Mannahnin
Scion of Murgen (He/Him)
Jumping around in time & space is also something that happens in at least a couple of V:tM's most immediate fictional influences- The Vampire Lestat and Time Enough for Love.
Lucy sounds really cool.
What are you reading in 2025?
- Thread starter Elodan
- Start date
Lucy sounds really cool.
Nonlinearity has been cool for a while, now.
Mannahnin
Scion of Murgen (He/Him)
After my book club did Bowling Alone we read Society of the Spectacle, by Guy DeBord. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, and it was both more Marxist than I anticipated and more philosophical. But some of the insights into our society, though nearly sixty years old at this point, were really incisive. I think some of the former Libertarians in the group found it more mind-blowing than I did, but definitely a good read.
Next up is Kierkegaard's The Present Age: On the Death of Rebellion, jumping back even further in time to 1846.
Next up is Kierkegaard's The Present Age: On the Death of Rebellion, jumping back even further in time to 1846.
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
I don't want to spoil it, but the giant leaps in the setting -- without the travel portions that Anne Rice uses -- are one of the things that reminded me of TYOV. "Oh, you're in England now? OK, now we're in Turkey, years later."
In contrast, in Interview with the Vampire especially, we see Rice's vampires during their commutes. (Interview's travel portions give us the never-explained feral vampires that seem almost like another species of them.)
Alzrius
The EN World kitten
On a whim, I just read Edgar Allan Poe's 1845 short story, The Imp of the Perverse.
I'd been familiar with this turn of phrase—denoting the urge that we've all felt at one time or another to do something detrimental to us, for seemingly no good reason except that we know it will harm us—for some time, but had never actually sat down and read the short story where it had originated. Having a few free minutes, I set about doing so; would that I had at the expense of some other activity that absolutely needed to be done, so that I could have availed myself of the irony of reading about this quirk while simultaneously indulging in it!
Alas, I was responsible in partaking of this leisure activity, and so can claim no such drollery.
As it is, I was a bit surprised by how much Poe references (what we now know to be a quack science) of phrenology. In this case, I strongly suspect that this is because this is the most reputable (and quite possibly only) behavioral science of the day. Certainly, given that the initial part of the story (which is an essay, presented by the narrator as his attempt to define what the imp of the perverse is before getting to how it has led to his imminent demise) tries to make sense of what's otherwise a senseless impulse, framing it in the context of how the best understanding of his day is silent on the topic seems to put phrenology forward only as the authority in question rather than relying on its specifics.
Of course, as with so much of Poe, there's a theory (mentioned on the Wikipedia page) that he was writing largely about his own issues, in that he often seemed to fall prey to such an imp. Which, I should note, is strictly presented in metaphor; there's no presentation here whatsoever of any sort of mysterious or supernatural force at work; those expecting the narrator to speak about being tormented by some sort of ominous figure will be disappointed, as nothing here says "nevermore."
That said, this is definitely worth a read, being quite short and yet very evocative, as is so often the case with Poe.
I'd been familiar with this turn of phrase—denoting the urge that we've all felt at one time or another to do something detrimental to us, for seemingly no good reason except that we know it will harm us—for some time, but had never actually sat down and read the short story where it had originated. Having a few free minutes, I set about doing so; would that I had at the expense of some other activity that absolutely needed to be done, so that I could have availed myself of the irony of reading about this quirk while simultaneously indulging in it!
Alas, I was responsible in partaking of this leisure activity, and so can claim no such drollery.
As it is, I was a bit surprised by how much Poe references (what we now know to be a quack science) of phrenology. In this case, I strongly suspect that this is because this is the most reputable (and quite possibly only) behavioral science of the day. Certainly, given that the initial part of the story (which is an essay, presented by the narrator as his attempt to define what the imp of the perverse is before getting to how it has led to his imminent demise) tries to make sense of what's otherwise a senseless impulse, framing it in the context of how the best understanding of his day is silent on the topic seems to put phrenology forward only as the authority in question rather than relying on its specifics.
Of course, as with so much of Poe, there's a theory (mentioned on the Wikipedia page) that he was writing largely about his own issues, in that he often seemed to fall prey to such an imp. Which, I should note, is strictly presented in metaphor; there's no presentation here whatsoever of any sort of mysterious or supernatural force at work; those expecting the narrator to speak about being tormented by some sort of ominous figure will be disappointed, as nothing here says "nevermore."
That said, this is definitely worth a read, being quite short and yet very evocative, as is so often the case with Poe.
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Mannahnin
Scion of Murgen (He/Him)
There were others, with the term psychology being popularized in the previous century. Cranioscopy/phrenology was relatively recent and made a claim to be scientific by rooting psychology in physical causes. The term psychiatry was coined in 1808, the year before Poe was born, and the first American textbook on it was published by Benjamin Rush in 1812.
gnarlygninja
Hero
Probably worth noting that was not unique to Phrenology during that era. Benjamin Rush thought mental illnesses were caused by problems with blood circulation.
Picked up Nikita Gill's new "Hekate" and am glad I did. My myth intake in recent years has probably just been Gaiman's "Norse Mythology" and I liked this a lot more. It was also about a bunch of the greek myths I wasn't as up on. I kept forgetting it was in free verse and not prose - and I wonder if it is more obvious in the hard copy than the really blown up version on my phone so that I didn't need my glasses. There were a few parts early where knowing it was a modern writers version worked particularly well with some world events. There were some parts later where it was a bit too much of a modern feel.
Got the second Pinkerton mystery "Two Against Scotland Yard" by Zenith Brown Jones (writing as David Frome) from 1931. It zipped right along and the first 3/4 or so was very solid. I'm not sure if I was just tired at the end, but it seemed to lag a bit with my getting some characters jumbled and it having a bit too much tell not show denouement. (I want to say earlier in the book it did well with reminders of who was who by sometimes referring to them by occupation or whatnot instead of just the name, and it stopped doing that). Picked up the third one though.
Got the second Pinkerton mystery "Two Against Scotland Yard" by Zenith Brown Jones (writing as David Frome) from 1931. It zipped right along and the first 3/4 or so was very solid. I'm not sure if I was just tired at the end, but it seemed to lag a bit with my getting some characters jumbled and it having a bit too much tell not show denouement. (I want to say earlier in the book it did well with reminders of who was who by sometimes referring to them by occupation or whatnot instead of just the name, and it stopped doing that). Picked up the third one though.
My free time reading consists of John Scalzi’s Head On and Stanley Tucci’s What I Ate In One Year.
I like mixing food and near-future sci-fi.
I like mixing food and near-future sci-fi.
Alzrius
The EN World kitten
I just finished reading Django Wexler's 2024 novel Spelljammer: Memory's Wake, and my immediate impression is that it's...okay, but decidedly imperfect.
To be clear, nothing here is bad per se. The story's plot holds together well enough, the characterizations—while never deep—do an decent job of defining the dramatis personae, and while the prose isn't anything special it never devolves into a workmanlike slog. Everything about this story can be defined as "adequate," and I suppose it's just my nature that I see the things that kept this from being better than it is more than the things which kept it from being worse.
To start with the obvious, this isn't really a Spelljammer novel. Which is to say, nothing about spelljammer is integral to this story. Yes, it utilizes various elements of that campaign setting—you have giff and neogi and scavvers, ships powered by magical helms, and everyone sails between asteroids and various other space-bases—but nothing that makes the story unique to this particular setting; with the possible exception of a few, and altogether minor, space-based maneuvers (e.g. manipulating the gravity plane of two ships as they come into contact), concerns (e.g. running out of breathable air), and affectations (e.g. asteroid settlements that are tidally-locked) and you could just as easily set this on a series of islands on a terrestrial sea somewhere.
Now, I make that critique with some hesitation; the more details you dispense with, the more that any overview will seem to resemble other stories of the same genre. Yet I can't help but compare this book with the Cloakmaster Cycle sextet, which were also Spelljammer novels and which made the particulars of that setting central to their overall plot (or at least, more so than anything here). Having an "ultimate helm" that can potentially grant control over the strongest ship for which the entire setting is named, for instance, makes the story one which leans more toward what makes Spelljammer what it is (all the more so since it passes through a couple of other campaign worlds, showcasing Spelljammer's serving as setting that connects other settings, as well as highlighting its own "home base" by way of the Rock of Bral, which only gets two or three name-drops here).
Memory's Wake, to reiterate a point, had none of that. It certainly puts forward plenty of minor aspects of the setting, as I noted before, but the result is something that's a mile-wide and an inch deep. If you told me that this novel had been written for another setting altogether, and had been rewritten to make it a Spelljammer story, I wouldn't find that hard to believe.
The other thing which stuck out at me is that while Wexler can write decent characters, in that we have a general sense of who they are (which is, ironically, rather fitting for how most D&D characters are typically presented, notwithstanding that one person who always seems to show up with twenty pages of backstory), he doesn't seem to write relationships between the characters very well at all.
For an example of this, take our introduction to supporting characters Nia (a tiefling warlock) and Kori (a half-elven cleric). When they make their debut, they know that Axia (the main character) is an amnesiac who is likely to be wary of them, they know that they need to get her on their side in order to secure a huge treasure, and they know that there are other people who are also looking for Axia and have hostile intent. You'd think that would necessitate that they be focused on trying to secure her cooperation via the promise of gold and adventure and the warning that she's in danger, likely fairly immediate danger. And Nia and Kori do do this...but also flirt with each other at the same time. ("What have I told you about your fatalistic nihilism, Nia?" "That it makes me intellectually unattractive? That's fine; I've already accepted that you just want me for my body.")
To me, that came across as Wexler wanting us to immediately know that these two are a couple. The problem is that, at least to me, that breaks what should be a fairly tense scene, with Axia trying to figure out if she can trust these two or not. That such tension is dispelled with their badinage comes across as rhetorical anticlimax, which seems like it's everywhere in media nowadays and which I've subsequently come to despise.
It's not like Wexler needed us to know that Kori and Nia are a couple in their very first scene, as he plays up their flirting virtually every time we see them, meaning that he could have withheld it from their introduction in favor of letting the scene's tension build. Particularly since the next scene is of them realizing that the people aiming for Axia's life have the barn where they first meet her surrounded, and that they'll need to fight their way out. Kori giving Nia a kiss for luck as the latter goes out alone to create a distraction would have been a much more organic way to highlight their relationship status rather than rubbing our noses in it right off the metaphorical bat.
By contrast, Axia herself is notable for her lack of relationship with Tsorik, the old man whom she's living with at the start of the novel. While he's irascible and a cheapskate, he's also the one who found her and gave her a place to live when it became clear that she had no memory of who she was. More than that, by the time the novel starts the two of them have been living together for three years in what seems like very close proximity (as it's implied that Tsorik's place is fairly small). To that end, you'd think that they'd have developed some kind of familial relationship by then; not necessarily a loving one but some sort of close bond. But no, all Axia seems to feel toward Tsorik is a vague sense of exasperation, as if she'd prefer to be away from him but can't figure out a way to extricate herself from his life.
Even when she finds out that Tsorik is engaged in underhanded dealings with the neogi, Axia doesn't seem to feel any sort of personal disillusionment or sense of personal betrayal (beyond a vague outrage at how Tsorik sputtered and gaped when the neogi leader offered to buy her from him, as though not realizing that he was trying to find a way to say no without offending a creature whom he was clearly terrified of). By the time she leaves Tsorik's place to start her adventure, she's more sad to leave behind her giant space hamster than the person whom she lived with for three years.
Again, I say this with some reservations, simply because when it comes to various characters' state(s) of mind, it's easy for readers to color inside the proverbial lines without realizing this. I've mentioned before that I've read Lisa Zunshine's Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel, and I can't help but consider it again here. We use theory of mind with literary characters to fill in the metaphorical blanks about what characters are thinking/feeling in a given situation, which is all well and good, but in my experience there's a notable contingent of readers who inadvertently use this to excuse bad writing. Lacking character motivations, or characters taking actions that don't make sense, or virtually any other instance of characters being presented poorly become excusable because the reader can invent a plausible reason for why things would happen the way they do. The end result is that critique and criticism are (largely) eschewed as readers seem to ignore the difference between what's on the page and what's in their heads, apparently to the point of being unable to tell the difference anymore. It's things like that which have soured me on "fan theories" in various franchises.
You'd think I'd be done with my complaints at this point, but no, there are still things in this novel which rubbed me the wrong way, such as the plot threads which are rather frustratingly left dangling. I'll put these in spoilers because they answer some of the book's central mysteries:
Stuff like this almost makes me wonder if there's going to be some sort of sequel where at least some of this would be answered, but leaving aside whether or not there will be, this book is still at fault for not resolving the aforementioned issues, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I've read worse novels, to be sure, but I've also read better ones, so while I wish I could say that I enjoyed this book, its flaws stood out more than its virtues. On their own, none of these were deal-breakers, but together they made this into a mediocre reading experience. It wasn't bad, but I can't say that it was good either.
To be clear, nothing here is bad per se. The story's plot holds together well enough, the characterizations—while never deep—do an decent job of defining the dramatis personae, and while the prose isn't anything special it never devolves into a workmanlike slog. Everything about this story can be defined as "adequate," and I suppose it's just my nature that I see the things that kept this from being better than it is more than the things which kept it from being worse.
To start with the obvious, this isn't really a Spelljammer novel. Which is to say, nothing about spelljammer is integral to this story. Yes, it utilizes various elements of that campaign setting—you have giff and neogi and scavvers, ships powered by magical helms, and everyone sails between asteroids and various other space-bases—but nothing that makes the story unique to this particular setting; with the possible exception of a few, and altogether minor, space-based maneuvers (e.g. manipulating the gravity plane of two ships as they come into contact), concerns (e.g. running out of breathable air), and affectations (e.g. asteroid settlements that are tidally-locked) and you could just as easily set this on a series of islands on a terrestrial sea somewhere.
Now, I make that critique with some hesitation; the more details you dispense with, the more that any overview will seem to resemble other stories of the same genre. Yet I can't help but compare this book with the Cloakmaster Cycle sextet, which were also Spelljammer novels and which made the particulars of that setting central to their overall plot (or at least, more so than anything here). Having an "ultimate helm" that can potentially grant control over the strongest ship for which the entire setting is named, for instance, makes the story one which leans more toward what makes Spelljammer what it is (all the more so since it passes through a couple of other campaign worlds, showcasing Spelljammer's serving as setting that connects other settings, as well as highlighting its own "home base" by way of the Rock of Bral, which only gets two or three name-drops here).
Memory's Wake, to reiterate a point, had none of that. It certainly puts forward plenty of minor aspects of the setting, as I noted before, but the result is something that's a mile-wide and an inch deep. If you told me that this novel had been written for another setting altogether, and had been rewritten to make it a Spelljammer story, I wouldn't find that hard to believe.
The other thing which stuck out at me is that while Wexler can write decent characters, in that we have a general sense of who they are (which is, ironically, rather fitting for how most D&D characters are typically presented, notwithstanding that one person who always seems to show up with twenty pages of backstory), he doesn't seem to write relationships between the characters very well at all.
For an example of this, take our introduction to supporting characters Nia (a tiefling warlock) and Kori (a half-elven cleric). When they make their debut, they know that Axia (the main character) is an amnesiac who is likely to be wary of them, they know that they need to get her on their side in order to secure a huge treasure, and they know that there are other people who are also looking for Axia and have hostile intent. You'd think that would necessitate that they be focused on trying to secure her cooperation via the promise of gold and adventure and the warning that she's in danger, likely fairly immediate danger. And Nia and Kori do do this...but also flirt with each other at the same time. ("What have I told you about your fatalistic nihilism, Nia?" "That it makes me intellectually unattractive? That's fine; I've already accepted that you just want me for my body.")
To me, that came across as Wexler wanting us to immediately know that these two are a couple. The problem is that, at least to me, that breaks what should be a fairly tense scene, with Axia trying to figure out if she can trust these two or not. That such tension is dispelled with their badinage comes across as rhetorical anticlimax, which seems like it's everywhere in media nowadays and which I've subsequently come to despise.
It's not like Wexler needed us to know that Kori and Nia are a couple in their very first scene, as he plays up their flirting virtually every time we see them, meaning that he could have withheld it from their introduction in favor of letting the scene's tension build. Particularly since the next scene is of them realizing that the people aiming for Axia's life have the barn where they first meet her surrounded, and that they'll need to fight their way out. Kori giving Nia a kiss for luck as the latter goes out alone to create a distraction would have been a much more organic way to highlight their relationship status rather than rubbing our noses in it right off the metaphorical bat.
By contrast, Axia herself is notable for her lack of relationship with Tsorik, the old man whom she's living with at the start of the novel. While he's irascible and a cheapskate, he's also the one who found her and gave her a place to live when it became clear that she had no memory of who she was. More than that, by the time the novel starts the two of them have been living together for three years in what seems like very close proximity (as it's implied that Tsorik's place is fairly small). To that end, you'd think that they'd have developed some kind of familial relationship by then; not necessarily a loving one but some sort of close bond. But no, all Axia seems to feel toward Tsorik is a vague sense of exasperation, as if she'd prefer to be away from him but can't figure out a way to extricate herself from his life.
Even when she finds out that Tsorik is engaged in underhanded dealings with the neogi, Axia doesn't seem to feel any sort of personal disillusionment or sense of personal betrayal (beyond a vague outrage at how Tsorik sputtered and gaped when the neogi leader offered to buy her from him, as though not realizing that he was trying to find a way to say no without offending a creature whom he was clearly terrified of). By the time she leaves Tsorik's place to start her adventure, she's more sad to leave behind her giant space hamster than the person whom she lived with for three years.
Again, I say this with some reservations, simply because when it comes to various characters' state(s) of mind, it's easy for readers to color inside the proverbial lines without realizing this. I've mentioned before that I've read Lisa Zunshine's Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel, and I can't help but consider it again here. We use theory of mind with literary characters to fill in the metaphorical blanks about what characters are thinking/feeling in a given situation, which is all well and good, but in my experience there's a notable contingent of readers who inadvertently use this to excuse bad writing. Lacking character motivations, or characters taking actions that don't make sense, or virtually any other instance of characters being presented poorly become excusable because the reader can invent a plausible reason for why things would happen the way they do. The end result is that critique and criticism are (largely) eschewed as readers seem to ignore the difference between what's on the page and what's in their heads, apparently to the point of being unable to tell the difference anymore. It's things like that which have soured me on "fan theories" in various franchises.
You'd think I'd be done with my complaints at this point, but no, there are still things in this novel which rubbed me the wrong way, such as the plot threads which are rather frustratingly left dangling. I'll put these in spoilers because they answer some of the book's central mysteries:
Why does Marya, the assassin hired by Shard to kill Axia, keep coming back to life? Unless I missed something, it's never explained. Again, we could presume that someone's resurrecting her, but I don't recall that or any other explanation ever being offered.
How, exactly, did Blacktongue have a clone prepared of her? She wasn't a spellcaster, so presumably she found one who could do it for her, but there's no mention of any such thing; it's presented as being fait accompli.
For that matter, so is how Blacktongue's clone ended up in a broken pile of junk on an out-of-the-way asteroid. Did it crash there? Did she stow it there on purpose because it seemed like the best place to hide it? And how is it that Blacktongue's soul seems to have periodic instances of being able to reach out to guide said clone when it's later explicitly confirmed to have been trapped in a warded temple and unable to leave? Shouldn't that prevent it from making even limited contact?
How, exactly, did Blacktongue have a clone prepared of her? She wasn't a spellcaster, so presumably she found one who could do it for her, but there's no mention of any such thing; it's presented as being fait accompli.
For that matter, so is how Blacktongue's clone ended up in a broken pile of junk on an out-of-the-way asteroid. Did it crash there? Did she stow it there on purpose because it seemed like the best place to hide it? And how is it that Blacktongue's soul seems to have periodic instances of being able to reach out to guide said clone when it's later explicitly confirmed to have been trapped in a warded temple and unable to leave? Shouldn't that prevent it from making even limited contact?
Stuff like this almost makes me wonder if there's going to be some sort of sequel where at least some of this would be answered, but leaving aside whether or not there will be, this book is still at fault for not resolving the aforementioned issues, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I've read worse novels, to be sure, but I've also read better ones, so while I wish I could say that I enjoyed this book, its flaws stood out more than its virtues. On their own, none of these were deal-breakers, but together they made this into a mediocre reading experience. It wasn't bad, but I can't say that it was good either.
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