Book Review - The Raven Boys, by Maggie Stiefvater

I was really afraid I was getting into a romance with this one. I’m a little romance-weary when it comes to teen lit, and I’m especially done with paranormal romance; I can happily live out the rest of my days without reading another book involving a girl’s forbidden interspecies love with a vampire, werewolf, ghost, zombie, angel, orc, mummy, leprechaun, or any other miscellaneous creature of the night. Stiefvater’s Mercy Falls series fits that bill, which is why I’ve never read any of her work until now. As it turns out, I’ve been doing myself a disservice. Stiefvater is an excellent writer, and this a taut and fantastic book.

The story of Raven Boys follows two distinct households. Blue Sargent has grown up in a loud and eccentric household of psychics in rural Henrietta, Virginia. She can’t see the future, but she seems to amplify the extrasensory powers of those around her. Ever since she was born, she has carried the burden of an ominous prophecy: if she ever kisses her true love, he will die. As a result, she’s carefully cultivated a veneer of solitary weirdness, content in her own eccentricity. Meanwhile, across town, Richard Gansey III continues a longstanding eccentricity of his own: hunting for the final resting place of the mythical Welsh king Glendower. He is a Raven Boy, one of the well-heeled princelings that attend the prestigious Aglionby Academy. He methodically searches for traces of old magic with three fellow students: surly Ronan, studious Adam, and inscrutable Noah. Blue is thrown in with this motley crew through a twist of fate: one of them may be the true love of her prophecy, and despite the warnings of her family, she can’t help but be drawn into their quest. However, they are not the first people to try and wake the magic that lays sleeping in Henrietta, and the stakes become much higher when others around them realize what they are doing.

The book defied pretty much every expectation I had of it. Instead of being a romance, it was an ensemble piece that deftly examines class differences and the profound effects that ripple out from broken family lives. There isn’t any hand-holding when it comes to the paranormal aspect of the book; the reader is dropped right into the quest for ley lines and ancient wish-granting kings, and catches up by way of fascinating little bits of expositional trivia. The characters are charming, realistic, and an absolute joy to read. The story is pretty grim overall, but the heavier moments are balanced by plenty of humorous interludes and by the surprisingly homey feel of Blue’s oddball family.

The ending is a bit problematic, as this is very clearly the first volume of a pending series. However, Stiefvater avoids the common trap of using a cliffhanger to hook the reader. She does paste on a last-minute reveal, but for whatever reason it didn’t really put me off. The climax is a bit vague, but the most urgent plotline is resolved nicely, and the reader is left with few wildly waving loose ends that lead enticingly into the next volume.

This book was exquisitely enjoyable, and a very impressive series opener. The story is odd enough that I have trouble recommending it for a specific group outside of “teens” or “paranormal fans,” but I honestly liked it from cover to cover. It’s definitely worth a try.

Verdict: 5 / 5

Comic Review - Fables: The Deluxe Edition Vol. 1, by Bill Willingham

I've run across various volumes and offshoots of this series for the past few years, and finally decided to buy this deluxe volume on a whim and dive in. As a rule, I'm generally careful of pantheon comics that come to me with universal acclaim; The Walking Dead and Buffy Season 8 have taught me that I will be disappointed if I expect too much. However, while Fables isn't quite perfect, it is really, really good.

The first story arc of this volume begins in The Woodland, a New York City high-rise that serves as a kingdom-in-exile for the inhabitants of every conceivable myth and fairy tale. Driven out of their respective storylands by a mysterious adversary, these "fables" are trying to make their way in the world of the "mundanes" by sticking together in their own little community, ruled by Old King Cole and administered by a considerably more world-wise Snow White. The suspected murder of someone close to Snow threatens to throw a tenously peaceful community into disarray, so she leans on reformed predator Bigby Wolf to solve the case.

The second arc deals with an upstate farm that houses the more anthropomorphic Fabletown denizens, hiding them away from the mundanes. The forced seclusion and loss of their ancestral lands have made the farm fables restless; murmurs of revolution roil at the farm, fomented by two of the three little pigs and encouraged by Goldilocks. Snow takes a trip to the farm in order to ease tensions, but is drawn into a sudden, violent coup that could mean chaos both there and in the city.

I don't know what I was expecting when I flew blind into this series, but fairy-tale characters acting out hardcase mystery and quasi-political intrigue were pleasant surprises. Willingham plays most of this stuff pretty straight, and while the result isn't anything that moves beyond the realm of what one usually sees in comics, it's still novel and downright fun enough to keep me turning pages. The artwork is top-notch, particularly the consistent character work. The visual style seems a little comic-retro, somehow; Snow White looks like a 1950s model, and it definitely adds the right visual feel.

My only complaint is that the plotlines, for all of their excitement, are a bit superficial. This is compounded by melodrama that pops up in odd places; dialogue will occasionally take a stilted turn, and characters will artfully cry for a panel or two and suddenly stop. The comic doesn't lack for grittiness in the appropriate places, but I think it gets a bit too airy (and not in the fairy-tale way) in a few others.

As I said, though, I don't expect any different from a decent comic, and Fables is much better than decent. It's a cleverly written, beautifully drawn diversion. I'm definitely sold on the second volume.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Book Review - Redshirts, by John Scalzi

After being underwhelmed but intrigued after reading Zoe’s Tale earlier this year, I’ve been meaning to start John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War series from the beginning (I’ve even bought the whole series since then). Instead, I picked this book up on an impulse, after hearing so many good things about it. I vacillated for a while, wondering if maybe Redshirts is a little too smug for its own good. Overall, though, the book’s concept is strong and the story is legitimately exciting and often hilarious. Mild spoilers ahoy.

The title of the book refers to the random crew members on Star Trek (especially the original series) that you can tell aren’t going to make it past the second commercial break. You know what I’m talking about. When a routine away mission to perform an ostensibly boring task on a nondescript planet is revealed to be made up of Ensign Bob and three senior officers, at least one of whom should be on the bridge of the ship, it’s clear right away that things aren’t going to end well for Bob. The book uses this established truism to launch a transparent parody of sci-fi television tropes.

The story revolves around a group of fresh-faced Universal Union cadets, newly assigned to the UU flagship, the Intrepid. Once there, however, they quickly realize that something is amiss. The ship’s crew goes out of its way to dodge away-team duty, which has a consistent track record of random accidents and bizarre fatalities. The senior officers often act inexplicably strange, and people take every opportunity to dodge them. Even the laws of science tend to go a little weird on the Intrepid, from time to time. Investigating these odd occurrences leads to a crazy theory on what the Intrepid really is, and the newest redshirts embark on an equally crazy mission to possibly save themselves from an early, meaningless death.

Redshirts appeals to the same group of people who enjoyed the brilliant satirical movie Galaxy Quest: those who love science fiction television enough to poke fun at its glaring flaws. Scalzi uses metahumor for this purpose, to great effect. The first half of the book is packed with in-jokes, and the second half plows right through the fourth wall and makes a determined assault on the fifth. This element of the writing is consistently funny, but it also gave me pause in the first few chapters. Scalzi’s trademark wit in both narrative and dialogue is present here, and combined with the emphasis on metahumor, there were quite a few moments where I felt a little stir of annoyance even as I smiled. Golly gee, I would think to myself, isn’t this book just so goddamned clever. Look how clever you are.

The thing is, though, it really is clever. The concept never strays into being the one-trick pony it could easily be; Scalzi gets a lot of value out of the “we’re expendable” meme, but he deftly sets it up as an integral part of the plot, so it never feels tired. Instead of repeatedly going for the same joke, he layers a bunch of other metafictional elements on top of it. The result is a mishmash of gleefully absurd and unexpectedly somber moments that create a fast-paced, engaging story; in other words, a classic pulp science-fiction plot. I couldn’t put this book down, and since it’s pretty slim to begin with, I tore through it much quicker than most of the books I read.

It does have its problems, though. You may notice that I did not mention any specific characters in my synopsis above. That is because the main characters are largely indistinguishable from one another. The narrative of Redshirts is enormously reliant on dialogue, and Scalzi eschews any sort of physical description of the protagonists, except for mentioning that one of them is a woman. The hero, Andrew Dahl, has black hair in my mind’s eye, but I can’t remember if he’s written that way or if I just did it on my own to make him stand out. Anyway, this can be an effective writing tactic if the characters' voices are distinct, but all of the heroic redshirts (and a good number of the supporting characters) repeatedly fall back on the same sardonic wit for which the author himself is known. They all quickly started to bleed together, and that honestly made me care a bit less about them. One could argue that it’s another satirical reference, but it doesn’t feel that way.

The codas at the end of the book are the big payoff, and they are solidly written and emotionally powerful. They are also radically different in tone and format than the rest of the book, and while I wasn’t overly bothered by the shift in gear, I kind of wish all of that interesting, affecting stuff was somehow integrated into the main story.

All of those issues circle back to the general tongue-in-cheek tone, though, which taken as a whole is what makes the book work so well. There’s a genuinely gripping story and hints of existentialism hiding underneath the snark, too, which ensures that the book transcends mere parody. I can definitely see where it might lose some readers; hard science-fiction fans will probably be annoyed by the blurry, completely nonsensical plot mechanics that drive the last part of the story. I took my cue from the general tone of the book, though, and didn’t get bogged down in the details. This is quick read that has a lot of pathos lurking alongside its deft satire of genre tropes, and is required reading for anybody that has ever attended a sci-fi convention or can rattle off actual episode names of their favorite series. Also, it comes with a companion song from Jonathan Coulton, which only adds to its credibility.



Verdict: 4 / 5

Book Review - The Violinist's Thumb, by Sam Kean

Science!

Kean’s newest nonfiction book traces the history of DNA, from humankind’s earliest attempts to understand how life develops through to the implications of working with the recently unzipped human genome. There’s plenty of hard science that introduces the structure and inner workings of chromosomes, but the book is definitely written for the layperson.

Much like Mary Roach’s works, The Violinist’s Thumb is divided into thematic chapters that are composed of related vignettes that range from fascinating and tragic to offbeat and absurd. These vignettes tend to connect to and reference each other, due to the generally linear progression of scientific breakthroughs related to DNA. While the book doesn’t qualify as narrative nonfiction, I got a clear sense of a solid beginning, plenty of harrowing adventures in the middle, and an ambiguously open ending.

The stories in each section range far and wide in their subject matter, from mystery illnesses and scientific scandals to frog sex and microscopic sculptures. In short, it delivered everything I want from science nonfiction: plenty of offbeat curiosities and humorous asides to give context to complex, genuinely interesting scientific information. Kean writes simply and offers plenty of casual (and occasional acerbic) editorials, which occasionally come off as one-liners but still keep the more data-driven sections from seeming too much like a textbook.

There is enough simplification and use of weasel words to annoy readers who are already well-versed in the subject matter, but it’s absolutely perfect for someone like me: eternally interested in science, but not all that adept with the lingo or basic theory. After finishing this book, I’ve been casually perusing articles and videos on molecular biology, which says almost everything I need to about it. Thankfully, Kean includes a meaty reference list with plenty of suggestions for what to read next on the subject. As mentioned above, a few of the chapters may be a little hard to follow for people without a science background, but this is a must-read for anybody who has even a passing interest in what DNA is, how it works, and how our understanding of it has evolved and affected almost everything we do. There is more than enough compelling human drama in these pages to offset the strings of As, Cs, Gs, and Ts.

Verdict: 5 / 5

Book Review - Prodigy, by Marie Lu

This is a great sophomore effort. I was vaguely underwhelmed by Legend (the first book in the series), most likely because I had heard so much about it. Prodigy, on the other hand, strays out of familiar territory and into some interesting places. There are still a few predictable areas in the plot, but it’s wonderfully written overall and a whole lot of fun to read.

Having escaped Los Angeles, June and Day are not much better off than before. Day remains exhausted and gravely wounded, and medical attention seems unlikely while still trapped in and hunted by the Republic. Desperate for help, June turns to the Patriots, the violent revolutionary group that assisted with Day’s escape. In return, the Patriots demand their help for a grand plan to bring down the Republic once and for all. As the two of them close in on the Elector to seal the deal, however, they discover how muddy the political waters in the Republic really are.

The split narrative format works a lot better in this book. Part of it may be that June and Day spend a lot more time apart, which keeps the shifts between their respective viewpoints interesting. However, it feels like Lu has had more time to explore these characters, and their voices seem much more distinct now even without the nifty ink colors (Day’s chapters are blue this time). The story takes some interesting turns, and we get to see some equally interesting locales along the way; as with the previous book, the world-building is one of Prodigy’s strongest points, in my opinion. The writing is top-notch, and a lot subtler this time around. The characters are more introspective, and there are a few genuine surprises. Despite the grandiose ambitions of the plot, I never lost my suspension of disbelief. Most importantly, when the prerequisite love triangle eventually emerged, I not only bought it, but found it realistic and harrowing.

The only time I stumbled while reading was...

...minor spoiler ahead...

...when June and Day make it to the Colonies. After the chilling depiction of the Republic in the first book, I’ve been waiting to see how the Colonies are described in comparison. Lu does not skimp on details, but June and Day are in and out so fast that we don’t get much of a look, at least in this book. Moreover, the danger of the Colonies seems to be a little bit forced compared to the Republic. The systematic brainwashing of the Republic’s citizens is scary and affecting because it is believable. By comparison, the motivations of the Colonists don’t ring quite as true; things seem exaggerated in order to paint the picture of corporate statism in broad strokes. That being said, there’s plenty of room for a third book, despite a story that actually resolves itself quite nicely, so maybe we’ll eventually get a deeper look.

I still guessed a lot of the key story developments before they happened, but at no point does the book feel dumbed down or poorly planned out. In fact, this book is a pitch-perfect example of its genre. It’s a believable dystopia with plenty of action and romance. It asks readers to accept that its fifteen-year-old characters can do a lot of wildly unrealistic things, but what YA dystopia doesn’t? This is a solid standalone book, and brings the series a notch above its peers in the genre.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Comic Review - The Walking Dead, Vol. 7: The Calm Before, by Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard

What a relief.

Seriously, after the parade of dumb that was This Sorrowful Life, I was fairly close to giving up on the series entirely. Considering how many more volumes there are, I wasn't willing to waste my time and money if the comic continued down that trajectory. Thankfully, this one returns to the quality of the earlier volumes, story-wise, and actually does a few things better.

After engineering a stalemate with the nearby Woodbury survivors, Rick and company dig further into their prison sanctuary and try to create something resembling a normal life. The due date for Lori's baby rapidly approaches, which gets some others in the prison thinking about starting a family while they still can. Supplies are found and preserved, the fences are patched and guarded, and things begin to settle down, just a little. However, the stillness allows our heroes time to finally experience the anger, jealousy, and despair that they've had to bottle up until now in order to survive. If that wasn't bad enough, they may come to learn that their stalemate with Woodbury isn't as ironclad as they had hoped.

Adlard's art remains consistent and visceral. I don't know if I've mentioned this in previous reviews of the series, but I really like that the main art is rendered in stark blacks and whites. I've lately been delving into a lot of comics with panels vividly colored by computer, and the return to to Adlard's style is striking by comparison. It prevents the gore from going over the top, and reinforces the drama by keeping distractions from the characters themselves to a minimum. Also, it's a nice callback to Night of the Living Dead, which I recently rewatched.

To my surprise and gratitude, Kirkman has backed down a bit on a few of the most grating character and story arcs. Lori is no longer a screeching, shrewish caricature of a hormonal pregnant woman, and for the first time starts to look and sound like an actual character. Andrea reverses course from the Submissive Female Sidekick #4 role, and acts like a strong protagonist again. There's a bit of a break from Rick's melodramatic he-man bullcrap, which was long overdue (and nicely capped off with a metaphorical scene where he finally gets to shave). Some long foreshadowed developments finally occur, along with one surprise that promises an interesting psychological change in one of the major characters. And, yes, just when you start to forget that this is a zombie story... GRAAHR ZOMBIE ATTACK.

One particular element of the story (Alice's ambition and methodology for further studying the zombies) is something any fan of the genre will recognize, and easily predict what it portends. However, it felt more like a homage than a trope.

The Calm Before is an appropriate name for this volume, because it is rather slow and light on action compared to the previous books. It's by no means boring, though. Indeed, of the volumes I've read so far, this one comes the closest to doing what Kirkman set out to do: tell a zombie apocalypse story that's less about the apocalypse itself, and more about the people who are left.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Comic Review - Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8, Vol. 2: No Future for You, by Joss Whedon, Brian K. Vaughan, and Georges Jeanty

The second volume of Season 8 breaks away from the emerging threat of Twilight to focus on another returning character: Faith. Brian K. Vaughan takes up the writing duties for a four-issue arc. Apparently still on her quest for redemption and self-acceptance, Faith is contacted by a similarly disenfranchised Giles and offered a deal. If she can get close to and take out a rogue Slayer that runs in British high society, he will provide her the resources to travel anywhere she wants to go in order to get away from vampires and hellmouths.

Whedon returns to write the last story in the volume, a one-shot that is almost entirely composed of foundation for future issues, with a fight scene thrown in for flavor. Buffy and Willow confront a demon to get more information on Twilight, and address some of the growing discord between the two of them. Meanwhile, the reader learns a little bit more about Dawn’s giantess predicament.

The screen-to-comic format works a lot better in this volume, and Vaughan’s writing is a match for Whedon’s. Jeanty’s illustrations still tread a nice line between photorealism and an original take on the characers. Still, this volume feels very setup-heavy. We get a little villainous monologue at the end that moves things forward, but beyond that, this volume is still in the territory of establishing characters and foreshadowing conflicts, and so I never got too worked up while reading it. Faith’s undercover mission, interplay with Gigi, and resulting alliance with Giles are all interesting, but happen very quickly. Whedon’s story at the end is diverting, but not particularly substantial.

That being said, I can see the strands being drawn together. I think that once I read the next few volumes and the main story arc finally gets going, I’ll appreciate this volume and the previous volume a little more. I’m still not particularly impressed with Season 8 as standalone stories up to this point, but I'm getting a sense of the bigger picture.

Verdict: 3 / 5