BOOK REVIEWS

1997, Part G: November-December

1997, Christian Sauvé

And for the last time this year...

Reviewed in this issue:

We conclude with a retrospective of 1997 SF movies, and the annual best-of-1997 literary round-up. (With updates for 1996 and 1995.)

 

 

3001, The Final Odyssey
Arthur C. Clarke

1997

Let's get two things out of our way first:

One: I dearly like Arthur C. Clarke. I've read most of his books and at the exception of his collaborations, he rates from okay to excellent. While his stories are often exercises in problem-solving and his plots thinly-disguised travelogues, that's what he does best and that's why I keep going back to Clarke. Apparently, millions of other readers think the same thing, because Clarke repeatedly hits the bestseller lists with each new book.

Two: 3001 is a rotten novel. In almost 300 pages, Clarke commits enough narrative mistakes to send a less-renowned author back to a few more rewrites. The first part of the novel is a brief look at Earth, 3001 style. In the second, he tells more than shows. Five minutes pass in one chapter, 30 years in the next. Stylistic errors abound, although that might be compounded by the translation I was reading. There's even one factual error -verified in the original untranslated text- in chapter 32, when it is stated that Frank Poole was born in 1996. (Which would have given him the tender age of... 5 during the 2001 mission. Right.) Ping, Mr. Clarke!

Surprisingly, it doesn't really matter. 3001 might be one of Clarke's last novels and he's entitled to a few shortcuts. Certainly, this is a better work that other latter-day Asimov or Heinlein. To compare apples with manure, even a middling Clarke is better entertainment that a middling Hollywood product. (Although 3001 ends on a note surprisingly reminiscent -of all things- of INDEPENDENCE DAY. Even Clarke apologizes for this in his afterword; synchronicity strikes again.)

Thematically, the novel has only tangential links with the previous three volumes. It "ties" up a few loose ends, and ignores the remainder. After reading 3001, I went back to 2061 and found out that the epilogue, titled "3001", was completely disregarded by Clarke this time around. Others small discrepancies are smoothed over, and retro-adjusted. Obviously, humanity won't go to Jupiter for 2001 any more than Hal was activated in February 1997. The future described in 3001 nevertheless remains quite plausible: Much like our own memory of 2001 has faded, the inhabitants of 3001 describe our own times as, of course, a century of unparalleled barbarism.

One unrealistic attribute of the characters is their tendency to constantly refer to events five centuries past. When's the last time you quoted extensively from a 1497 philosopher? Overall, 3001 is a pretty similar place to 1997. A few cosmetic changes perk up the scenery, but far less that what the Singularists (from Vinge's hypothesis) might suppose.

But 3001 is top-heavy with ideas. From Ring City to Religion As Mental Disorder (chuckled softly the atheist), this novel at least offers an entertaining travelogue. Whatever one may think of Clarke's style, at least he's kept his swiftness with innovative concepts. Extensive notes (30 pages of assorted sources, acknowledgements and goodbyes.) complete the book, providing an enjoyable dose of further readings, short editorials by Clarke (Does he believe this stuff? Absolutely!) and, generally, words by the master. Hard-SF fans will slurp this up with glee. At least I did.

Despite all its faults, 3001 remains a very enjoyable read for Clarke fans. Others might not agree; their loss. The novel works better as a travelogue with a loose relation to the original trilogy; don't go back and read all three books attentively before beginning this one. Don't buy it in hardcover either; it's poor value for your money unless you're a confirmed Clarke collector. But it's definitely worth a read for its target audience.

 

 

Mining the Oort
Frederik Pohl

Del Rey, 1992, 264 pages, 24$Can, ISBN 0-345-37199-2

The paths of science and science-fiction are sometimes surprisingly similar. For instance, it's a well-observed fact that all of science builds upon itself: It took a few centuries of observed experiments and a genial mind to conceive of the Theory of Gravity, but after that, all scientists could use this breakthrough as a basis for their own theories. From Gravity to Relativity to -perhaps- Superstring Theory, the way is toward higher, better, more comprehensive models of reality.

Similarly, science-fiction is a genre that -some say- is often centred on itself. (In fact, that's John Clute's theory of First SF... but that's neither here or now to discuss.) It took a few centuries of scientific understanding, a few decades of SF groundwork and one imaginative mind to create Ringworlds, but once that was done, every SF writer could use the concept or improve upon it, like Ian Banks and his orbitals. Which is why even SF romances can use hyperspace without having to re-explain the wheel -or the hyper-dimensional drive- again.

Theoretical scientists often simplify problems by defining black boxes ("If we could produce petawatts of energy at will..."), until other scientists break up the black boxes in further components ("If we could make fusion work...") until the problem's solved. Similarly, SF works often postulate grand ideas ("We can terraform Mars..."), work out a few theories ("...by obtaining water from comets...") and then some ("...which can be brought down from the Oort Cloud.")!

If the sub-problems are exciting enough, other SF writers can write a novel about the "niggling detail" of the bigger scheme. That's exactly what Frederik Pohl did with Mining the Oort Cloud. (He said, bringing this long and tortuous introduction to an end, nearly halfway down this review.)

As might be inferred from the above, Mining the Oort is about comets slamming into Mars. The book begins as the young protagonist Dekker DeWoe sees the first comet strike, and the narrative move along with him through training until he becomes one of those who make it happen. Along the way are the typical Pohl predictions of a grim economic future, unpleasant romantic subplots and the odd last fifty pages where the novel has to find a plot to conclude on an action-adventure note.

Most of the time, it works. The first pages aren't tremendously exciting, but the pace picks up when protagonist DeWoe enters Oort Miner School. Fans of such work as Space Cadet, Ender's Game or Starship Troopers already have an idea of the possibilities of a "school"-type of novel, and if Mining the Oort isn't as exciting, it kept this reviewer interested. This type of novel often lives or die with its characters, and it's a relief to find that Pohl hasn't lost his touch at creating interesting supporting actors.

A few details ring false to late-nineties readers, like blaming the Japanese for almost every economic problem, or the fascination of a few characters for ultra-violent porn movies... but Mining the Oort entertains as much as could be expected from Pohl. It also occurs to this reader that this might be the ultimate comet-harvesting novel, until a few new ideas make an update necessary. Certainly, Pohl has fashioned a decent, entertaining novel of hard SF, one that might even be considered as one of his best.

 

 

Illegal Alien
Robert J. Sawyer

Ace, 1997, 292 pages, 30,95$Can, ISBN 0-441-00476-8

In interviews, Canadian Science-Fiction writer Robert J. Sawyer has often stated his love for both SF and mysteries. He even said that he'd like to take the time to write a "straight" mystery—if the market would allow it. In Illegal Alien, Sawyer has fashioned a compulsively readable hybrid of the two genres that will undoubtedly entertain scores of readers.

In an industry where an author producing one book a year is considered prolific, Robert J. Sawyer managed to release two hardcover novels in the span of six months: June 1997 saw Frameshift (Hardcover from Tor) and Illegal Alien (Hardcover from Ace) arrived just in time for the Christmas'97 holidays. While publisher politics are reportedly responsible for this schedule, Sawyer fans suffered from an embarrassment of riches with the release of the author's seventh and eighth novels.

These two novels also mark a change of style and direction for Sawyer: While his earlier End of An Era, Golden Fleece and more particularly Starplex represented the kind of old-fashioned, gloriously wondrous whiz-bang SF, his two latest books (and, to a lesser extent, his Nebula-winning The Terminal Experiment) are much more introspective in nature, reflecting (said Sawyer at Can-Con'97) the kind of SF he would now want to read.

Frameshift surprised a lot of readers -including this reviewer-, especially following the exceptional Starplex. Illegal Alien is closer to Sawyer's previous novel, but still illustrates where Sawyer is now headed.

Plot-wise, Illegal Alien's premise is summed up in its title; shortly after first contact, a human is found, murdered. Forensics establish that the murder weapon is of alien origin. Before one can say "California has the death penalty, right?", an alien suspect is arrested. This isn't the OJ Simpson trial, and Illegal Alien takes great care to distance itself (and even illuminate) America's favourite murder trial.

(Of course, things won't stay that simple for long. Revealing more wouldn't be ethical.)

This strong premise is, as usual, carried by a style that's more descriptive than polished. This isn't meant as a criticism: For one thing, Illegal Alien benefit from the same strong narrative drive that ensured the success of Sawyer's first novels. Readable in a single afternoon, and even perhaps in a single sitting, the novel breezes along without stretches.

Sawyer obviously did his research regarding California's judicial system, and it shows. Even such topics as jury selection reveal themselves to be tantalizingly fascinating. Sawyer's law proves to be as exact as his science. The result is an air of authenticity that goes a long way toward grounding Sawyer's aliens in the realistic framework.

Illegal Alien could conceivably be used to "convince" mystery readers to take a look at the SF genre, and vice-versa. While the novel begins and ends in SF mode, the remainder is as good a legal mystery as anything else this reviewer has read in the genre.

While Illegal Alien isn't as brilliant (read: impressive, overwhelming, awe-inspiring) as Starplex or The Terminal Experiment, it is only fair to say that it's a more balanced work. There is scant to dismiss and a lot to like here: As usual, Sawyer delivers a well-crafted piece of thoughtful entertainment that will only solidify his reputation. Illegal Alien is a recommended purchase in paperback, and a suitable gift in hardcover.

 

 

The Engines of God
Jack McDevitt

Ace, 1995, 419 pages, 8.50$Can., ISBN 0-441-00284-6

I have already confessed a weak spot for cool cover illustrations, so I won't go over it again. But everyone should know that the gorgeous Bob Eggleton painting on the cover of Jack McDevitt's The Engines of God was the only reason why I bought the book. This time, no excuses, no justification and no feel-good rationalisation.

So it's both a relief and a letdown to find that the scene represented by the cover occurs in the very first pages of the novel: One xeno-archaeologist and his pilot (protagonist Priscilla "Hutch" Hutchins) taking a leisurely sight-seeing stroll on Saturn's moon Iapetus. The sight to see? An ice sculpture, left behind by an alien race long gone.

One thing that can be said about The Engines of God is that it doesn't stay at the same place for too long. After this short prologue, we (along with Hutch) find ourselves evacuating Quaraqua, an extra-solar planet soon due for terraforming. The problem is that archaeologists discover a major site only days before the start of the terraforming process. Since it all begins with a nuclear liquefaction of the ice-caps, -along with Richter 16.3 earthquakes- Hutch and the archaeology team have to race against time to get everything (and everyone) out of there before the big kaboom.

McDevitt uses this tense, exciting section to introduce both a small roster of characters (soon to be fleshed out in the latter parts of the novel) and the context in which The Engines of God takes place; your basic mildly-dystopian future, along with an overpopulated Earth and clueless politicians calling for an end to the space program (shoo! shoo!). FTL communication and travel might be humanity's saving grace, but as Hutch will eventually discover, they might not even be enough...

Along the way are extinct alien races, tantalizing mysteries, nick-of-time escapes, spectacular visuals, a dash of tasteful sex, destruction and death. Truly the ingredients to a satisfying SF yarn, and that's mostly what we get here. Of course, Hutch is a likable character and McDevitt knows how to fascinate his readers. The Engines of God is the kind of novel that reaffirms why you're reading "this Buck Rogers stuff" while inserting a few cool sociological ideas in your head during the process.

Of course, said readers shouldn't expect a perfect work. For instance, more than a few loose ends aren't properly tied up (an usual McDevitt tic); sequels are possible. The death of certain characters appear more gratuitous than anything else, even if that was probably the author's intent. While McDevitt offers adequate answers to the questions raised in the novel, I couldn't help but feel that more would have been possible. The conclusion is also ultimately depressing, although not in the immediate time frame.

Still, most should find what they're looking for in The Engines of God. Solid science, fast action, claustrophobic tension, awe-inspiring finale. It's difficult to find better. There's more here to the book than just a pretty cover. It's definitely worth the paperback price (hey, now that I've bought it, I have to rationalize my purchase!) or the library loan. Give it a try; maybe you'll discover an author. I know that McDevitt can now count me as one potential fan.

 

 

The Truth Machine
James L. Halperin

Del Rey, 1996, 395 pages, 8.99$Can., ISBN 0-345-41288-5

To readers immersed in pure Science-Fiction, it's something of a shock to discover that the language and assumptions of SF aren't universal; for instance, a superbly crafted genre-SF novel might be completely lost on a romance reader, for the reason that the romance reader simply hasn't got the necessary background to easily deal with hyperspace, nanotechnology and virtual realities. This isn't as much a comment on intelligence as on inexperience: Similarly, witness reactions to horror movies, from the neophyte "Eeeeew!" to the jaded "Cheezy!"

Similarly, an author approaching the genre without the benefit of a few years' experience with the genre (say, from reading a few hundred SF books) can illuminate the various eccentricities of (our) SF.

Take for instance James L. Halperin's The Truth Machine. It began as a self-published novel on the Internet, was published by Ivy Press, and then by Del Rey for paperback release. Del Rey curiously labelled the novel without the "Science" in front of "Fiction", even though The Truth Machine is all about the consequences of a perfect truth machine. Hard-core SF fans will approve when we point out that the core of SF is the exploration of effects and consequences of change, whether it's technological, social or otherwise.

(Incidentally, The Truth Machine is still one of the only instances of widely successful self-publishing on the Internet. If you're curious, go ahead and point your browsers to the obvious http://www.truthmachine.com/ )

Then why does The Truth Machine feels so... strange?

Part of the answer lies in the clunky style used by the novel. While it's not particularly horrendous (and probably far better than anything I could come up with), Halperin commits more than a few mistakes, whether it's in-text footnotes, references to the fifteen-page appendix, flash-forward pacing or a lot of telling-rather-than-showing.

Of course, it would have been impossible to tell The Truth Machine without most of these devices; the canvas is just too big. This novel takes the reader all the way from 1995 to 2050. It offers nothing less than the portrait of a world radically transformed by -among other things- a foolproof truth machine... if it is really foolproof...

The notion of a perfect truth machine isn't a new one in SF, but it's very provocative; award-winning novels have been written with lesser concepts. The Truth Machine rarely shies away from considering the implications of its premise, from truthful business transactions to lies-free personal relationships. The plot of the novel serves as carrier for the ideas. Coincidences, "on-the-nose" prose and puppet-characters abound. Ultimately, we get the idea that Halperin isn't as much interested in telling the story than in predicting the/a future.

And that is the main difference between The Truth Machine and modern SF: For various reasons, contemporary Science-Fiction writers want to tell stories, not predict the future. The sixties' New Wave introduced literary qualities into the field, and SF never quite recovered. As it is, The Truth Machine is pure SF... a few decades belated.

Ultimately, though, this is all irrelevant to The Truth Machine, since the bottom line is that it's an engrossing, fascinating book despite suspicious characterisation and too-convenient plotting. Whether or not the book is a 400-page advertisement for the World Future Society, what's important is that it will make you think. And hope.

Halperin might have more to learn about SF than vice-versa, but readers of all stripe might do worse than give a look at The Truth Machine. It's readable in a flash (so it won't waste too much of your time) and, given a suspension of stylistic judgement, it's gripping stuff.

 

 

An Exchange of Hostages
Susan R. Matthews

Avonova, 1997, 372 p., 7,99$Can., ISBN 0-380-78913-2

Do you trust cover blurbs?

Most of the time, I do. I tend to stick with publishers who know what their audience expect, so I'm rarely disappointed by the relation between plot summary blurbs and actual novel content (a pleasant exception are Robert J. Sawyer's novels, when you get more in the book than what is presupposed by the blurb, but I digress...) (Cover illustrations are another entirely different thing, but I'll stop talking about that right now lest I begin to digress again...)

But do you trust author's comments on book covers? ("Good" -Author Nonymous) Here, the situation's more complex, depending on your gullibility quotient, you appreciation of Author Nonymous, and all that's in between. But most of the time, you can get clues. If there's something like ("I loved it" -Saddam Hussein), then...

(Book reviewers can also extract useful pointers for their reviews by re-reading other people's comments... but it's not like I do that... ahem... oh, seems like I'm digressing again!)

So when you see something like ("Susan R. Matthews simply doesn't flinch" -Stephen R. Donaldson), you just know that you're holding potentially nauseous material. Donaldson, renowned as the author of some of the most displeasing cycles around (The Gap cycle, the Chronicles of Thomas the Uncovenant, etc...) calling Matthews unflinching? A bit like: Pot to Kettle; "Hey wow, I like your shade of black!"

So what is An exchange of Hostages? At the core, it's yet another one of those "training-camp" novels, like Starship Troopers, Ender's Game and shelves of other SF books. Who says training camp also says "personal development" novel, and so An Exchange of Hostages is the story of Andrej Koscuisko, heir to an empire and "promising young surgeon". At the beginning of the story, he enters (against his will, but what can you say when your daddy's the Big Boss?) an academy where they train Ship Inquisitors. In other words, he's going to learn the fine art of... torture.

Ouch.

While at this point some readers are hurtling the book against a wall, others are raising the objection that a civilized galactic empire can't expect to use torture as a formal part of their judiciary system. While that's an excellent objection, it's also irrelevant: An Exchange of Hostages is one of those stories (much like fantasy-type allegories) which depend on a single assumed factor. You either swallow it or you don't.

This is an extraordinarily powerful novel. As his training advances, Koscuisko will find out that his training and skills as surgeon at first hinder, then facilitate his progress. Much like the reader, he will be disgusted by the tasks he'll be asked to performed, then achieve a more jaded outlook. Along the way, he will make unexpected friends. The protagonist's relation with his personal slave is one of the surprises of the novel.

It's never a pleasing story. But it's engrossing reading. Despite all my preconceptions, I found myself devouring pages after pages, finding out more about Kocuisko's fate. As a novel, An Exchange of Hostages would be more or less unremarkable if it wasn't for the special nature of the training camp. As such, I expect opinion to be sharply polarized around the novel, with definite camps for or against it.

In view of this, the only recommendation I can give is that you have to like hard edges, uncompromising plot-lines and quiet, character-driven SF to like this one. Even then, I think a lot of potential readers will abandon the book before completing it. It remains to be seen what else Matthews will write next.

 

 

Distress
Greg Egan

Millennium, 1995, 343 pages, 18,95 $C. ISBN 1-85798-285-1

Greg Egan!

To hordes of discerning Hard-SF fans (how do you call a quantity of Hard-SF fans? A Mole? A Kilofan? A Clement? Never mind...), an almost-Pavlovian drooling reflex engages when hearing the name. Greg Egan is one of the most capable new writers of pure, undiluted Hard-SF. In a market cornered by fat fantasy trilogies, and media-SF derivates, this willingness to play with the net up is quite laudable.

Not only is Egan capable to write Hard-SF, but he's also willing to tackle some of the biggest issues there are. His first three SF novels are concerned with cosmology, quantum realities, Theories of Everything, consciousness, and other not-quite-pedestrian subjects.

What makes reading Egan a blast is the apparently effortless idea-tossing found in his fiction: Almost every page contains a new surprising concept, and Egan seldom neglects to explore the consequence of his extrapolations. His stories also make heavy use of biology, a facet of science too often neglected by Hard-SF (usually identified with cold, dependably mathematic physics.) His short stories (collected in Axiomatic) garnered raves everywhere. Now, his novels are doing the same.

Distress begins with a bang, as a video-journalist witnesses the temporary resurrection of a murder victim by police authorities. The sequence is chillingly effective, and goes a long way to establish both the tone and the protagonist of the novel.

Soon enough, we get into the main story of the novel, which is a conference taking place on a man-made tropical country, dealing with the holy grail of modern physics: Theories of Everything. If the novel's protagonist used of his influence to cover the event, he'll soon discover that he's up to his neck in shadowy dealings with entities whose goals are either laughable, or all-important.

And despite a few odd turns of plot, Egan manages to keep all of this pretty well balanced until the last hundred pages, where everything dissolves in a wave of intentionally confusing reversals. Egan is always stronger in beginnings than conclusions (especially when he makes up his mind to reformat the universe at the end of his novels), and Distress is no exception.

But as they say, the trip is half the voyage: Greg Egan has the too-rare ability to conjure up truly believable futures. Unlike other authors who limit their world-building to fancy cars and a sprinkling of neologisms, Egan can extrapolate like the best of them, and the result is -no other word for it- tasty.

In fact, culinary metaphors might be the most appropriate to discuss Distress. Like intricate hors-d'oeuvres, our appetite is whetted by the small details of the protagonist's ordinary life before springing on us the main course; the trip to the conference. Egan's take on 21st century theoretical physics makes up most of the nutritive content of the novel. Chef Egan puts too much sugar in his desserts, however, and the overall impression of the meal is marred by the too-rich endings.

Nevertheless, Distress is another success for Egan, and deserves to be celebrated by Hard-SF fans everywhere. It should be out shortly in US-paperback format so interested readers shouldn't wait to grab it before long.

 

 

Science-Fiction Movies of 1997

[This was originally a section of the "SF in 1997" retrospective, but it really deserved its own article]

Despite a few high-profile failures, it can be argued that 1997 was a very good year for SF in movies, mostly due to the presence of two genuine SF movies in this year's crop.

Without a doubt, the best two pure-SF movies of 1997 were CONTACT and GATTACA, both which can proclaim to be "true" SF, compared to most of the attempts popping up nowadays.

CONTACT's script was full of trivial annoyances and convenient simplifications -not considering the self-destructive ending that tried too hard to reconcile science and faith while ending up contradicting itself for the sake of ambiguity- but the movie still is the most scientifically accurate -and one of the most mature- SF ever to grace the silver screen.

GATTACA works better as a fable than as realistic SF, but brings back fond memories of New Wave SF more concerned about social changes and storytelling tricks than gadgets or character considerations. I can see why some will find this movie a cold, interminable bore but for me, GATTACA is one of the most uplifting movies I've seen.

Historically, SF has always been more successful as a hybrid of SF mixed with other genres. This year, for instance, MEN IN BLACK and THE FIFTH ELEMENT were kinda stupid, but really enjoyable examples of simili-SF comedies. Both can be readily re-watched, and don't aspire at more than being entertaining mental candy. They succeed admirably.

On an entirely different emotional register, the Horror/SF shlock-o-rama EVENT HORIZON had the potential to outdo ALIEN... but the script failed miserably. It still remains a stylish, effectively scary movie. To me, it's the disappointment of the year; the initial premise, the talent, the SFX was there to make the all-time best SF movie... but managed not to do so.

Further away from the field, both LIAR, LIAR and FACE/OFF managed to be excellent movies in their own genre by borrowing concepts from SF and Fantasy.

Other less-successful movies included the uneven ALIEN: RESURRECTION, which managed to be okay without being great, the (unseen but said to be hugely bad) adaptation from David Brin's novel THE POSTMAN, the really stupid THE LOST WORLD, the forgettable MIMIC and the incoherent SPAWN.

Somewhere at the bottom of the heap lies STARSHIP TROOPERS, a pointless excuse for gory visual effects. Not only have they betrayed Heinlein's ideas (by perverting their meaning, and then treating everything as a big joke.) but by including them in a plot that could be panned by eight-graders. That the movie is aimed at these eight-grader while being violent enough to warrant an R rating is proof enough of Hollywood's hypocrisy. STARSHIP TROOPERS not only deserves a whole paragraph of easy criticism, but exemplifies almost everything that's wrong in the SF/Hollywood equation. (Where "SF is divided by Hollywood"... okay, so you got that one.)

 

Prospects for 1998 looks dismal, again (an echo from last year's report): Stuff like the adaptation of Michael Crichton's SPHERE (thwack! thwack! thwack!), the American remake of GODZILLA (by the producers of INDEPENDENCE DAY: you know what to expect), the unsettling DARK EMPIRE, a retooled LOST IN SPACE (reportedly darker and smarter than the original TV series, although that's not saying much), comic adaptations FANTASTIC FOUR and X-MEN, sequels SPECIES II and STAR TREK 9 plus the long-awaited (but not by me) X-FILES: THE MOVIE.

If that wasn't enough, there are two planet-smasher movies coming soon: Pick between Mimi Leder's DEEP IMPACT or the Bruce Willis/Michael Bay flick ARMAGEDDON. (My favourite is ARMAGEDDON, if only because they had the support of NASA) Sounds big, sounds stupid, sound like definite fun.

Of course, a low-budget surprise might come in and surprise everyone, much like GATTACA came out of nowhere this year and managed to impress a lot of people (if not make much money at the box-office...)

 

If anyone's curious, here's my Top Ten Favourite Movie list for 1997:

  1. TITANIC (Genuinely moving; manages to combine romance and SFX.)
  2. CONTACT (Purest, hardest SF movie. Almost-magical movie-making.)
  3. GATTACA (Cold but thoughtful SF movie that has the right spirit.)
  4. FACE/OFF (Transcends the usual action movie. Beautiful direction.)
  5. LIAR, LIAR (Funny even beyond Carrey. Some maniacal moments.)
  6. THE PEACEMAKER (Good techno-thriller. Liked the harder edge.)
  7. THE FIFTH ELEMENT (A visually gorgeous, funny roller-coaster ride.)
  8. IN & OUT (Tight script, good characters, hilarious scenes.)
  9. CON AIR (Very stupid action flick, just the way we like 'em.)
  10. MEN IN BLACK (The essence of coolness, 1997 vintage.)

...and the Bottom Five...

  1. STARSHIP TROOPERS (Sorry half-excuse for gore and nipples.)
  2. BEVERLY HILLS NINJA (Makes you want to rejoice in the death of...)
  3. MORTAL KOMBAT: ANNIHILATION (Far from being entertaining.)
  4. KULL THE CONQUEROR (Bottom-basement fantasy shlock.)
  5. SPAWN (Interesting comic adaptation, but most of it still sucks.)

See you at the movies! Don't forget the popcorn!

 

 

SF in 1997: A (shallow) retrospective

Instant evaluations are always hard to do without the benefit of hindsight. Since I read ecclectively, and can't muster the budget to buy many brand-new books, everyone will understand if I say I can't make definitive judgements on a small (30-40) sample of what was written in 1997. Nevertheless...

BOOKS

Good stuff read this year include Robert J. Sawyer's Illegal Alien and Frameshift, Tom Cool's explosive action-adventure Infectress, Michael Flynn's collection The Forest of Time and Other Stories and Arthur C. Clarke's 3001: The Final Odyssey.

Promising first novels published this year: Kay Kenyon's The Seeds of Time, the afore-mentioned Tom Cool book and Susan R. Matthews's An Exchange of Hostages.

I suppose that I should make a mention of Alain Bergeron's Corps-Machine et Reves d'Anges, a fantastic collection of short stories unfortunately only available in French at the moment...

1998 looks interesting, with brand-new books by John Varley, Robert J. Sawyer, John Barnes, Greg Egan, the last volume of David Brin's new Uplift trilogy, etc...

TELEVISION

Since I only watch "Babylon-5" with any regularity, I choose not to comment...

WHAT ABOUT 1996? 1995?

You can add the following books to the list of previous year's stuff:

(Previous years' good stuff in italics)

1996:

1995: