Read from 07/14/2023 - 08/21/2023
A Creature Wanting Form by Luke O'Neil
Luke O'Neil's A Creature Wanting Form is a fiction anthology that aims to speak towards the paradoxically dull yet arresting terror that creeps throughout our modern lives. These vignettes — ranging from the length of a short story, to flash fiction, to being nigh-indistinguishable from prose poetry — all deal with the anxieties that insistently prod at our brains. These anxieties are worrying enough to saunter through our minds like they damn near own the place, yet never to the point where we try to do anything about them; perhaps because in most cases, we're resigned to the belief that, as individuals, there's nothing we can do. A Creature Wanting Form describes individuals grappling with climate change, the COVID-19 Pandemic, old age, police brutality, and gun violence, among other topics.
In short, there's a lot of death.
A lot of the feeling imparted by this book isn't due to its plots, but instead due to its form. A Creature Wanting Form, true to its name, has a stark absence of traditional form, making for a read unlike anything I've encountered before. Forget your grammar rules because there are no rules here. Luke O'Neil's prose is allergic to commas, it had a colectomy, and quotations are on its shit list. There aren't run-on sentences, no, we're treated to sprint-on sentences. Imagine the most casual yet chatty texter you know got a publishing deal. They're free to write stories as if they were texting as long as they use autocorrect. That's what these stories read like.
I'm usually not one to praise a novel radically experimenting with form — while I can respect the ambition, it more often than not hampers the story being told. This isn't the case for A Creature Wanting Form. Its eccentric style serves its stories well. Reading this book can be confusing; my eyes have repeatedly darted back up the page to revisit a section I read too quickly the first go-around. I've crowdsourced comprehending sections more times than I care to admit. Trying to parse these stories will make you feel like you're losing your mind. The stream-of-consciousness narration can be inviting — few stories accurately depict how freeform, scatterbrained, and banal our inner thoughts are. As a result of Creature committing to showing this , it feels validating. Yet more often than not, I found this stream-of-consciousness narration daunting thanks to the sheer glut of information you have to wade through, figuring out what's vital and what's chafe. In short, form does a great job of depicting how overwhelming it can feel just living in the world that we do. It's one thing to throw conventional form out the window just because, it's another to do so in service to the story, and I give props to O'Neil for doing the latter.
In letting the form do the heavy lifting for O'Neil, he's free to not let the actual narration ever get too depressing. It's dour yes, but seldom depressing. Bad, terrible things happen yes, but they're understated — a tragedy can only happen so many times before it just feels like a grim statistic you have to keep at arm's length lest you lose your mind. There's an absurdity to many events in the story that border on darkly comic.
Again, this obviously speaks to feelings we grapple with every day, feelings that are seldom represented in stories which, by their very nature, tend to be bombastic or, at the very least, moving.
A Creature Wanting Form pantomimes life exceptionally well.
Maybe a bit too well.
I do appreciate how unique Luke O'Neil's writing is in this anthology, but I do think this collection would be more memorable for me if its stories had more solid plots to anchor them. Or, at the very least, more palpable emotion from its characters. While its true that people opt to feel nothing as a safety mechanism against overwhelming despair, I still ultimately read to feel.
There's a feeling of ennui you get while reading this. And while I'm sure its the point, it doesn't make for a very satisfying experience. There's a reason why I skimped out on plot details and that's because I forgot most of the stories in this collection. Without strong emotions, plots, or hell, even imagery to anchor them, most of these stories blow back to the recesses of my mind minutes after finishing them. While there were some stories I really enjoyed such as "Predator Meets Brush," "A really nice watercolor for an alligator," and "The Uninvited Guests Part 1 & 2," it's hard for me not to wonder if this is only because they're some of the first stories. There were some stories that I liked that I didn't recall until reading other reviews of this book.
While I'm impressed with how well A Creature Wanting Form, captures the horror and ennui of life, it's hard for me to recommend the collection as a whole just due to how little staying-power its individual stories have. Beyond that, serving the story well or no, reading these stories can be legitimately frustrating as a result of the form. I remember going gaga over this book about a week into reading it, so it's possible I'd be singing a very different tune if this was, say, about half its length. As is, I found it overstayed its welcome, with the vast majority of its stories being unmemorable.
I don't know, it might just be a perfectly fine book I'm I'm just too stupid for. It's certainly a validating and impressive book, but it fell far short of "engaging" for me nine times out of ten.
Read from 10/05/2023 - 11/14/2023
Dragons of Fate by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
While I certainly had fun reading last year's "Dragons of Deceit," I acknowledged that the story was merely "good." I attribute this to the fact that, for as breezy of a read as it was, it was, ultimately, more of a setup book than anything. "Dragons of Fate" fortunately has more going on and as a result, while I probably enjoyed both books as much as each other, the second installment of the trilogy is solidly the stronger entry.
After being sent to the far past with no apparent way to return to their own time, Destina, Tasslehoff, Sturm, and Raistlin must survive the brutal Third Brutal Dragon War while searching for a way return find home. While doing this, they encounter the legendary knight, Huma Dragonbane and his friend, the wizard Magius.
While I like both Tasslehoff and Destina, their actions in the last book could be grating (Tas' especially). As a result, it's probably for the best that both of them were put a bit on the backburner in this book. Instead, our focus is on Raistlin and Huma's relationships with Magius and Huma, respectively. They say don't meet your heroes, but in this instance, it makes for very compelling dynamics. I was an edgy boi when I first read Dragonlance at 13 and I'm an edgy boi now at 24 so I love Raistlin and I'm pleased to see they do him justice here. In fact, I was surprised at how sentimental he could be — while still being in character. Magius really brings out the best in him and it's really nice to see their friendship blossom.
It's a welcome distraction from everything else because the tone is deliciously dire as the dark goddess, Takhisis' forces draw closer and closer to the stronghold of the High Clerist's Tower. The tense atmosphere makes for more of an engaging read than we had last go around.
Some have said that little happens in this book and I just can't agree — there are enough setpieces to keep more action-oriented readers entertained and the plot is moving forward throughout. We end on a cliffhanger even more exciting than the last. It makes great use of the time-traveling concept.
I've seen many diehard fans come out of reading this book disappointed, generally saying some variation of "where was Kaz?" I have no idea who that is and this dichotomy perfectly showcases that your mileage will vary on this trilogy depending on how invested and familiar you are with the era of Dragonlance it explores. For newcomers and more casual fans of the setting, there isn't much about "Dragons of Destiny" is a fun way to jump into the setting. Meanwhile, those who have poured over every page of every book and spent hours discussing the lore on forums will be more discerning, and thus be able to spot inconsistencies and plot holes that fresher eyes can't.
It's unfortunate that this apparently isn't a series that Dragonlance fans can come together to enjoy. I suppose I have to admit that ignorance is bliss in this instance as I look forward to the third installment of Dragons of Fate. The second book was stronger than the first, so I'm expecting the third to blow me away.
Read from 01/02/2024 - 05/12/2024
Julia by Sandra Newman
I've attempted writing a review of Sandra Newman's feminist retelling of 1984 four times now — twice alongside the original as a double review and twice as a standalone review.
I think my sticking point is how gargantuan of a task analyzing Julia is. You not only have to appraise the book on its own merits, but you also have to critique how well it fits into the puzzle piece that is the original — a work whose beauty for many is because there are so many questions left unanswered. If I'm having this trouble figuring out the framework to review Julia, I can only imagine how daunting it was for Sandra Newman to write it.
Yet, against all odds, Newman knocks it out of the park with Julia, crafting a rare retelling that's not only as good at the original, but enhances it as well.
It’s clear that Newman appreciates Orwell's writing, thus making it possible for her to adhere to the spirit of what made 1984 so great while putting her own spin on it. Gone is the isolation of Winston Smith and the dreariness of Oceanian life on display in the original. Julia eschews her lover's cerebral narration for one that engages with the world around her. I wouldn't describe the Oceania of Julia as vibrant, persé, but it very much is alive in a way that it wasn't in the original. One way this difference is shown is in how the two protagonists view their society. When he isn't engrossed in his work, Winston sees Oceania as a living nightmare while Julia sees it as little more than an annoyance. She knows all too well how unjust her system is, but she wrestles with the idea that Big Brother is fundamentally good.
With a setting that isn't as immediately oppressive, a kneejerk reaction is to dismiss the Oceania of Julia as not being sufficiently dystopian. I'd posit that it is; just a different kind of dystopia, one that feels more akin to something we're used to in our own daily lives.
The more approachable narration makes Julia a more enjoyable read than its predecessor. I know 1984 is supposed to be heavy; that's not the problem. The problem is that it can be a downright slog due to how bogged down we are in Winston's head. Here, Julia is an active participant in the world around her. Say what you will about how chiling Winston's dread and fear of shadows is; there's something more immediately arresting about Julia knowing someone like O'Brien is bad news. Does its more thrilling plot make Julia a more conventional story? Sure, but it makes for an engaging read, which is more than I can say for the vast majority of 1984.
Like her original incarnation; the Julia of this novel is more than meets the eye. I enjoyed how she takes Winston to task and lays him bare for his self-importance. Reading how she really feels about him is immensely validating and makes the original Julia feel like a more of a realized character and not just a manifestation of Winston's desires. With just how much this Julia feels like a way to highlight the shortcomings of the original, after a bit, you might feel the sense that she's beginning to pander to the reader, that she's a bit too perfect. Just as we fear Julia too boring, Newman masterfully begins laying Julia herself bare, revealing her as tragically flawed as Winston. Julia is a shrewd survivor who honors pragmatism and pleasure above all else, doing anything to get ahead and stay ahead. It's a very unsettling reveal and it makes it all the more satisfying when Julia has to contend with this aspect of herself.
While I like a lot about Julia's narration and stylistic choices, as I implied before, you do end up robbing the original from a bit of its mystique. The setting is made a lot more concrete, both in Oceania's Forever War being expanded on and in the fact that we know for a fact that Winston's dour view of Oceania is a personal one — Winston is sourness is so noticeable that he's given the humorous epithet "Old Misery."
Ultimately, while I do understand the strength of 1984's ambiguousness, the biggest reason why I personally find it so haunting was because of what Winston went through. I'm fine sacrificing the macro if it helps foster a more interesting look at the characters, though obviously your mileage will vary.
While the ending of Julia isn't as immediately horrifying as the original, it's still harrowing. It's bleakness is more insidious and, ironically for a work that peeled back so many layers of its setting, ambiguous. The ambiguous ending Julia’s ending gives you more than an “out” more than the original, but it’s just as plausible that things don’t turn out well for our protagonist.
Like the original,Julia is one of those rare books that sticks with you long after finishing it. For the past few months, I've had a hard time not thinking about Julia, about its ending and what it means for a character I've found a newfound appreciation of. One day, I hope to revisit both 1984 and Julia in an in-depth review that gives these two terrific books the analysis they deserve. Until then, I hope my review gets more eyes on this masterclass of retelling.
Read from 03/01/2024 - 04/04/2024
Blood's a Rover by Harlan Ellison
I picked up Blood’s a Rover because I heard that one of the stories in the book’s collection,, A Boy and His Dog, served as inspiration for the Fallout game series. Since I'm so engrossed with the world of Fallout, particularly Fallout: New Vegas, I thought I'd give this book a try. I hoped to figure out how it informed the world of Fallout and maybe, just maybe, I'd fall in love with this world, too.
Well, if we're talking batting averages, 1 out of 2 is excellent. For books, not so much? Fittingly for a book that stars a dog, Blood’s a Rover is rough.
I definitely can see the inspiration in the bleak, tough, and somewhat weird post-apocalyptic wasteland that our characters find themselves in (the game series’ black comedy more likely comes from the story’s film adaption, however). Like Fallout, the world of Red's a Rover is mostly wasteland, with pockets of what can pass for society if you squint hard enough. Both stories also feature copious amounts of gangs, known as "roverpacks" here. All in all, while there's an outline for an interesting world here, Blood’s a Rover doesn't spend all that much time delving into the setting’s intricacies. To be clear, I like what we have here, particularly the telepathic dogs, but the story never really focuses on its setting all too much.
Instead, it focuses on its characters which are a bit bland at best, and horrifying at worst. It's clear that Vic and Blood are the lifeblood of The Boy and His Dog literary cycle, so your enjoyment of Blood's a Rover will live and die by your opinion on these two.
Unfortunately, mine largely died.
The problem mostly comes in the form of Vic, a 15-year old boy whose primary goal, beyond survival, is to find women to bed. This alone was enough to squick me out. I'm aware that teenagers have libidos; I simply do not want to read about them. But perhaps I'm just overly squeamish and he could give a good reason for me to be compelled to read this.
Or he could do the opposite and make Vic a full-on rapist.
This should be enough justification for me to dislike the book. It is enough justification for me to dislike the book if I were just reading it like a normal person but since I had the bright idea to get into amateur reviewing, I have to go through the exhausting song and dance of giving every author the benefit of doubt and analyzing their decisions no matter how much I want to write them off.
Vic being a monster could be a way to show humans devolving into their basest and worst tendencies when they're not held accountable to society. This doesn't make me enjoy following a rapist protagonist, but it would at least serve a function. Two problems with this though. One, it's hard for me to come away believing Vic is being condemned when his victim, Quilia June pulls the "UwU I actuawwy wike being waped" shit. Two, even if it really is a genuine analysis of how bad humanity can become it's still not compelling, thanks to our other leading man, er, dog.
I want to like Blood, I really do. It's hard to hate a wry, telepathic dog, but he just doesn't bounce off Vic in a very interesting matter, at the end of the day. Blood is described as "helping" Vic procure women to rape. Blood, as the superego to Vic's id has the capacity to balk against Vic's more primal urges. The story could have gained a lot in having the two butt heads more, not always on morality, but just in terms of practical matters. We see spades of this, but Blood calling out Vic largely amounts to him being an arse about Vic's grammar. It could also be interesting for Blood to go the opposite direction and serve as the devil on Vic's shoulder, but this doesn't happen either. Instead, we have a character that's a bit morally passive. I'm sure this could be the point — humanity can be horrifying in its urges while society can be stoic in its pragmatism — but again, seeing what Ellison is going for doesn't mean I have to enjoy it.
Vic and Blood have a bond on paper, but there isn't much chemistry on display for me to believe it. They've gone through a lot together, but this is largely told instead of shown.
For all my complaints, we get pretty damn haunting character work in Run, Spot, Run that makes it clear that Ellison can write compelling turmoil; he just seems to drop the ball in terms of character relations.
Beyond the relationship between Vic and Blood, you see this when a new character is thrown in the mix, Spike. I was excited to see how Spike bounced off the two existing leads. While I certainly like her more than Vic, that's largely only because she's not a rapist (real high bar to clear, I'm aware). Beyond that, she's basically just another Vic. The prospect of these three together seemed interesting at first, but by the end, I was already a bit bored of them.
The cycle of A Boy and His Dog is in a bit of a weird spot for me, in terms of what could “fix” it. I think more stories could improve the world and the characters for me, as it would flesh out things enough for me to actually care. That said, Vic is so odious I'm not sure I'd have the stomach for it.
But it's a moot point. Blood's a Rover was published posthumously, so we probably won't be seeing Vic, Blood, or Spike again. What I'm left with is a series of stories that are fine at best, pretty damn gross at worst.
Read from 04/05/2024 - 05/12/2024
An Assassin in Utopia: The True Story of a Nineteenth-Century Sex Cult and a President's Murder
by Susan Wels (Goodreads Author)
An Assassin in Utopia: The True Story of a Nineteenth-century Sex Cult and a President's Murder is a weird book.
Not because of its subject matter (whose inherent weirdness is more often than not undercut by author Susan Wels' matter-of-fact-narration), but because the subject matter feels like an afterthought.
An Assassin in Utopia is ostensibly about Charles Guiteau, the megalomaniacal assassin of 20th U.S. President James A. Garfield and the utopian religious community he briefly was part of, Oneida. This, in theory, would make for an infinitely interesting book about an overlooked footnote in American history. In reality, An Assassin in Utopia might as well be about anything but these subjects and after finishing the book, it's hard to not feel that I was a victim of false advertising.
Beyond Guiteau and Oneida, An Assassin in Utopia follows various personalities of the mid-to-late nineteenth century in the United States. One prominent portrait Wels paints is that of Horace Greeley, a newspaper editor who founded the New York Tribune. Other members of An Assassin in Utopia's extensive cast include P.T. Barnum, Ulysses S. Grant, Rutherford B. Hayes, and Roscoe Conkling. As they share the stage with so many other actors, it's a small feat that Guiteau and Oneida got the spotlight at all.
One defense I've seen about how much Oneida and Guiteau are downplayed is the idea that Wels was instructed to play up this aspect of the book at the behest of her publishers. While this is certainly possible, even if we ignore the advertising, what we're left with isn't particularly great.
Don't get me wrong, a lot of the stories we're treated to are certainly more interesting than I expected, but we don't dive deep into any of them. There's an extreme breadth of content at the expense of anything that so much as rhymes with depth (well, except for "breadth"). For example, largely as setup to Oneida, Wels touches on other utopian experiments such as Brook Farm. The operative phrase here is "touches on" because we don't learn that much about them save for a few fun facts. Beyond Oneida, I'd love for Wels to have given Brook Farms and Union Colony the space they deserved as larger-than-life experiments. Any of the historical vignettes contained in An Assassin in Utopia could be a book unto themselves. The information we do get amounts to little more than you'd find in a YouTube video or podcast episode. I know because I've been morbidly curious about Guiteau for some time now and there are several obvious aspects to his life that are either glossed over or omitted entirely in this book.
Nothing feels comprehensive or conclusive in Assassin in Utopia — the biggest thread this book has (beyond Greeley, who keels over about halfway through) is that of the various presidencies roughly from Grant to Garfield. Much hay was made about Garfield's cabinet and his acrimonious relation to his vice president but we get nothing of how the rest of the term developed after Chester A. Arthur was sworn in.
Perhaps the one thing that could have salvaged this book was a sense of thematic connection between these seemingly disparate stories beyond people knowing each other. One possible connection is in the title itself. Guiteau and the leader of Oneida, Humphrey Noyes parallel each other in their megalomania. Yet Wels chooses not to highlight this. She seems averse to any sort of embellishment, instead giving us just the facts of the matter and nothing but the facts. It makes for a story that, despite everything you'd expect, is a supreme bore.
If you're looking for vignettes of the mid-to-late nineteenth century, then perhaps you should give An Assassin in Utopia a read, but only with the knowledge that it's nothing more than a jumping off point. If you want any detail worth a damn, you'll have to look elsewhere.
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