The Love We Share Without Knowing (Christopher Barzak)

'A Novel,' it says on the cover of Christopher Barzak’s The Love We Share Without Knowing but it can just as easily be mistaken for a collection of short stories. The book is created from seemingly disparate chapters, told from different perspectives, until you notice that a character in the first story will be mentioned in the next, and another character from that world will be in the succeeding one. Employing a style reminiscent of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, Mr Barzak presents a richly-layered genre novel that delves into the alienating nature of human interaction set in modern-day Japan.

It took me a while to warm up to this. After reading the first two chapters, I was wondering why this was nominated for the 2009 Nebulas -- not because of any lack of literary value but because there was not enough in the first pages to convince me that this was a genre novel. By the third story, I had resolved to stop expecting a speculative fic to jump at me and simply tried to enjoy it. It was a good decision, because I found myself drawn to that story, "Sleeping Beauties," the most out of the ten included here. It unfolded with poetry that felt both heartbreaking and real. The disconnection that had seeped in while reading the early chapters -- somehow Said’s theories on Orientalism were hard to tune out then -- was finally gone. As "Sleeping Beauties" drew to a close it became apparent to me that I had to begin reconsidering the lyrical as literal, and what I first thought was 'non-genre' was actually deeply rooted in the fantastic.

That has to be one of the things I admire about Mr Barzak's writing. Chapter after chapter, he draws on very familiar emotions (loneliness, loss, isolation, indifference, even delusion) but situates them between the mundane and the otherworldly. Perhaps there is a certain quality inherent in the setting that allows these emotions to manifest themselves in strange ways, but I'd also like to think it is largely because of the author's skill. In the chapter "What They Don't Tell You," he moves further away on the speculative fic spectrum but loses none of the magical fluidity that has come to characterize the rest of the novel. The final chapters in particular are succinct and powerful. In fact, his style recalls three of my favorite authors (Haruki Murakami, Elizabeth Hand, and Kelly Link), echoing their ingenious way of letting the slipstream into our world, often with lingering results.

Sometimes I thought his prose struggled with its own sentimentality and other times I thought it was perfectly restrained. There was a chapter that I thought was superfluous, but this still did not take away from the entire reading experience. I am a convert. This is exactly the way I want to enjoy my genre fiction (any fiction for that matter), and there is no doubt in my mind that I will be looking forward to more of Mr Barzak's deeply moving prose.

2008 Nebula Awards Showcase (Edited by Ben Bova)

Been on a Nebula kick for the past few months so when I saw this anthology at a local bookstore, I grabbed it immediately. I'm very grateful that a number of the recent Nebula nominees for short story are accessible online and getting to read an anthology like this really helps me to broaden my range. Two of the 2008 Nebula winners are also favorites of mine, Peter S. Beagle and Elizabeth Hand, so purchasing this was a doubly easy choice.

The anthology opens with Ms Hand's "Echo," a post-9/11 tale addressed to an unknown 'you,' (at least in the story; Ms Hand makes it clear in her brief introduction that this short story was inspired by her own epistolary relationship with a journalist). I've always wished that I wrote as well as Ms Hand does. She has a very fluid rhythm that is tempered with the right amount of emotion. "Echo" is followed by James Patrick Kelly's novella "Burn," which takes place on the planet Walden, where a colony of humans live a very tech-lite existence and have to deal with the aliens still living with them. Okay, I really did a bad job of summarizing that. What I liked about "Burn" is that the characters are very flawed and well-realized and reminds me a bit of how Ray Bradbury approaches the sci-fi elements in his short stories. My favorite of course is Mr Beagle's "Two Hearts," a novelette which continues (or ends?) his famous The Last Unicorn. I've read this before and re-reading it still manages to stir the same emotions I had during the first time. Mr Beagle convincingly uses the young girl Sooz' voice in narrating this story. I think you have to know the characters of The Last Unicorn well to fully appreciate this, though.

Also included in this collection are three science fiction poems (a first for me to read), nominee Eugene Mirabelli's "The Woman in Schrodinger's Wave Equation" (which I also enjoyed), Grand Master James Gunn's "The Listeners" (a sad yet lovely story for any SETI supporter -- yes, I have SETI@home), and an excerpt from Jack McDevitt's Seeker, the Nebula winner for best novel. This is really making me look forward to seeing and reading more Nebula anthologies available locally. I know there are more riches and depths waiting out there.

The Native Star (MK Hobson)

The Native Star is the third 2010 Nebula-nominated novel that I've read, and with its combination of fantasy and historical romance, it's by far the most satisfying to my reading tastes. I'm not too sure how it will fare in the voting, but I'll definitely be rooting for it. It wasn't hard for me to love this story. Set in an alternate version of America in 1876, MK Hobson has created a world where Witches and Warlocks run academies, serve in the military, and for the most part, can respectably walk through cities and towns. Emily Edwards is a backwaters Witch in a very small lumber town out West, fashioning a love spell that she doesn't know is about to get her into a lot of trouble. Dreadnought Stanton is a know-it-all Institute-trained Warlock from New York assigned to educate Witches and Warlocks in the Sierra Nevadas (which in this case meant Emily and her adoptive Pap, and Emily's not too pleased about it). When one action-packed night finds a strange and powerful mineral embedded in Emily's hand, the unlikely couple must join forces to unlock its mysteries and keep it away from those who would wield its power for evil.

The tone of the story is geared towards romantic fantasy, so I have a feeling it will take an awfully-secure male fantasy fan to read through this and appreciate the sprawling epic adventure that it draws. And epic is the right term: the novel takes Emily and Stanton from California to Chicago to New York to Charleston in grand Americana fashion. They ride horses, trains, and flying machines. They visit gambling dens and whitewashed towns. They even hold seances to talk to an Indian wise woman in an acorn. With all the running around these two do, it seems like such a shame that male readers might be put off by the romance element. And there's plenty to cheer for when it comes to romance; fans will certainly enjoy the banter between Emily and Stanton, who have interesting back stories to lug around. Emily, who gets flashes of her early life with a mysterious mother she barely knew, is charming and enterprising enough as most protagonists go. But she is not entirely faultless; in fact, she has marked prejudices that keep her from being a true Mary-Sue character. Also intriguing for me are the antagonists. I think Ms Hobson has a knack for creating truly menacing and memorable villains in Captain Caul and Grimaldi. They gave me the same kind of chills that I had while reading about the Chaos Walking trilogy's Mayor Prentiss.

There were times when my interest wasn't as sustained as it had been in the beginning, but it's probably because of my ambivalence to the circumstances that have engaged the protagonists rather than a noticeable dip in action. But all things considered, The Native Star was an extremely satisfying and engaging read that struck just the right balance between two of my favorite genres. I couldn't put this one down.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (NK Jemisin)

It's no secret that I am big fan of fantasy. When I was much younger, I would really be engaged in the popular fantasy series of that time (Dragonlance, McCaffrey, Brooks, Eddings, Jordan). Despite all those different worlds that I have frequented, I would always end up picturing my heroes to be Anglo. Over time I would encounter fantasies with a markedly Arabic or Asian tone, thus rearranging my perspective for the course of the reading, but for the most part, my fantasy worlds would remain predominantly white. It took an encounter with NK Jemisin's The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms to remind me that they don't always have to be.

At first glance, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms appears to be a manifestation of Joseph Campbell's monomyth. Yeine is half-Darr (a matriarchal warrior tribe in the north) and half-Arameri (the powerful ruling family from the central kingdom called Sky). She is content to be the young ruler of their tribe but destiny has other plans when she is also named heir to the king of Sky, her Arameri grandfather. Yeine travels to Sky and gets caught in a political web and a battle between the gods. Because in Sky, the Arameris not only rule over the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, they are also the masters of the once powerful gods who have now been enslaved as punishment for defying the Itempas the Skyfather.

But there is much to be admired in this book beyond the surface. The narration, written from Yeine's unique perspective, is sharp and frank and quite powerful. You could almost say that it is fragmented, the way Yeine moves to a different train of thought while describing something else, but it's written in a way that flows and -- as you will discover should you read it -- is justified. There were times when I thought that the language dipped, especially where the dialogue is concerned, but I think my admiration for that fragmented narration overcomes my dismay over its uneven qualities.

I thought Ms Jemisin did an excellent job of layering her story. Her construction of her imagined world's mythology is also masterful, awarding it a quality that's believable given the creation myths and legends found across the different cultures in our own world. The climax and denouement here still pays homage to those myths of long ago, but delivered in a way that I think makes it worthy of its Nebula nomination.

While racial and political struggles are not new themes to fantasy, somehow I was more aware of them here compared to other books. They constantly reminded me of Yeine's tenuous position in her new world. When I say politics though, I must point out that you shouldn't expect power games and schemes as strong as those in George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire but the agendas here would suffice. The characters, though, are mostly cookie-cutter. The good ones are good, the bad ones remain bad until the end, and I think I just wrote these very same phrases three reviews ago. Anyway. To be honest, I initially didn't think that Yeine had the right qualities to take on the Arameri ruling structure, and even now, still don't. She only had about seven days to act and things only came to a head because she allowed things to happen and not because she really did anything to trigger events. While Yeine may have somewhat disappointed me, I thought that one of the characters in this novel, the god Sieh, really came to life for me and was a constant joy to read.

My friend O and I usually have the same taste in books but this was one of the rare occasions that we disagreed. She had lukewarm feelings for it (lukewarm enough to make her give me her copy of the book) but I still found it genuinely fascinating (fascinated enough to be thankful that she did). I guess it is the kind of novel that you either love or hate. Obviously, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms stayed with me long after I turned the last page, and I anticipate the next book from Ms Jemisin.