re:considering

My son loves Star Wars.

I have to admit I loved Star Wars back in the days when there was just one film, then two and three, but I’ve always been more of a Trekkie (even if I enjoy Babylon 5 and a handful others as well, including the stuffy Space 1999). It follows that I never felt any enthusiasm over the ‘prequel’ films – even the names have evaded me – so I’m virtually clueless when it comes to how Darth Vader came to be. What I know of it mostly comes from playing Lego Star Wars with my son.

This past spring I caved in and let my son watch the very first Star Wars film. I thought him too young but he and his friend loved playing Lego Star Wars and he begged and begged and begged to see at least the first film. I gave in.
Maybe not a surprise, given my love for science fiction, even if I truthfully think of Star Wars as more in the high fantasy genre.

As he can’t read yet it means I have to read all the lines for him, reading off the subtitles (but sometimes I improvise, because the subtitles are too far from the original intent and tone).

Anyway, he was a bit scared, that first time, because he felt it too real. A couple of months later he encountered the animated Clone Wars series, watching with his older second cousin. He explained to me it wasn’t as scary as the figures clearly wasn’t real. Then last week he started to nag me about watching the two other films, and a couple of days ago we started with Empire Strikes Back. Yesterday evening we watched the last part of Return of the Jedi.

Afterwards it was one thing that stayed with him – why Luke had to fight his father. In his world no son should have to do this, and I agree with him. BUT. I never thought of it that way. To me Darth Vader was truly evil, some one to be scared of.

The difference is my son knows a) Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker, so no surprise effect in the films, and b) he likes Anakin, he’s a good guy, and the Evil Emperor (as my son labels him) has perverted him, by force.
It follows that my son never ever thinks Darth Vader scary, taking away a lot of the tension from the films. But it also means that to him the very last scene – when the the ghost of Anakin joins the ghosts of Yoda and Obi-Wan – is crucial, because it means Anakin gets redress, is exonerated, which is a relief to anyone used to thinking of him as ‘good’.
While to me that last scene is just a general feel-good moment and not terribly important.

What a difference a couple of decades and more knowledge of the back story can do.

Amazing. And perhaps a lesson in itself.

This is the third and concluding Stratification book, telling the story about Aryl Sarc but also about how the Clan ended up in space, in the position and situation they occupy in the Trade Pact trilogy.

In books one and two we got to know Aryl and the people that surrounds her. In this book the imperative imposed on the author is they MUST get off Cersi, NOW. Accordingly that is what happens, and not at all in a way that is satisfactory to the reader.

No, I don’t say an author has to write feel-good stories. I’m saying sometimes the story, and the length of the story – the actual number of pages, forces the author to invent implausible plot devices. When the newly named M’hiray Clan arrives at Stonerim III, that is what happens. The removal of some of their memories, the shearing off of the connection with the O’mray, the cursory way the story is told. Not what I have come to expect from Czerneda.

While part one – Reap the wild Wind – felt like it was good on it’s own and with part two – Riders of the Storm – was well worth reading part three felt crippled, forced, by comparison. Maybe this is because I hadn’t read the Trade Pact trilogy first. I guess a lot of the more inexplicable things that happens has justification in those books, or maybe in the sequel Czerneda is planning. As I like her other books, this far, I’m willing to forgive her, to go on reading the rest of the Clan Chronicles. I would, however, not recommend this book on it’s own.
As a part of a greater story arc it is acceptable, though.

Some books are almost impossible to review. Riders of the Storm is one of those. While reading it (it’s book 2 of 3 in the Stratification Trilogy) I was immersed in the story but when my head popped out of the book, after the last word left my retina… I just don’t know what to think.

In the first book (Reap the Wild Wind) I felt grateful that she – Czerneda, author of these books – didn’t let her characters drown in needless romantic involvements. True, there were hints of possibilities, but nothing overt. This is also, partly, how this, the second book, starts.

Book one focuses on how change and evolution is inevitable, that not even the strictest rule/r can stop it from happen, and that knowledge – if not understanding – can be a facilitator for such change.

In this second instalment focus has shifted to look at consequences, what happens when you do things without understanding the larger context, but it’s also about taking responsibility and about society; what do a society need to sustain itself?
This is the main storyline, carried by the young woman Aryl Sarc.

The second storyline, or point of view, is that of Enris Mendolar. His use is to provide character depth and back story to some of the supporting cast, and to convey a wider, more complex, picture of the world than one person – Aryl – possibly can provide. This works well. Until the last handful of pages. I can forgive that, it’s a good read. But I think it was a bit too much, even given what happens is founded in the previous 800+ pages of the story. It’s also more romance than this books needs.

All in all a good read; I look forward to reading part three, whenever it arrives in my mailbox.
But be prepared for some truly deus ex machina moments, however consistent with the described world they may be. (Hint – on Star Trek they originally invented the ‘transporter’ so the cast could go places without spending TV time/production cost on being ferried around…)

The Oud, the Tikitik and the Om’ray all live on the planet Cersi, three sentient species that share little beyond a common language and an Agreement stipulating the rules of co-existence.

The Yena Om’ray lead a marginalised and secluded life, deep in the Lay Swamp, when one Harvest is disturbed by a foreign thing exploding in the air, taking both Harvest and harvesters with it. When they fail to meet the expectations of the Tikitik, coming to take their share of the harvest that’s not there the world as Aryl Sarc knows it changes. Forever.

The journey thus begins…

Populated with strong characters this well paced story is the starting point of a tale longer and larger than this single volume. Without having read parts two and three of the Stratification trilogy I none the less recommend Reap the wild wind to anyone who has a thing for this kind of yarn.

Until the release of Monstrous Regiment I have bought and read every one of the ‘adult’, regular, Discworld books. That one marked a clear break in what I otherwise had thought of as consistently funny and thoughtful books.

To tell the truth I didn’t much enjoy Thief of Time either, but that was made up for by Night Watch being very good. Never much liked Going Postal or Thud! or Making Money though so at the arrival of this new one I decided I could just as well listen to it instead of have it take up shelf space.

The decision turned out to be the right one because, I’m sorry to say, Unseen Academicals has the feel of an unfinished work – a working draft, published too early. A few giggles do not make up a book and the football parts are not insightful in the way we are used to from Pratchett’s works.

Like the other Discworld audiobooks it is narrated by Tony Robinson, for me primarily known as Baldrick in all those Blackadder series’ and as the presenter of Time Team. Generally I think he does a good job but as differing voices for the cast goes he’s not transparent and the reader has to engage in some guesswork to understand who’s saying what and to whom, at times.

Go read some of his earlier books instead, like Night Watch or Moving Pictures or Small Gods or Reaper Man.

The princess vanishes after her betrothed arrives for their marriage and everyone thinks she has been abducted when in reality she is fleeing for her life. Her only hope is Mykkael, the foreigner captain in command of the Lowergate garrison, but to some he is also the prime suspect – mainly based on his foreignness. The commander of the royal guard, and as such Mykkael’s commanding officer, feels he should trust the captain but is too bound by tradition and law to do so.
Mykkael on his part carries a heavy burden of guilt, a guilt which drives him to act in a way to draw suspicion, acting on his oath of loyalty to Sessalie’s king and not heeding command were he thinks it contrary to this oath.

To Ride Hell’s Chasm is a pageturner, even if the prose sometimes gets a bit dense, seamlessly intertwining discussions of racism, fear of the unknown, honour and ethics with good worldbuilding and strong characterisation.

I think it sad that such a good work is soiled by second rate craftsmanship when it comes to the book’s binding and production – usually I love looking at the maps that accompanies a book in the high fantasy genre but this time someone has sent low resolution placeholders to final print. The result is blurred, pixelated, artwork. A disgrace.

Anyone holding the book thinking of buy/not buy should look further than that – the tale is a good one, well worth the time it takes reading it. And strictly speaking – the maps are not needed to follow the story. Because Janny Wurts is real good at painting that picture in words, too.

This is my third read of A Song for Arbonne, and this third time, despite knowing what will happen, it hits me just as hard as it did the first time – maybe even more. Despite this I didn’t have it in queue for a reread – there are so many other books to read, out there – hadn’t it been for it being chosen as the next group read at the Green Dragon, the Librarything pub.

As usual with Kay a number intertwined themes are present throughout the book – most prominently themes of loyalty and trust, and of the destructive powers of a monocultural society. The backdrop is a early medieval type of world, with feudal nations or nation states, each small enough to be travelled on horse in a couple of days, and in a precarious balance of powers. We follow Blaise, who first seems to be a mercenary just like any other – the younger son of some noble family, not in line of inheritance and thus not particularly needed – as he after long travels ends up in legendary Arbonne. Coming from the patriarchal Gorhaut he is prejudiced against “women-ruled” Arbonne but as he comes to know both the men and women ruling the river valley he slowly beings to understand and appreciate, if not love, a culture that could not had thrived elsewhere. Had it not been for his background, slowly revealed throughout the tale, this could had been enough. But he soon finds himself embroiled in the kind of politics that define both nations, cultures, and their vessels – the people ruling.

Kay paints an elaborate and believable world were people’s powers and strengths have their limits, in a feudal society were the produce of the land is what ultimately sustains the economy, were even the powerful has draughty windows and cold stone floor, and were death is as omnipresent as life.

Personally I don’t much like the ending. It is a sad one, in more ways than one, even if the characters themselves seems to accept it as a good one. Still, a very good read, and a rewarding one.

A crime novel set in an alternate world where some parts of history happened different from ours while others didn’t The Eyre Affair manages to utilise both archetypes and tropes in a highly entertaining way.

We follow the adventures of Special Agent Thursday Next, part of the section for crimes against literature, as she tries to track down diabolic arch-villain Acheron Hades. As we go we are presented to a world were England is on war with it’s Welsh neighbour, not to mention the 100+ year armed conflict with Imperial Russia over the Crimea, and where classic English literature is an integral part of what shapes the English national identity.

The result is an absurd but well written and very witty mystery cum comedy. I didn’t laugh out loud but I smiled almost continuously for all of the nearly 400 pages.

It helps if you’re well read on the English Classics, including Shakespeare, but it’s not a prerequisite. I recommend reading it!

Having read and reread G G Kay’s The Lions of Al-Rassan some five times in the course of three years it was almost a revelation to read Fletcher’s Moorish Spain. Did I ever think Lions was a work of fiction?!?!?! O my was I deluded!
I had read about the early medieval history of the Iberian peninsula before ever even knowing of the existence of Lions. I had even pilgrimaged to certain sites in southern Spain, like Granada, Cordoba. I had travelled the Andalusian countryside, I had watched Morocco from Gebr al-Tariq – sorry, Gibraltar – thinking how short the distance had been for the Berb conquerors and their Arab masters, back in the early eight century. I thought knowing the smells and the texture and some of the history of the country and its peoples biased my reading.

Ha!

Only a couple of pages into Moorish Spain I felt the urge to check if Kay mentioned any of his sources for Lions on his website. He did. Top position on the list was this one book – Moorish Spain, by Richard Fletcher. As I continued to read I started to note down obvious references between the two. Remember – one is a work of fiction, the other is a comprehensive history. Not a textbook, sure, but a non-fictional text summarizing a historic period.

These are the connections I found -

The only real person mentioned on Kay’s website is El Cid (Rodrigo Diaz), which is said to be the inspiration for Rodrigo Belmonte.
Others, as I discovered them, are -

I’m quite convinced Ammar ibn Khairan is modelled on a composite of the bisexual muslim poet and petty king Al-Mu’tamid ibn Abbad of Seville and the king’s lover, the poet and statesman Ibn Ammar. Like Ibn Khairan Al-Mu’tamid ended his life in exile (or as a prisoner, depending on source. Either way it was in Morocco).

I also think Tarif ibn Hassan is modelled in part on ‘Umar ibn Hafsun, the brigand leader originally from Rhonda but acting out of the mountains at Bobastro (ibn Hassan, as we remember, was headquartered in Arbastro).

Ibn Ammar and El Cid was both exiled to Zaragoza in the early 1080’s – El Cid for being over-zealous when exacting parias from Toledo, much the same way as Rodrigo Belmonte was. They might have met.
(From this point on the true story of Diaz don’t match the one of the fictional Belmonte).

If Cartada is Seville (even down to the beetles producing the crimson dye) then Ragosa ought to be Granada, with it’s protected location in the mountains, with it’s jewish first minister Samuel ibn Naghrila and with it’s amir Badis. Samuel’s son Josef seems to have come to an end just like Mazur ben Avren. (The splendid Alhambra was a later addition to Granada, but a writer of fiction are allowed some lee).

The Muwardis seems to be related to the Almoravids, zealous Berbers from the Maghrib. The al-Andalusian petty-kings invited them for protection against the Christians. Al-Mu’tamid of Seville seems to have been instrumental in this. He reputedly said that he “would rather be a camel-herder in Morocco than a swineherd in Castile”. This sentiment is echoed almost word by word by Ibn Khairan when turning down an offer from Belmote.
The first I had guessed already but the details looks almost as copyright infringement, if such laws applied to real life.

At last, in the epilogue, Ibn Kharian makes an elegy to Al-Rassan. This elegy echoes the elegy the poet ar-Rundi composed for Seville – “Ask Valencia what became of Murcia…” – quoted in the Fletcher’s book.

Do this lessen the value of Lions? If you ask me the answer is no. Kay uses this setting as background, to tell another story – one of how individuals might want to try to affect what’s happening but that not even the mightiest are truly independent from the whims of others or the realities of economical and social and political factors.

I’m a wee bit disappointed because I thought Kay had created more of this story than he really did. But I can live with that.

Links to my reviews of The Lions of Al-Rassan and Moorish Spain

First, a bow to Sir Terry Pratchett who rightfully owns not only those timely trousers but also the concept of L-space.

I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy. Like Julie Czerneda says on the blog of John Scalzi – “[...] there are times when it isn’t enough to think outside a box, you need to blow it away“. THAT is the potential of science fiction.

Fantasy, now, is another matter. There it’s not so much blowing the box away as the possibility to dissect and analyse society and the concepts and preconceptions at it’s foundation. This is equally true of science fiction, but where sf gazes into the future fantasy often uses variations of the past as backdrop.

Anyway, whichever of the two it’s a given that you as a reader have to be willing to suspend your disbelief, to some extent. This is equally true of lightweight entertainment and more heavyweight books.

So. Why do I have severe troubles with the idea of parallel universes? I can accept magic, given that it’s a consistent and well-functioning system (aw, I’ll accept the bad one’s as well, just look at the magic in The Lord of the Rings!). I can accept Faster Than Light travel, like Star Trek warp drives or whatever is at the core of Bok’s Equation (of Cherryh’s A/U universe). Then why not parallel worlds?

I’ve read at least one really good book based on the concept (Anathem, by Neal Stephenson), but most books (like Brasyl, by Ian Mcdonald) just fall short as soon as I discover the author has used the idea.

The general concept of many worlds is perhaps not widely accepted in scientific circles, just like quantum mechanics is disputed, but accepted enough for ordinary people to think of it as ’science’. To me, though, it’s not science. It’s philosophy disguised as science. Like this – science to me is a method, not a certain amount of knowledge.
Some scientists are nevertheless on a quest to find the Theory of Everything, however unscientific this is. When on this quest they have to explain everything. This has given birth to a philosophy stating that a given atom can potentially be anywhere, in both time and space. Certainly this is true on a hypothetical scale. Potentially, then, every state of things that possibly can be – can be, and is, somewhere. As in parallel worlds. Very interesting.
Or is it?
To me that is just one big cave full of shadows. Maybe looking at the shadows aren’t the key; it’s time to turn around and look at what’s MAKING those shadows in the first place.

I’m sorry. Alternate realities, alternate histories, alternate futures. Unexplained stellar drives, paranormal powers. For the sake of the experiment I buy them all provided the storytelling and the characterisation is good. Parallel universes, were characters slip through realities – not so believable.

Those other things – we know they aren’t science, we know them as plot devices. Parallel universes masks as science. Maybe that’s what makes me sick of it.