogy based on the Illiad and the Odyssey set in space (featuring warriors who were cyborgs with the brains of animals), has actually been heavily influential to a whole generation of British SF writers; his limits as a stylist, however, which are at times Kilgore Trout-like, have prevented his enjoying any mass popluarity. Banks owes a lot to him, but is a far greater writer, regardless. I consider 'The Player of Games' and 'Use of Weapons' (which I think was inspired by 'Aeon Flux') every bit as good as 'Phlebas'--and later works like 'Excession' close behind.
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| parent )namely socialism, or even outright anarchism is in stark contrast to much of the social conservatism of SF, or at least what we get here. Ursula KLG, too, of course, but that would be more mainstream leftism.
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| parent )Beats me why you think that--in private life he appears to be a Thatcherite, though the Scots version is pretty leftish lifestyle-wise. Any portrayal of the far future, especially alien cultures, will blur economic details with Star-Trek New Agey communalism platitudes, partly because econonic futurism is so hard to imagine or even define. And of course, the modern world, with its health care, social security, pensions, public services, and even police, would seem unimaginably 'socialistic' to a person from 200 years ago. We, however, grew up with these things and expect them reflexively.
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| parent )his penchant for fast cars notwithstanding.
Here he is interviewed by the Socialist Review
And he makes it pretty clear in The Player of Games and the Algebraist, where he contrasts his view of a conservative autocratic society vs the Culture.
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| parent )Just goes to show that one should never learn too much about one's favorite authors. They generally turn out to be naifs and useful idiots ;)
I think I'll stick to staying ignorant in future...
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| parent )Just look at Mamet + Martin Amis these days.
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| parent )The first of Banks' novels I read was The Player of Games, and I was impressed by it enough to find his other novels and to read his new ones as they come out. The only exception was Fearsum Enjin, I have a tremendous dislike of phonetic spelling - it gives me a headache, and fortunately I paged through it in the bookstore. When I saw how much he used it in that novel I put it back on the shelf.
I know that you and most of the other people here probably know about 100 times as much about literature as I do, but here's the caveman's view of an author's style. Writing styles lie on a line between plain, conversational English and highly stylized. There are advantages to either approach, plain English is usually easy to read but seems to lack depth, more stylized writing can make it easier to express things like irony or a true sense or "otherness" but unless handled properly can be an embarassment. The problem is that very few authors write at the point where their skills meet their ambitions. That's always been my view of a good writer, they can write in a style which not only matches the content but also their abilities. There aren't that many authors that I've read that can write in a highly stylized manner without seeming self-parodic, most can't match the style required of their plot and characters with their ability to write reasonable sounding text. That, by the way, is why I consider you a very good writer. It doesn't matter how many drafts or edits you go through, the fact that you can maintain a style appropriate to the story and character while seeming very natural and comfortable is what matters.
--I blame it all on the Internet
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| parent )You are totally right. It's mainly because of the publishing market--most male authors are now being forced by editors to create female protagonists in the belief that this will attract the single growing reader base, women. It's also a wave of firings of oldfashioned editors; most of the new ones are little more than interns. But it's also, sad to say, because of the Internet. If the Internet had existed for Philip K. Dick, for example, he would have spent all his time on it and never churned out a single novel on deadline. In a sense, his readers and fellow-writers existed as his Internet, something likely true for a great many writers over the ages.
Of course it's also true that writers reflect their times and mores. People were better educated to write at all a generation or two ago. And SF itself was a medium of protest and speculative subversion, practically the only medium allowed to be so in the USSR, for example. Even in this country, it represented pure imagination at work, conjuring up dreams of alternate realities. The rise of CG in films now performs that function, serving as a seductive backdrop for plots so brain-dead they make Kabuki look like 'improv'. In short, how many writers per decade can, like William Gibson or Arthur C. Clarke before him, come up with entirely new ways of imagining the future? And get those visions into print? Fewer and fewer every year.
Small wonder that the few who can find their way into print stick to the 'safe' genre streams of vampire-punk and new age dystopia in order to stay there. Which is why the 'awards' circle-jerk remains so important.
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| parent )What a turkey. The current SF crop is very poor, but I do have a couple of recommendations.
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| parent )I'm tellin' ya, the guy can write. I liked Three Days to Never a lot.
--To think is not enough; you must think of something -- Jules Renard
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| parent )who recommended that to you? ;)
His best in years, I thought.
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| parent )Probably. I got stuck halfway through Expiration Date, however. Need to read a little Joe Lansdale to clean my palette.
Lansdale, like Crumley before him, is the real deal.
--To think is not enough; you must think of something -- Jules Renard
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| parent )SF simply cannot resist the urge to moralize. Prophetic in all the senses of that word, SF seems forever trapped either in dystopian jeremiad (Nevins Age of the Conglomerates) or the deus in machina (my own Latin term, wherein Computers become gods. Dave? Dave? ) ravings of Charles Stross Halting State or Neal Stephenson comes to mind immediately.
As for the Fantasy genre, it's lapsed into a parody of itself. Completely unredeemable. If ever there was a rationale for an auto-da-fe it would be the whole swords-n-sorcery genre.
In fifty years, the computer as we understand it will have disappeared into the woodwork, as one of our esteemed compatriots is attempting to do with his subwoofer. I don't know why sci-fi has so utterly failed to capture my imagination anymore, for once I was a devoted fan. I think it has to do with sci-fi's failure to grasp the essential optimism of human nature, no matter how ill-considered and misplaced that optimism. It's been a long time since anyone wrote an optimistic view of the future, where mankind really does solve his problems, as he always has, however imperfectly.
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| parent )Try reading the annual Nebula Awards compendium. This is an award voted on by writers, so it gives some insight into what the current SF authorship views as the best of SF. It's uniformly awful, lots of pseudo-literary experimentation and exploration of gender issues, but not a compelling plot or characterization in sight.
As for the general SF market, there seems to be an alarming acceptance of poorly written and jargon heavy storytelling. There are exceptions, of course, but from what I've seen it doesn't bode well for the future.
--I blame it all on the Internet
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| parent )I cede leadership in sloth and procrastination to no man, when I'm confined to the couch I just stare into space.
Seriously, I hope you're feeling better and your issues are minor. If you have some serious time to kill, this will give you a survey of the current state of SF.
--I blame it all on the Internet
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)Fix it! Must. Kill. Time...
--Come, my friends. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world -- Tennyson
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| parent )Finish it.
Be what you were born to be.
--God help the while, a bad world I say.
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)You might really love the Mallinson series, too.
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| parent )Pretty much anything Denis Johnson writes is wonderful. Fiskadoro is good. Denis Johnson is a poet, muscular and precise, laugh-out-loud good*, with a marvelous eye for the bizarre. One of the few writers I've ever known who got SE Asia right.
Edit: * not ha-ha innat funny good, but situational humor and turns of phrase which leave the reader gobsmacked, rewinding a few paras and hitting it again a few times.
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)I've written him down on my library shopping list ;)
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| parent )makes me wish I could be confined to my couch for a while, here's hoping you're back up and about (and on your own terms) soon.
And a deep respectful bow for Class Valetudinarian. Wow.
--Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit. - W. Somerset Maugham
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)who related an anecdote about meeting a friend of his in a pub who told him he'd been given only months to live. After Mortimer muttered a string of sympathetic platitudes, the friend shook his head and said, "No, it's not so terrible. At least now I have time to read Proust."
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| parent )