Book Review: Another Gem from Ann Leckie

Translation State, by Ann Leckie (Orbit)

Ann Leckie is a jewel of modern science fiction. Her worldbuilding and characters are consistently original, nuanced, deeply resonant, and well thought-out. To describe the plot and premises of Translation State is to ignore her masterful layering of themes and her ability to create truly relatable alien characters.

This story centers on three characters:  Enae, a reluctant diplomat tasked with hunting down a fugitive who has been missing for over 200 years; Reet, an adopted mechanic who is desperate to learn about his genetic roots to explain why he operates so differently from those around him. And Qven, created to be a Presger translator, an intermediary between the dangerous—as in world-destroying—Presger and human civilization. The Presger are truly alien, and it’s only through a centuries-old Treaty and the translators that they haven’t inadvertently destroyed entire systems of inhabited worlds.

Presger translators are far from benign; in their formative stages, for example. they think nothing of vivisecting or slaughtering their age-mates. They must be taught human customs, everything from wearing clothes, making small talk, drinking tea, and sitting on furniture to not casually eating one another. Qven is no exception, and Reet very well may be at least part translator, although his adopted parents have instilled human values in him.

Leckie manages to make both characters, as well as the endearing Enae, sympathetic, understandable, and even upon occasion admirable. She introduces Enae first, inviting the reader into a complex universe through a single relatable character. I had a harder time with Reet initially, but by the time it was clear the story lines would merge, the deeper themes of consent, becoming fully oneself, loving another as I-Thou, and the meaning of being human had me hooked. I loved Leckie’s subtle hand in conveying sophisticated, often bizzare cultural conventions without a trace of ramming them down the reader’s throat.

Leckie also portrays gender conventions in ways that are occasionally humorous—like the way the Imperial Radch insist on using “she” for everyone, but Reet keeps correcting them, “I’m a he!” and Qven, for the first time given a choice, insists on being an “e” (and, after seeing the unconditional love and support of Reet’s three moms, makes a conscious choice to become human).

Highly recommended.

 

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Book Review: Nothing New in Camelot

 The Cleaving, by Juliet E. Mckenna (Angry Robot)

I was initially intrigued by the description of this book as being a “retelling that follows the tangled stories of four women: Nimue, Ygraine, Morgana, and Guinevere, as they fight to control their own destinies amid the wars and rivalries that will determine the destiny of Britain.” It began auspiciously enough, from the viewpoint of Nimue, who hides her magical abilities while in her service to Queen Ygraine. The story unfolded with the ascendency of Uther Pendragon and his schemes to unite Britain under his rule and to seduce Ygraine and father Arthur. Beat after emotional beat intensified my disappointment as I discovered very little that was fresh and new. Instead of being a ground-breaking reinterpretation of the Arthurian story cycle in the footsteps of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s groundbreaking The Mists of Avalon (1984), The Cleaving read as a tepid retelling of a story we all know from having seen The Sword in the Stone.  We know Uther is going to sleep with Ygraine (although I found the rape scene gratuitously violent), just as we know Arthur is going to pull the sword out of the stone (and survive all the fights he gets into).

Without dramatic suspense to keep me reading, I found the characters inconsistent, acting only to serve the needs of a pre-determined plot, and often downright annoying. Nimue came across as passive-aggressive, without a meaningful goal that she consistently strives for; she reacts rather than initiates. Uther was one-dimensional as a blustering bully. Ygraine mopes around, a paralyzed victim whose meaning in life seems to be her daughters (not Arthur). Merlin’s sole care is for the nebulous “future of Britain,” although he meddles freely in the lives of others without thinking through the consequences. As for Arthur, he’s a tantrum-prone brat with very little noble about him.

Pedestrian prose and inconsistent motivation would be less detrimental to a more original vision. If you’re a dedicated fan of Le Morte d’Arthur and don’t mind a story that adds little to the established literature, give this one a try.

Music: The Danish String Quartet

 Sometimes I hear a piece of music that makes the entire day better. This one feels like strolling through sunshine and dappled shade.

Book Review: Saving the Faerie Prince

 Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales, by Heather Fawcett (Del Rey)

I’m an unabashed fan of Heather Fawcett’s “Emily Wilde” series. Falling loosely in the genre of “Victorian lady scholar-adventurer” tales, these stories combine the best of the intrepid, self-reliant heroine who falls in love despite her better judgment with a passion for academic inquiry and a penchant for getting into trouble. Emily Wilde is a professor of dryadology, that is, the study of all things Fae, which in this world are real if often misunderstood and hidden. In previous adventures, she butted heads with fellow scholar, dashing and mercurial Wendell Bambleby, who turned out to be a Faerie prince in exile.  Discovering Wendell’s identity wasn’t enough, however. Emily found herself called upon to rescue him from poisoning by his evil stepmother and then to help restore him to his magical realm. Now she’s finally agreed to his marriage proposal despite all the folkloric warnings about how inconstant and lethal the courtly faw can be. She doesn’t know if she can truly trust him to remain himself once he’s back on the throne. But she trusts her own heart and the truths that underlie the stories whose study is her life’s work. None of this has prepared her for Wendell’s kingdom or the role she must soon play as its queen. As transcendently beautiful as this realm is, darkness stirs in the form of the stepmother’s parting revenge. The only way to save the realm and its people is for Wendell to sacrifice himself—which Emily refuses to consider as an option. Wendell may have other ideas.

This third volume in the series is every bit as captivating as the earlier ones, but it seemed to me that the characters were deeper and more complex, their inner conflicts more finely drawn. The questions have shifted from “Will he/won’t he?” and “Will she/won’t she?” to “What will he give to save his world and how will she save him from his better nature?” As before, the answer lies in the depths of folklore, the resonant truths that make these stories told again and again over generations. Those depths speak as powerfully to modern readers of Fawcett’s books as they do to the folk inhabiting them.

Truly a joy to read and savor.

 

Happy New Year: 2019 Intentions, Goals, and Wishes

I'm not big on resolutions, New Year's or otherwise. More often than not, all they do is set me up to fail or put me in competition with others, and who needs that? However, I do see a great deal of value in taking some time to clarify where I'm going in my life, if it's where I want to be going, and what I'd like to see different.

Years (as in, decades) ago, a friend suggested making a list of goals instead of resolutions, and to break them down into 1-year, 5-year, 10-year, and lifetime goals. I did that for quite a while, and I still have the notebook I kept them in. It's fascinating to look back at what I thought I wanted, 30 years ago -- what I have achieved, what I no longer want, and what is no longer possible.

Along the way, I realized that some of these things were within my power to achieve, but others were not. I might long for them, but I could not bring them about, or not entirely by my own efforts. For instance, finishing a novel or studying Hebrew are things I can choose to do, but my children being happy, however much I might desire to see that come about, is not something I myself can create. These things are wishes, not goals. Of course, many things are both. On my list is to write a work of enduring value -- I can write the best stories that are in me, but how they are received and how they endure the test of time is another matter entirely. I have no say over that.

For 2007, the year I turned 60:

1 year goals:

Finish (a specific book I was working on)

Transfer family videos to DVD

Celebrate becoming a crone

5 year goals:

Keep writing good stuff

10 years/lifetime:

Be active and happy

Do something activist and outrageous

As I wrote down goals and wishes, year after year, I found that they changed in other ways. The specifics tended to be resolved or discarded, but things emerged that were more general and had more to do with quality and spirit than measurable achievements. An example -- writing something that would speak to people long after I'm gone as opposed to selling a novel or selling a particular novel -- shows this change. The farther out in time the goals/wishes, the less they resembled "resolutions." I've started to think of them as intentions instead.

Yet, the universe does not cooperate with our best intentions. I can wish for and intend to have a year that is one way but get presented with situations and challenges I had no way of anticipating and end up with something quite different, marvelous or heart-breaking. Part of the shift from resolutions to intentions is the introduction of flexibility, of a suppleness of response to whatever life brings. Life is not limited by my imagination (or my fears). It is an adventure, not a fixed syllabus.

For 2019, the year I turned 72, my intentions are:

1 year intentions:

Write well most days

Exercise well most days

Make music most days

Let the people I love know how precious they are to me

5 years/10 years/lifetime:

Keep writing good stuff

Live a happy life

Be of service to others

My wishes are:

A more compassionate world

A return to political sanity

Hope for the devastation of global warming

Saving the most vulnerable people from poverty and climate change

Now I am 77 and as we enter the treacherous waters of 2025, not much has changed. For me, this affirms a true discernment of how I wish to live my life.

Photo by Cleo Sanda (1962-2012), may her memory be for a blessing.