Book Review

  • Nimitz Class, Patrick Robinson

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Harper Collins, 1997, 411 pages, C$35.50 hc, ISBN 0-06-018755-7

    Have you ever bitten in a tasty apple, only to discover that it was rotten at the core? How about at book that degenerates as it goes on? Michael Crichton’s Sphere is one of those rotten apples, beginning with a competent SF mystery, continuing with a good underwater thriller, but ending with a deus ex machina too insulting to even contemplate again. (And so they decided it was all a dream! And soon to be a movie!)

    With Nimitz Class never approaches the stinky depths at which Sphere sank, it remains that the sum of the novel doesn’t fulfil the promise of the first two hundred pages.

    It starts promisingly enough, with a good, ominous description of one of the most formidable war machine ever built: A Nimitz-class aircraft carrier. A few characters are efficiently set up… but then the rug is pulled from under out feet: Before the second chapter is over, all the aforementioned characters are vaporized, along with the carrier. A tad over 6,000 deaths. Accidental nuclear explosion, or deliberate attack?

    Enters Bill Baldridge, nuclear engineer. His brother Jack was on the carrier when it was destroyed, and Bill doesn’t quite think it was accidental. The hunt for the culprits begins.

    As mentioned, the first two hundred pages of Nimitz Class are first-rate military fiction. The plot is developed nicely, and Bill Baldridge is sufficiently different from the usual military hero to be interesting. Author Robinson takes us places we couldn’t otherwise visit: In this case, the British submarine base where the Perisher course is given.

    But then the novel goes awry.

    Just as Baldridge begins to have a clear idea of who could possibly sink the carrier, the narrative goes on an unexpected direction. This fifty-page detour would have been interesting (and is at times very spectacular) if it would have been integrated in the fabric of the plot. But it’s not, or not enough. Then the novel goes on another tangent. Another exciting scene follows. Then, as things finally seem to pull in together, when our heroes are about to piece up the mystery and find out where the evil terrorist is hiding… They get an anonymous tip, follow the tip and blow up the bad guys.

    Very anticlimactic. Add to this an unconvincing romantic thread and the result is a novel that’s more than a little disappointing. I’ve rarely seen an author lose control of a plot so much: Come on, I don’t want a man-to-man fight between the hero and the antagonist, but at least give me a satisfying finish! Cut the SEAL action, crop the channel scene, give the hero a believable romantic interest, but sheesh…

    Technically, the prose is okay despite more than a few odd bits of exposition in dialogue. Robinson loves to have his characters talk in multiple paragraphs. (At random: Page 114… same page which contains my favourite excerpt of the book: “Sh*t”, said the President. (after three paragraphs of exposition. The following two paragraphs are more exposition, and then: “J*s*s Chr*st”, said the President. Pop quiz: Is the President under stress?) Okay, so I have low thresholds for favourite exerts.)

    Nimitz Class’s faults are even more disappointing in that they torpedo (ha-ha) what could have otherwise been an exceptional military thriller. As it stands now, Nimitz Class is barely worth a library loan. In paperback.

  • Frameshift, Robert J. Sawyer

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Tor, 1997, 347 pages, C$32.95 hc, ISBN 0-312-86325-X

    Ideally, a reviewer’s subjectivity should be as “pure” as possible, if such a thing is possible. Shallow, transient things like the weather, sentimental problems and temporary physical discomfort aren’t supposed to affect judgement on artistic ventures. The very worst sin, of course, is to let monetary matters affect judgement: Reviewers aren’t supposed to calculate things like money/enjoyment ratios.

    And yet, that was what happened while reviewing Frameshift.

    Robert J. Sawyer is one of the most exciting authors of the nineties. His seven previous books compose an impressive body of work: His sixth book, The Terminal Experiment won a Nebula and was nominated for a Hugo. The seventh, Starplex, also garnered both nominations. Yet, all of Sawyer’s books had been published in paperback until Frameshift, his first hardcover publication from Tor.

    Frameshift begins in mid-plot like the two latest Sawyer novels, when a creepy assailant attempts to kill protagonist Pierre Tardivel. Sharp-eyed readers will already pick up a few unsettling details in this prologue, but before anyone can catch their breath, flashback and we’re back in linear time again. The time and place: Treblinka Concentration Camp, August 1943.

    Before long, we’re back in then nineties and Nazi war criminals, insurance company hijinks and genetic diseases are converging toward an exciting climax. The plot is complex but fast-paced: Frameshift is an exceptional book to take along to the beach. Sawyer’s style remains economical and pleasingly clear. Hard-SF fans will be pleased to note that the scientific content of the novel seems exact, and there is rather a lot of genetic jargon. Finally, the conclusion is satisfying. Closing the book, one can’t help but thinking that this was time well-spent.

    But, if Frameshift is such an entertaining novel, why the disappointment? Part of the answer lies with the fact that Frameshift is Sawyer’s less science-fictionish book yet. Only one element (albeit a big one) stops the novel from being classifiable as a techno-thriller.

    Also disappointing is the almost preachy angle of the book: Genetics, Sawyer tells us, can really mess up your life. To demonstrate this, it seems that almost every supporting character has a genetic problem of some kind. This quickly gets tiresome, like a talented musician always playing the same melody with only a few variations.

    Then there is Pierre Tardivel, another one of Sawyer’s typical protagonists. Granted, he is much more vulnerable than the others, but the mold is the same: Adult well-educated white male, etc… The protagonist is not the only thing reminiscent of Sawyer’s other novels: His emphasis on theology and marital problems (Read: Adultery) also comes back, albeit in a less-central role than in The Terminal Experiment. The plotting is also awfully convenient at times…

    As a French-Canadian, it was pleasant to see -finally!- a French-Canadian protagonist in a Science-Fiction novel written by an Anglophone author. Yet, a few things didn’t quite ring true: Few self-respecting Québécois would be caught dead shouting “Morceau de Merde!” (A literal translation of “Piece of s…!”) when a good old “Enfant de Chienne!” (literally; “Son of a b….”) does so well… But that’s a detail.

    Even devoted Sawyer fans might want to think twice before buying Frameshift in hardcover. Others will certainly want to take a look at it as soon as it comes out in paperback.

    [January 1998: I was skittish bout not liking this over as much as Sawyer’s others novels. However, I’m heartened to find that I’m not the only one to think along the same lines…]

  • Brother Termite, Patricia Anthony

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 1995, 261 pages, C$6.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-00187-4

    (The roomful of journalist quietens as the White House Press Attaché enters the conference room)

    Attaché: Ladies and gentleman, the press conference will begin soon. Christian Sauvé will read a short statement, and then answer your questions. Please welcome The Reader of Rockland.

    (Christian Sauvé enters the room, goes to the podium and clears his throat. He shows a paperback edition of Brother Termite to the audience)

    Reader: The book discussed today is Brother Termite, by Patricia Anthony. To resume it quickly: The premise of the novel is quite fascinating, since it’s about a White House chief of staff who’s really an alien. Unfortunately, the book never quite lives up to that promising slogan: In the world Miss Anthony postulates, all his alien buddies are running things in the background with the full approval of the world’s governments. We get implausible extrapolation, validation of the most popular alien-conspiracy theories, a thoroughly unsympathetic alien protagonist and an overall atmosphere of gloominess. I do not recommend the purchase of this book, and considers it one of the least interesting work of fiction I’ve read this year. Now, on to the questions. Yes?

    Man: Bernstein, Washington Post: What do you mean by “alien-conspiracy theories?”

    Reader: Well, in the novel we eventually learn that the alien “hero” -I use the term loosely-, named Reej, was close to presidents since Eisenhower, arranged to have Kennedy killed, in addition of being closely implicated in abductions, human experiments and the like. What Anthony does, really, is say “Okay, so all the conspiracies are true. What now?” I mean, just look at the cover art! Isn’t that the prototypical Grey?

    Man2: Stine, for Analog: Could you comment on the implausible extrapolations?

    Reader: Sure. The novel takes place at fifty years in the future, yet absolutely nothing has changed. People are still eating McDonald’s Happy Meal, having AT&T install their telephone lines, driving Jaguars, booting up computers. In fact, this future even appears retrograde, since there’s nothing even approaching the Internet, or any sophisticated technology that we have right now. Anthony tries to cover up everything by saying that the aliens just blocked everything related to progress, but that’s unbelievable! I don’t think humanity could tolerate such a stagnation, and I’m speaking from an intellectual, cultural and economical viewpoint all at once. Our civilisation -our economy!- depends on change and growth. Yet Anthony more or less assumes the same world… (Noticing the impatience of journalists) Yes?

    Woman: Vonarburg, for Solaris: Aren’t you missing the point, here? Isn’t Brother Termite a satire?

    Reader: Oh, absolutely! But there’s a difference between being satiric and being stupid. The tone of the novel is dark, serious and mostly humourless. Reej spends most of his time brooding and feeling sorry for just about everyone. By page 100 you wish he’d die, by page 200 you wish everyone would die. When the novel start bringing up things like a president who’s been president for fifty years, or his successor being President Kennedy as channelled by a medium, or some sort of mythical alien group consciousness… Well, enough is enough! I like satiric SF when it’s well-done, but in this case, it just ain’t. Next question?

    Man: Cronkite, Columbia Journalism Review: What is the place of media in Brother Termite?

    Reader: Pitiful. Miss Anthony believes you’re a bunch of degenerate dolts who accept everything told to them like holy gospel, and ask idiotic questions about Kennedy’s affair with Marilyn Monroe instead of -keeping in tone with the novel- investigating an alarming drop in birth rates.

    (Uncomfortable shifting in the journalistic audience.)

    I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to believe everything I say at face value: Who knows, perhaps I’m the only one on this planet who hates the book? Yes?

    Woman: Karman, from Womyn Will Win: A Question and a follow-up: Reading your past reviews, I was struck by the fact that you dislike a lot of women SF writers. Weren’t you biased against Brother Termite?

    Reader: I certainly was. Aside from Lois McMaster Bujold, very few women SF writers are writing what I like to read. They either write literary stuff I can’t stomach, or else they commit new-age crap like Ammonite that’s not even worth the effort of discussing again. Your follow-up?

    Woman: How come all the critical questions asked in the review are from women?

    Reader: So you caught on to that? Good… Yes?

    Man: Krishnamurti, Journal of Applied Philosophy: Your rejection of Brother Termite seems more holistic than factual. Is there some basic assumption in the book that goes completely against your perception of the world?

    Reader: Yes, as a matter of fact. You know, I’m of the John Campbell/David Brin school of though: We humans are good, in both sense of the term. We’re smarter, more adaptable, more able to take care of everything than anything around us. Despite everything you may hear on the news, and the self-depreciating pop philosophy that’s fashionable nowadays, humans have made incredible progress, sociologically speaking, in the last decades toward non-aggression, peaceful understanding and compassion. We have laws, and almost everyone obey the important ones. Physically disadvantaged people, (touching glasses) me included, are now living long productive lives that would have been impossible in any other time. And that’s not the ET’s influence: That’s something we managed ourselves. The greatest thing about us humans is that we’re never satisfied: We just have to keep on coming with better solutions. To strive, to seek and not to yield-

    Man: That’s Tennyson!

    Reader: -that’s the spirit. And what does Anthony make of us in Brother Termite? Wimps! Amoebas! Idiots who don’t mind a fifty-year break of progress? Preposterous! I hate to steal a line from Ursula K. LeGuin, (*) especially one that I don’t agree with, but Anthony has diminished the human race for the sake of one lousy story, and that, is unforgivable.

    (A Pause)

    Woman: So, did you like it?

    (Laughter, even the Reader is amused)

    Reader: No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t. I really hope this isn’t Miss Anthony’s best novel, because that’s not very impressive. I don’t think you should read it, period. In a way, it’s a schizophrenic book: UFO-freaks aren’t smart enough to catch on the subtle political and SF details, while those smart enough to do so won’t be able to suspend their disbelief because of the UFO elements. In case you’re wonderi
    ng, I’m so critical that I hated everything.

    (More laughter. The Reader looks at the clock.)

    Reader: Well, I’m holding up your deadlines. See you next time!

    (Exits Reader)

    (* Bibliographical notice: In Playground of the Mind, Larry Niven states that Ursula K. LeGuin doesn’t like his “Inconstant Moon” because Niven was essentially willing to wipe out half the human race for the sake of one love story. Of course, LeGuin herself was willing to transform the whole human race in insensitive oppressive savage (male) exploiters in her “The Word for World is Forest.” As you all see, opinions differ.)

  • Children of the Mind, Orson Scott Card

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Tor, 1996, 349 pages, C$29.95 hc, ISBN 0-312-85395-5

    The four-book cycle concluded by Children of the Mind is remarkable: The first volume, Ender’s Game, was one of the best books of the eighties. Critics will forever argue whether it was designed to be popular, or just ended up being an exceptionally-well written power fantasy, with just enough guilt at the end to make the reader realize that while destroying another species is fun, it’s not without consequences.

    The second book, Speaker for the Dead, sent the series in a whole new direction. Andrew (‘Ender’) Wiggins is trying to atone for his crimes, and his new purpose in life is to Speak for the Dead. (ie: Make fancy eulogies at funerals.) While Ender’s Game was hyperkinetic, its sequel is reflective, quieter but not without interest. In addition to winning the Hugo, it was a remarkably enjoyable novel on many levels.

    Xenocide wasn’t so unanimously praised. The events set up in Speaker for the Dead are further developed in this third tome, but one seemingly deus-ex-machina event left a sour impression in most reader’s minds, as did a completely new focus on Japanese culture.

    Children of the Mind is a better novel, but builds heavily of the weaknesses of the third book. The threads introduced in the previous books are tried up together in a satisfactory manner and if a possibility for a sequel still exists, it is evident that this is the end of Ender’s story. [Newsflash! Card is preparing a prequel! Aaaarrgh!]

    The prose is mostly readable, at the exception of a few needlessly sophisticated scenes on a beach. Card’s talent at dialogue is impressive: We’re hanging on to every reply, each more sagacious and penetrating than the one before. Children of the Mind almost approaches in this respect the incredibly sophisticated multileveled dialogues of the Dune series, with layers of hidden meanings and single phrases that send the conversation in a new direction. What Card masters and Herbert didn’t, however, is the amusing touch: Even in the most serious, dramatic exchanges, there’s always a humorous reply, a hilarious comment that puts the conversation in perspective. As the old movie slogans go: “You’ll laugh! You’ll cry!”

    Children of the Mind gets high marks for character development, managing to turn a few characters inside-out, to kill a few of them and to marry the rest. (Wasn’t it Mark Twain who said that a comedy concluded by a marriage and a tragedy by a funeral? Then what is Children of the Mind?)

    Speaking of conclusions, Children of the Mind kicks in overdrive somewhere past half-point. Threads are resolved in almost every chapter, relationships stabilize, galactic issues are settled. No villains remains at the end, an interesting characteristic of this series. The book could have easily been a few hundred pages longer, but sense prevailed over length, and the result is a good, medium-sized book, unlike Xenocide, which was a good 200 pages longer.

    The author’s after-word is curious, talking mainly about a small aspect of the fourth volume instead of global thoughts about the entire series. Disappointing, and this from an after-word fan.

    This book is highly recommended to fans of the series, but builds so heavily on the previous volumes that it’s not a good singleton choice. This might not be a problem: Given the excellence of the first two books, it’s a fair bet to say that not many readers will try to read Children of the Mind as a stand-alone.

  • Fallout, Kevin J. Anderson and Doug Beason,

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 1997, 306 pages, C$7.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-00425-3

    Craig Kreident is back!

    The High-tech FBI special agent, after a moderately entertaining debut in Virtual Destruction, makes a stronger appearance in Fallout, the second is what will probably become a series comparable to Cussler’s “Dirk Pitt” sequence.

    This time around, the plot doesn’t hinge around virtual reality, or mentally deficient nuclear workers. Instead, Anderson and Beason takes us deep into two of America’s most secret installations: The Nevada Nuclear Test Site and Area 51, the Air Force’s shadowy research installation.

    This book also has a different tone that the first tome: While a murder still has to be solved, Kreident must now deal with a right-wing extremist terrorist group: The book opens with the FBI trying to prevent an explosion at the Hoover dam. The result is a techno-thriller much closer to “thriller” than to the mystery genre.

    Fallout is more exciting, more interesting, and (if possible) readable in even less time than Virtual Destruction, which was already quite a page-turner.

    Otherwise, character development is only adequate, at the exception of Kreident-subordinate agent Goldfarb, which figures prominently in a few action sequences. Despite everything, Kreident remains likable, and it’s a joy to root for government guys once in a while.

    This is no surprise, since both authors have worked in government offices (Beason is an Air Force officer). Jabs at INDEPENDENCE DAY are thrown, and other UFO-freaks beliefs are equally skewered. The background has a distinctive “authentic” feel to it, which marks a nice change to the usually unbelievable thriller setups.

    On the other hand, the final terrorist motivation is quite laughable. This is probably intentional by Beason and Anderson, but any thriller fan knows that plausibility has a quality of its own. Terrorist motivation is not the only disappointing aspect of the finale: Paige Mitchell (the almost-girlfriend character) is also terribly passive, falling back too easily in the so despicable “helpless female” role. However, the other aspects of the resolution are suitably well-handled, and suspense runs fairly high.

    Fallout would make an interesting movie, but is probably too smart for that. It remains to be seen whether the next volumes of the series will manage to be as interesting as this one. Especially fascinating is the problem of being able to involve Paige Mitchell in every Craig Kreident investigation. That should be interesting to watch.

    Even when considered absolutely, and not only in comparison with its predecessor, Fallout fares pretty well. It had the required action, stupid mistakes, evil terrorist groups and other hallmarks of the genre. Since it’s readable in a blink, it might be a better choice to loan it at the library rather than buy it full-price.

    Craig Kreident can come back any time he likes.

    * * *

    Briefly: Anderson and Beason’s Ill Wind is even better, something predictable given the catastrophic and post-catastrophic theme of the book (this time: anti-polymer microbes ravage the world’s oil and plastics) and the fact that it’s a one-shot novel. Points given for realistic science, clean prose and likable characters. I’ll quibble that the novel ends too soon (Sequel possible? Oh no!) for any sense of durable consequences. Good reading for fans of the sub-genre and/or the authors.

  • Richter 10, Arthur C. Clarke and Mike McQuay

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Bantam Spectra, 1996, 407 pages, C$8.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-553-57333-0

    Criticism is many things to many people, but most readers assume that the review will contain at least a fragmentary plot resume, and a brief critical opinion. Most readers prefer when the opinion is decisive: (It sucks!)/(It rules!) are the two binary states of criticism.

    The object of this review, Richter 10, isn’t a book that lets itself be so easily dismissed.

    First, it’s a Clarke, but a Clarke collaboration. All Clarke collaborations, without exception, have been horrendous. Benford’s sequel to Against the Fall of Night was simply indigestible. The “Rama” trilogy was overlong and under-whelming. And now, as Clarke explains in the after-word, Richter 10 isn’t even a collaboration: McQuay wrote the book based on a 850-word movie outline by Clarke.

    Briefly put, Richter 10 is the tale of Lewis Crane, a brilliant scientist with an obsessive passion: Earthquakes. As the book opens, Crane has perfected a method for predicting earthquakes and their effects: He literally marks down “safe” areas. The book follows the successes and failures of Crane: Scientifically, sentimentally, financially, the guy’s in for a rough time.

    The good news are that it’s half a decent tale: The book is readable fairly quickly despite the 400+ pages-length. There is a clear narrative drive: What will happen next? Turn the page to find out!

    However, the book has serious believability problems. Suspension of disbelief is handy for most SF, but Richter 10 takes it a little bit too far. Shaky elements include a simulation able to perfectly recreate earth’s geological history, a near-magical arm injury, a woman living her whole life as a man, Chinese corporations ruling the USA, a plan to end earthquakes, a scientist-cum-religious leader, ten years in total isolation, a virtual lover taking over a person’s life, etc… “Hard to swallow” is an understatement, and the situation isn’t helped by a mostly dystopic vision of the future.

    There also seems to be a focus problem with the book. The first three quarters of the tale are recognizably the same story. But the books shifts in high gear for the finale, leaving characters quickly sketched and readers quickly breathless. At times, it almost seems as if a whole trilogy has been compressed in one book. (This might not be a bad thing, if the alternative was to actually read the trilogy.)

    Finally, perhaps the biggest “problem” with the book is that most characters behave in ways that will displease average readers. While it’s fun to see characters go from lover to villain to friend, it’s also a bit unsettling. Readers beware. Overly paranoid readers will also detect a strong anti-Islamic bent to the book. The scientific method as depicted in this book is also a throwback to the (bad) old days of SF, where the lone maverick hero defended his (*His!*) invention against hordes of infidels.

    Much as earthquakes completely transform the territory they affect, Richter 10‘s tone, atmosphere and characters undergo several dramatic transformations during the course of the novel. Whether this is ingenious or plain unfortunate remains to be seen. Richter 10 is a moderately entertaining tale, the kind of book best taken to the beach for a few hours of quiet, undemanding reading.

    Unless, of course, you happen to go to a Californian beach…

  • Mortal Error, Bonar Menninger

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    St. Martin’s, 1992, 361 pages, C$29.99 hc, ISBN 0-312-08074-3

    I did not kill JFK!

    I was born in 1975. There is no way that I could have been the one who pulled the trigger on Kennedy. No, no, absolutely not. Trust me.

    But even if I’m clearly not guilty, some people seem to have a fascination with what happened during six seconds in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963. Witness the books, the movie, the alleged conspiracies surrounding the events. According to a Time poll, much more than half the population thinks that the official version of the events does not truthfully describe what really happened.

    Why?

    Without going into details, one could easily bring up that the average American feels that the JFK assassination was a disturbing event that should not have happened: A conspiracy to kill the president then does bring back order in a chaotic situation. Joe Sixpack, once again satisfied by the immutability of the universe against him, settles back in his chair, mumbles something like “damn government” and switches the channel to a football game.

    But conspiracies are fascinating. Watching authors twist every available fact, deny other author’s evidence, propping their own pet theories… it should be an Olympic event.

    There are many, many books on the JFK assassination. I have carefully avoided most of them, but Mortal Error attracted my attention, if only for the unusual theory presented in its pages.

    Briefly put: Oswald did mortally wound the president. But the “exploding head” shot was accidentally fired by a secret agent carrying an AR-15 (Civilian M-16) in the follow-up car.

    Oops.

    No Mafia, no Cubans, no grassy knoll, no Marilyn Monroe with a sniper rifle, no aliens… Mortal Error almost disappoints by its lack of excitement. But what it misses in excitement, it makes up in believability. Mortal Error‘s thesis comes from Howard Donahue, a certified ballistic expert. The book shows how Donahue establishes his theory. From trying to prove the lone-gunman scenario to the progressive discoveries leading up, finally, to the last pieces of evidence falling in place… the account is meticulous, and well-researched. It’s easy to be seduced by the idea of an accidental shot.

    Being convinced is another matter entirely. Books like Mortal Error are scantly more than propaganda in their own favour. Everyone’s got a theory, and all the other ones are wrong. Still, Donahue’s hypothesis is strangely compelling. It explains the government’s alleged cover-ups and doesn’t involve any highly improbable conspiracies. It also appeals to the universal principle of irony, and Murphy’s law. What can beat that?

    It’s an interesting work. I appears solid and plausible, for all that’s worth. I’m not a JFK buff, so my perceptions aren’t dulled by interminable repetitions of the same arguments. Still, it makes for entertaining reading. As the jacket blurb suggests, it’s one of the sanest theories around. As long as anyone keeps a sense of perspective and skepticism about the whole matter…

  • The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump, Harry Turtledove

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Baen, 1993, 367 pages, C$7.50 mmpb, ISBN 0-671-72196-8

    Harry Turtledove has made quite a name for himself in one particular sub-genre of SF: Alternate history. What if racist time-travellers had brought AK-47 to the Rebels? (The Guns of the South) What if alien invaders had interfered with WWII? (The “Balance” series) What if…?

    The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump might be considered alternate history, if one is of sufficiently open mind: What if magic replaced technology as the engine of our civilization?

    Consider: David Fisher is an EPA (Environmental Perfection Agency) bureaucrat in a world where people travel by magic carpet, where alarm clock contain imported timekeeping demons and where spell-checkers are much less concerned with grammar than with sorcery… Yep, it’s a magical wacky wonderland. California still has traffic jams, pollution, illegal immigrants, environmental hazards and all the other trappings of a modern civilization, but if the end result is the same, the means are considerably different.

    When Fisher is called in to investigate mysterious reports of a leaking toxic spell dump, he’s blissfully unaware that his seemingly-innocuous probes could be the start of the Third Sorcerous War…

    It’s humorous in intent (as if the title wasn’t a giveaway!) and light-hearted in execution. Turtledove casts even the slightest pun, and leaves no small gags un-summoned. Fisher is a sympathetic narrator, and the style is readable, even if most readers will want to pay a bit more attention to the throwaway jokes.

    The plot wanders around a bit, giving us a tour of Fisher’s world, but then goes back more or less on track. Even then, the conclusion is disappointing. The last few pages are almost an anticlimax; the girlfriend-character is poorly treated in the last third of the novel. Stephen Hickman’s cover is very pretty in a pseudo-classic way, but the relation between the cover art and the content of the novel is less than evident.

    It’s not a great book, but it’s entertaining reading, and doesn’t really assume that the reader has a substandard IQ. Furthermore, it’s a blast for everyone who’s already wondered what would happen if all religious beliefs were real, and how to build a computer-era civilization when magic is so readily available. (Microimps, anyone?)

    Of course, anyone who’s allergic to puns will want to steer clear, as well as those who can’t tolerate “light” books. The others will read this book with a smile on their face and an amusement spell on their minds.

  • Gun, With Occasional Music, Jonathan Lethem

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Harcourt Brace, 1994, 262 pages, C$28.00 hc, ISBN 0-15-136458-3

    From the cover blurb: “Jonathan Lethem’s first novel is a science-fiction mystery. It’s funny. It’s not so funny.”

    For once, an entirely truthful blurb. Gun, With Occasional Music is a novel in the hard-boiled mode: A lone private investigator, slowly piecing together clues of an intricate mystery, told from a suitably-tough first-person narration. Conrad Metcalf is Gun‘s narrator: a good guy, but with the traditional gamut of problems associated with the type: low-down, celibate, drug-user (with the blessing of the government), loser…

    Which brings us to the science-fiction facet of the work: Gun takes place somewhere next century, in a wild world: Genetically-enhanced animals wander around like humans, (in fact, one of the book’s main characters is a young gun-toting gangster apprentice… a kangaroo) babies are force-grown, drug use is encouraged by the government, written-word newspapers are outlawed and guns play a musical theme.

    Which brings us, in turn, to the “funny” part: Gun‘s future is much more satirical than realistic. (Fundamental biology dictates that the vocal equipment of, say, a sheep is woefully inadequate for speech.) But it doesn’t matter: This is closer to fable than hard-SF. Not nearly enough justification is brought forth, but that’s a flaw of Lethem in general. Even though, the atmosphere of the wacky world Conrad Metcalf lives in is deliciously textured. The reader, especially if familiar with the hard-boiled genre, will delight in the overall mood of the novel.

    Which finally brings us to the darker side of Gun. The first three-quarters are -almost- jolly good fun: Metcalf’s narration is typical, the events described all fit in joyously with the sub-genre. Yet, a small lingering bad taste emerges. Metcalf’s world is funny, yes, but with unpleasant edges. Inquisitors? Karma points? Outlawed text in newspapers? Then Things Happen (to say any more would be an unforgivable spoiler) and Gun doesn’t seem so light-hearted any more. And what had been a light piece of escapist entertainment becomes something much more pernicious.

    Surprisingly, this makes for a better book than an otherwise “all-happy” ending would have brought. The final few pages approach perfection… but personal tastes will differ considerably here.

    High accolades for a first novel. Lethem’s style, as mentioned before, is delicious. The narration is funny and direct, yet tragic and parenthetical. Lethem’s protagonist feels like a real person, and the other supporting characters are also very well-drawn.

    The cover of the Harcourt-Brace hardcover edition is also delightful: A deliberately-damaged cover “noir” illustration, and some great quotes on the back.

    Some of the details are too vague, over-the-top or simply thrown away too rapidly to be fully appreciated. The ending will probably stain the book’s previous impact on some readers. Lethem goes for effect more than believability: There is no believable path from our present to his future. But readers who don’t figure that it’s not that kind of novel by the first few pages probably won’t enjoy the remainder of the book anyway.

    Obviously, this book will appeal far more to fans of the sub-genre, but other readers should get excellent value for their money. Lethem’s first novel is unusually strong, and portents a promising future for this author. In any case, it’s definitely worth the paperback price.

    (Briefly: Lethem’s second novel, Amnesia Moon, is far less compelling than Gun. Confusing, disjointed, metaphysical, it lacks the strong sustained plotting of the first novel. Disappointing, even for someone who’s enjoyed Lethem’s other works.)

  • SSN, Tom Clancy

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Berkley, 1996, 336 pages, C$21.00 tpb, ISBN 0-425-15911-6

    Tom Clancy wants your money. It’s as simple as that.

    The sad thing is, he used to be my favourite author. But that was in the good old days where the only Tom Clancy books were his novels, not tons of derivative franchise items.

    The problem started when Clancy became a publishing category. Now, we’re getting companions, nonfiction books, “Op-Center” franchise novels not written by Clancy and this, surely the lowest of the low, a companion to a video game.

    SSN (The game) is a simulation of submarine warfare currently available in stores for PC compatibles (CD-ROM) I have not played it. Clancy was allegedly heavily involved in this game, (There’s a logo for “Clancy Interactive Entertainment” on the game box) so it was more or less predictable that anytime soon, something written “by Clancy” would appear in stores. This is it.

    SSN wants to be the exciting description of a submarine’s actions in (says the jacket copy) World War III. Instead, it ends up being a shoot’em up.

    This reviewer will freely admit at having somewhat of a fondness for highly-detailed military fiction. Even if the most elementary literary characteristics are sadly deficient, one can get some enjoyment out of even the most inept shoot’em up. But there are limits, and those have been breached with SSN.

    Almost everyone who has played a few RPGs has said, at one moment or another, “Wow, this game would make a good story!” Most of the time, they’re wrong. Personal involvement in a story makes it appear much better that it actually is. (Witness movies versus books, for one thing)

    Folks, SSN is worse than the Doom books, and that’s no mean feat. Almost everything stinks, from the top to the bottom. At the top, there’s an implausible war between the US and China (why China? Because no one else has a decent navy to fight against!). It tries to be sophisticated, but ends up being myopic: Seems to the reader that only the USS Cheyenne fights the war. (Another weakness of gaming novelizations: “The world’s last, best hope!”)

    Then, while the book is filled with potentially exciting situations, the reader’s pulse never goes up. It’s succession after succession of boring one-sided fights (the Cheyenne being no match for inferior Chinese technology) and briefings. (There are occasional POV switches in the middle of a chapter, but always to show a hapless Chinese commander about to commit a fatal mistake.

    The prose is dull, dull, dull… There is absolutely no character development. In fact, there might be no characters at all! Great literature bores me, but I was nearly grinding my teeth at some of the horrendous passages in there. (Don’t tell anyone, but this review is almost better written that the book, and that’s saying something!)

    SSN, in my judgment, is a manuscript that would belong on the slush pile. It’s not even worth your time, so it far from being worth any of your money. Clancy, come back when you’ve go something better to offer.

    And please stop the merchandising. You’re just embarrassing yourself.

  • The Walls of the Sky the Walls of the Eye, Jonathan Lethem

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Harcourt Brace, 1996, 293 pages, C$32.00 hc, ISBN 0-15-100180-4

    On the values of single-author collections: One could do worse to discover a new author that to peer into an anthology of his works. Not only are the stories shorter, but they also represent a good cross-selection of the author’s interests, strengths and weaknesses.

    Jonathan Lethem is a relatively new author in the SF&F business. His first novel, Gun, with Occasional Music received good reviews, and winning at least two prizes (Locus, best first novel and Crawford, best fantasy novel). Furthermore, Lethem is now in nomination for a Hugo (best short story).

    Having not read any of Lethem’s work before, I was intrigued. When I had the opportunity to pick up Walls…, I seized it. (Actually: Winning the book at a local science-fiction convention.)

    The physical appearance of the book is horrible: Ugly cover art, carefully studied “wacky” fonts on the dust jacket, and “[These] pages are not acid-free” as jacket copy. No plot summaries anywhere. A creepy photo of the author. Weird stuff.

    But truthful. What’s inside the book is even weirder. Consider:

    • A prison built, literally, of “hardened criminals”
    • A man alternating between his life… and his hell.
    • Basketball teams made of players playing other player’s talents.
    • An alien who follows you around… forever.

    …and three other stories, one of them (Hugo-nominated) with a title that I’ll reproduce here, chastely, as “Five F*cks”. (The story itself is much more conventional, if barely coherent.)

    Lethem loves the low life. Young criminals, pathetic losers, people stuck in aimless directions are the majority in these seven stories. No shining cyber-knights or larger-than-life superheroes populate this author’s realms. Gratuitous, unromantisized violence also finds its way into many tales, in sync with the uncompromising tone of the prose.

    Lethem’s science might not exactly be wrong, but hard-SF it ain’t. We’re closer to Harlan Ellison than to Larry Niven. The book works better as urban fantasy than anything else. Lethem dreams up fascinating situations, but seldom explain them.

    This intentional failure to explain also ties into a failure to resolve: Many stories are vignettes, without conflict or clear resolution. We often leave the protagonists in a situation as bad (or worse) than at the beginning of the narration.

    (It should also be noted that the first-person narrator is a favourite of Lethem, counting for four of the seven stories.)

    Nevertheless, it’s an entertaining collection. Some stories are average, but beg to be read again in a little while.

    It’s not worth the hardcover price. It might not be worth the paperback price. But it’s probably worth the time to be read: Grab it from the local library, borrow it from a friend, but do cuddle up with Lethem’s words.

    (If you only have time for one story, choose “Vanilla Dunk.”)

    And keep reading single-author collections.

    [January 1998: The Walls of the Sky, the Walls of the Eye won the 1996 World Fantasy Award for Best Story Collection.]

  • The Lost World, Michael Crichton

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Knopf, 1995, 393 pages, C$32.95 hc, ISBN 0-679-41946-2

    As I write this, mud is everywhere around the house. The sun is shining, but that’s an unusual occurrence: It’s been raining intermittently for the last two weeks, and more rain is predicted for the next few days.

    Nevertheless, summer is coming, or so they say.

    And one of the greatest things about summer is… no, not girls in miniskirts… although that’s no trifle either… summer movies! Where we unplug our brains and open our eyes and ears wide. I don’t go to movies for plot any more: The name of the fun is Special Effects.

    Discounting 1992’s TERMINATOR II: JUDGEMENT DAY, the first big-budget plot-less summer SFX extravaganza probably was 1993’s JURASSIC PARK. Adapted by Steven Spielberg from a popular novel by Michael Crichton, it was a smash hit. Even before the summer was over, there were talks about a sequel.

    Here it is: The Lost World. Not content with recycling the title of Arthur Conan Doyle’s superior dino-novel, Crichton also recycles most of Jurassic Park.

    Scientists-as-heroes? Check. Two smart kids in peril? Check. Ian Malcom attacked by dinoes? Check. Finale with computer systems? Check. Evil corporations? Check. Bad guys eaten by dinoes? Check. Paleontologist explaining every detail of dino behaviour? Check.

    The plot? A few years after the events in Jurassic Park, there are rumours that new animal species are appearing in Costa Rica. Reckless paleontologist Richard Levine mounts an expedition, reluctantly backed by Ian Malcom. Eventually, everyone’s running around on InGen’s other island.

    It’s astonishing how Crichton manages to produces most of the same novel than Jurassic Park. Even if sequels are more or less expected to trod the same grounds as the first volume, The Lost World takes this to an astonishing degree.

    But it’s an imperfect copy. Reading The Lost World is sometimes a frustrating experience, perhaps because of JURASSIC PARK. The movie showed us dinosaurs, oohing and aahing us instead of telling us a complex story. Here, it’s just dull. Many pages pass before anything happen, and when it does, it’s déjà-vu.

    It’s one of the worst Crichton novels. But still, it’s good stuff for fans: The style is typically featureless, direct and descriptive. Crichton also puts in the narrative all sorts of more-or-less popular scientific theories. (The delivery is sometimes ridiculous, as when a character babbles on while boosted on morphine) The technology used is mouth-watering and the action (when it finally starts) is fast-paced.

    This novel is for fans of the first volume only. It’s neither exceptional or especially interesting but should satisfy a casual interest.

    I just hope the movie (out in a few days) differs sensibly from the novel, much as the original movie was a leaner, faster version of the written work. From what I’ve heard (T-Rex stomping on a bus, etc…), I have hopes. It might even be better than the novel…

    [January 1998: THE LOST WORLD was indeed “better” than the novel -thanks to the inclusion of an exciting third act- but was still a rotten movie with plenty of supposedly smart characters doing incredibly stupid things. My feelings about the movie are best described elsewhere, see my Movie Reviews]

  • Beowulf’s Children, Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Steven Barnes

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Tor, 1995, 382 pages, C$32.00 hc, ISBN 0-312-85522-2

    Sequels. Everyone think they suck, yet people are still buying (and writing) them in quantities. The Legacy of Heorot was a great stand-alone book that didn’t really need a follow-up. But we got one anyway, thanks to the tryptatic trio of Niven, Pournelle and Barnes. (What’s tryptatic? Don’t ask me.)

    In TLoH, a bunch of colonists had to unite to defend themselves against a mean bunch of alien critters. It was a novel of ecological balance, of fast-paced action and of clear prose.

    But story-wise, it’s now twenty years later. The colonists have given birth to many children, and the first serious troubles are beginning to brew between the two generations. Most of the Seconds want to establish a permanent colony on the mainland, and deride the cautious aspect of the Firsts. After all, it’s well known that most of them were brain-damaged to an extent or another by the hibernation process necessary to cross the ten light-years to Tau Ceti…

    And so it goes. The Grendel menace is there, but kept under control. We get to discover new deadly aspects of Avalon’s ecology. Strife between the two generations; new characters, and the death of some old friends…

    There could have been powerful stuff here, and the novel does succeed more than it fails. But it’s still a disappointment. On several level.

    At the technical level, I had the impression that the style could have used at least another revision. It’s not anything precise (although there are a fair amount of typos), but some dialogue was barely coherent, and a few parts are too quickly glossed over.

    It’s also a book that’s too long for the action it contains. It’s a good hundred pages bigger than the first tome, yet less happens. There could have been a good tightening of the action.

    Then there are plot threads that are ominously raised, yet abandoned in thin air. Whether this sets up later sequels, or is just lack of attention from the author’s part remains to be seen.

    Finally, we run into the “commonly known alien” problem: The Grendels in TLoH were formidable, and ruthless. Those in Beowulf’s Children are more complex, but arguable more boring, because less ferocious. And the ending… well, I found it goofy.

    Overall, this is a less focused work that its predecessor. We get a fascinating tour of a brand-new ecology, an easily-guessable murder mystery, and some conflict that goes nowhere. But not a mean, lean narrative like the first volume. There’s also quite a lot of sex, (not all of it meaningful) but that has become somewhat of a staple in the works of those authors.

    This being said, Beowulf’s Children is a good sequel. Not in the same vein, but I could buy that the first book’s finale could give rise to the situation described in this novel.

    Fans of the first one should at least borrow this from the library. Others… definitely should read the first one beforehand.

    Anyone wants to bet that the third book involves more colonist from Earth?

  • Idoru, William Gibson

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Putnam, 1996, 292 pages, C$33.95 hc, ISBN 0-399-14130-8

    TONIGHT, on “Litterarly Incompetent!”:

    Is William Gibson still living off Neuromancer‘s Reputation?

    Ever since the release of his latest novel Idoru, fans are asking the same question: Is this good stuff for you, or good stove fuel? Is Gibson back, or still living in Wired magazine? Is there life after Neuromancer?

    Tonight, we will attempt to answer these questions. And the answers may not please you. Please welcome the Literary Incompetent himself, Christian S.!

    Fancy introduction, but does the job.

    For various reasons, I’ve been less than enthusiastic about William Gibson in recent times. Neuromancer was a classic, but far less can be said about Gibson’s later works. I’ve been variously bored and confused by everything else. Cyberpunk’s nice, but it’s also mostly irrelevant: Low-life people living in dirty cities doing insignificant things. Is this what I want in my SF?

    And I’d rather not talk about The Difference Engine.

    In Idoru, we meet two very different persons: A man named Laney, whose particular talent is an uncanny ability to spot relevant information in a sea of virtual data. Then, a fourteen-year-old girl named Chia, member of Seattle’s Lo/Rez Fan Club. Both are going to Japan, to search for the same thing.

    You see, Rez (one “half” of the band Lo/Rez) has declared that he will soon marry. Except that his bride-to-be is an Idoru, a virtual person with a programmed personality and no corporeal existence. Both Laney and Chia, from their own perspectives, are investigating why Rez would do such an idiotic thing.

    Idoru is in many ways a step up from Gibson’s previous work. It seemed shorter, read faster and felt better than Virtual Light, (less filling, too) although Virtual Light wasn’t such a bad novel.

    But Idoru is far from being a great work. It’s a good story, well-written, with sometimes confusing action. As a first novel, it would be fine, even promising. But as a sixth novel by a “master of the genre”…

    Fortunately, it’s written with the same hip style than the previous novels: Not always clear, but usually with a certain potency. Gibson has an eye for details and unusual gadgets are strewn around the story.

    The problem with Idoru is that I’m running out of things to say. Much like the novel itself, I’m trying to cover that up by fancy style and rhetoric. And failing miserably.

    So yeah, basically, it’s decent and well-written, but that’s about it. There are no sparks, no flashes, no fireworks from this. It’s the kind of novel that gets two stars out of four: Not really bad, but nothing exceptional either.

    Definitely wait for the paperback, borrow it from the library but don’t use the waiting list, etc…

  • Slow River, Nicola Griffith

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Del Rey, 1995, 343 pages, C$25.00 hc, ISBN 0-345-39165-9

    I approached this book with the worst intentions. Faithful readers of these reviews may remember that a while ago, I panned Nicola Griffith first novel, Ammonite: Story was linear, science was goofy, agenda was anti-tech lesbian and everything worked better as a soporific than a SF novel. I had made a resolution not to touch Ms. Griffith’s work if that was possible.

    Sadly, the 1996 Nebula Award results came in, and Slow River won the Best Novel category, beating out The Diamond Age and Starplex. Since I’m a Nebula completist, there was no choice but to read the g’dang thing. With stupefaction, I now have to admit that Slow River is a good book.

    Story-wise, we’re miles beyond the ultrapredictible linear lesbian fairy tale that was Ammonite. As Slow River begins, a young girl finds herself wounded, moneyless, without ID in an unknown city. The girl is Lore Van de Oest, the youngest daughter of one of the world’s richest family. She just escaped from her kidnappers and she can’t return to her family for complex reasons. She is quickly taken under the protective embrace of Spanner.

    Actually, Slow River begins a few years later, as Lore tries to build an identity separate from the domineering influence of Spanner… No, Slow River begins when Lore is five, and… Confused? Don’t be. The book is made up of three threads: Lore-Present (1st person POV), Lore-Near-Past (3rd person; her time with Spanner) and Lore-Past (3rd person, separate chapters; her life before/during the kidnapping) All three threads intersect nicely, even though sometime, I couldn’t wait to go back to the Lore-Present story. The plot is decent. Even though Lore isn’t (to me) a particularly engaging heroine, her struggles for love, identity and independence are gripping.

    Surprisingly, this is a novel with a lot of science in it: since most of the story revolves around water purification, it’s no surprise that we get a lot of tech-talk about “bioengineered bacteria” and the like. I can’t vouch to the accuracy of everything, but at least it sounds right.

    There should be a word or two here about the explicitly lesbian content of the novel: Lore is gay, and her behaviour (ie: falling for the most available girl(s) ) is about the same as we would expect from an active heterosexual young male. Whether this is ridiculous, or just indicative of the different society Lore lives in, is left to the reader’s prejudices.

    Notice, however, the careful wording of the jacket copy, which uses no gender terms relating to Spanner. (Who is, naturally, female) Even though a quick search/replace job could be done to replace Lore by John with scant impact on the novel, I’ll argue that Slow River would be a weaker novel without a lesbian protagonist. (And certainly wouldn’t have won the Nebula novel) Those who think that Slow River is a militant gay novel are… wrong. Despite the fact that the only hetero couple is presented as dysfunctional, that most males are evil or weak… The fact that [Spoiler] is [Spoiler] should convince even the most paranoiac bible-thumper that this isn’t a Pink Lambda recruitment pamphlet.

    Well, that’s a lot of wordage to say that despite my worst intentions, I can’t help but recognize this a decent novel. There are still a few problems here and there (The motivation and identity of the kidnappers is a bit far-out, but fits in the twisted logic of the book.) but nothing as blatant as her previous novel. The emphasis on another theme (water) makes the feminist/lesbian subtext much more tolerable.

    I kinda liked it, and most readers with a sufficiently open mind should, too. While not being superior to Starplex, it’s better than Ammonite, and redeems the author to my eyes.