Mark L

I think the plot fell into the hole. (spoilers)

Revisado: 09-17-24

When I saw there was a new Fractalverse novel, I was ecstatic to jump in right away, even pausing another book to see what Paolini had brought us this time. “To Sleep in a Sea of Stars” was overall a well-told story, building an interesting, open-ended world with unique characters. When I heard the characters in “Fractal Noise” mention the mysterious “hole”, I was immediately drawn back back to the references in the previous novel and was excited to see that idea being explored.

Unfortunately, the book is about as substantive as its infamous hole. We are starved of any expansion to the Fractalverse lore, meaningful character development, or answers to the long list of questions raised by the book. I was as miserable as the characters in the book as they slogged through the wasteland towards their destination, desperately holding onto hope that this “hole” thing (ha!) would be worth it.

The little character development we do get is the protagonist, Alex, clearly trying to process the untimely passing of his wife from novel’s start to finish, including an agonizingly slow diatribe at the edge of the hole. The novel leaves you with the impression that every action Alex takes is “because his wife would’ve done it”. While I can see using that as justification to keep the expedition (and novel itself) going in the beginning, it makes less and less sense as Alex clearly ignores the warning signs of the failing expedition. Sure, we can say “the hole made him do it”, but it really didn’t feel realistic once the majority of the team is injured or dying. He volunteered to go despite knowing the risks. Personally, I didn’t find myself rooting for him by the time he reaches the hole, thinking “go ahead and jump in; that might actually make this story interesting” (he doesn’t jump).

The biggest annoyance is that the mystery of the hole is held over the reader the entire book. The unrelenting thudding it produces gives a sense that we are plodding closer to some inexorable conclusion, some profound revelation that will shake us to the core, just as the characters are being physically and mentally shaken. The unfortunate truth is that the conclusion barely measures on the Richter scale in this half-hearted attempt at expanding the Fractalverse.

So how do I justify finishing this thing? Once again, Jennifer Hale's stellar narrative abilities keep the listener captivated even if the story doesn’t. Usually I’m a “narration purist”, believing that once the story starts, we should be relying entirely on the voice talents of the narrator to set the mood (for better or worse), but I actually liked the radio play elements as they enhanced an otherwise uninteresting story; especially heightening the urgency with the loud thuds at the end. Though I could’ve done without the “swelling orchestral” music clips between each section; it can be jarring when you’re not expecting them.

Ultimately, while I think Paolini miscalculated with the execution of this story, this Fractalverse mystery is interesting and certainly worth exploring further. I could certainly see this novel as groundwork for something more substantive.

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Survival is insufficient. (spoilers)

Revisado: 12-29-22

I often think about the provenance of a novel’s premise, the first moment the seed begins growing in an author's mind. With Station Eleven, I want to believe it started with Mandel’s contemplation of the simple phrase: "survival is insufficient". There are approximately 10 bajillion apocalypse/survivalist fiction novels that fixate on the gritty struggle between humans for the remaining scraps of resources. Looking beyond the lawless wasteland trope, I think Station Eleven drew much of its praise and acclaim by focusing on a few select individuals, striving to tell more nuanced and rich stories about how they evolved from “surviving” to “living” again. Sure, we all need food, water, and shelter to survive. But what do we need to live?

For a small group of actors and musicians that means touring the Michigan coastline, performing Shakespeare and music for the remaining residents of small towns and villages. Some embark on living a simpler, arguably more fulfilling existence than they had before, while others strive to preserve the past. And of course, no apocalypse is complete without its villain, a hyper-religious repopulation cult, practicing their interpretation of humanity’s post-apocalyptic future.

That is not to say Mandel's indictment of Maslow and his hierarchy is without flaws. Though I can't be certain, lengthy sections spent on the journey of Miranda's character (the author of the titular "Station Eleven" graphic novel), who ultimately dies in the pandemic, felt like a quasi-autobiographical exploration of the artist's struggle, mattering little in the post-pandemic world (everyone’s struggling, not just artists). Perhaps Mandel felt that solidifying the chain of influence from Miranda's perspective, translated into her graphic novel, and then ultimately warped by the novel's antagonist to justify his repopulation campaign needed some backstory.

Secondly, while the knee-jerk metamorphoses of the characters from their pre- to post-pandemic selves are reasonably explained and tracked, the origins of the motivations of the antagonist were never quite clear to me. Mandel doesn't offer many clues, simply saying some unnamed religious cult recruits him early in the post-pandemic years. Presumably, he uses his copy of “Station Eleven” to influence and eventually assume control of the group, but that’s entirely left to the reader’s imagination.

In the end, while "Station Eleven" isn't really science fiction (despite winning the Arthur C. Clarke and Mandel saying so herself), it asks those uncomfortable, profound questions that good speculative sci-fi novels like to raise (good ones for a book club and a glass of wine): Why is "survival insufficient"? Without the amenities of modern life, how would you want to live? Would it make sense to preserve a lost past or build a new future? Or both?

I think the fact that the novel raises so many meaningful questions is reason enough to recommend this book.

P.S. To the Audible producers, "Mackinac" is pronounced "mack-eh-naw" (pronounced “mack-eh-nack” by the narrator when describing the bridge). I absolutely loved that they used this common mispronunciation as a plot point in the HBO series. It gave this native Michigander a good belly laugh.

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An entertaining “sci-fi realism” radio play

Revisado: 12-29-22

Being in-between books, I occasionally peruse the free Audible stuff knowing how greatly quality can vary, like leaving the first page of a Google search. But, skipping right to the rec: this one’s worth a listen. Not only does it feature a stellar voice cast, but the added radio play production quality gives it the feeling of a TV miniseries for your ears.

The story reads like the minimalist’s dream of first contact. What happens when a linguist, biologist, engineer, and mathematician walk into a compound to explain an ET with nothing but a seemingly patterned radio signal from outer space? The answer may not surprise you…they don’t know!

After some twists and turns, we reach an unsatisfactory conclusion, leaving much to the reader’s own theories, but perfectly acceptable in genres like magical realism, which is closer to how I would categorize this story, like some unholy union between fiction, science (all the science the characters discuss is pretty much real), and “sci-if realism”.

It has that aggravating quality of hiding something mysterious in plausible, yet bizarre events and connections, offering a buffet of interesting, yet malnourished hypotheticals rooted in real science, but ultimately no sweetly rich explanation to sink your teeth into.

But hey, sometimes exercising the radio play of your imagination is better than any story.

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All about death, but out of its depth (spoilers)

Revisado: 06-20-22

As evidenced by the its title, there are two contrasting themes that permeate the book's vignettes: the "darkness" of a global pandemic (at least 10x more deadly than the one we are experiencing now) and the havoc it has on the human body and spirit, and the "highness" characterized by the strength in that same human spirit to fight back and find ways to keep living, even in the bleak landscapes of death, broken communities, families, and lives.

After some necessary exposition about the origins of the "Arctic Plague", "How High" wastes no time delivering the first gut punches, pulling on our most visceral sensibilities in order to ask hard questions. If your child was suffering and doomed to die in an understaffed, overcrowded hospital, would you rather they enjoy their last hours in a euthanasia theme park?

From here, there is little mood-lightening to be found with personal and intimate stories of the effects of mass death on families, relationships, and communities, and how we as humans invent even more novel, ostentatious, or in the case of the Japanese, austere ways of storing and remembering the dead. As if Nagamutsu was entertaining us with bespoke mortuary knowledge, there are several instances where characters learn exactly how their body will be destroyed upon death. This becomes normalized enough that in the latter half, an artist describes this process to their client who will be literally incorporated into an ice sculpture as a matter of fact to fulfill their client's wishes. And like the characters in the book, you will likely feel depressingly normalized about death by the end.

I must praise the overall performances of the narrators. Obviously, Nagamutsu wanted to highlight cultural experiences from his own repertoire and roots. Having listened to books where a white narrator attempts an Asian accent can be nails-on-chalkboard difficult to hear, but in this novel we are treated with very genuine voices, making the stories that much better.

Despite these initial strengths, I felt that "How High" was attempting some cross-genre Twister moves that it really didn't have the flexibility to pull off. Late in the book, we learn the origins of the virus are not only extraterrestrial but seemingly the selfish erring of some godlike forebears that created the Earth. This late-game plot twist isn't entirely unprecedented, namely the eerie effects of the virus on the human body, but it cheapens the helplessness and humanity permeating the preceding stories. This ain't polio, COVID, or any of the scary-enough contagions we have roaming the dark jungles of Earth that would've happily served as the plot's antagonist.

Not only this, but there are constant references to the impending climate disasters facing the Earth, primarily sea-level rise. I never fully understood if this was some kind of awareness-raising tactic, or intended to be bundled with the plague like some sort of 2-for-1 sale on humanity's issues. The plague is killing us, but the environment was already killing us, so let's just solve it all once and for all. And once we kill the plague, certainly we'll all pull together and tackle humanity's next great enemy? As much as I want to believe in that type of future, much of "How High" deals with stories on the personal level and is effectively handwaving everything at the macro level. There are few hints that humanity is ready for its great "coming together".

But perhaps in a future steeped in death, humanity will become more aware of all the ways it can die, and perhaps that is the point. In darkness, we are looking for ways to find the light, something we may have never found without the darkness.

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More for the history lover, rather than sci-fi

Revisado: 05-25-22

Several other review mention this book is slow and somewhat dry, and unfortunately, viewing it purely from a narrative perspective, that's mostly the truth. However, as both an avid history and sci-fi lover, there is appeal in the story Willis has wrought for both sides of the aisle.

Firstly, there is some really incredible world-building when it comes to the whole idea of first-hand anthropological study of the past. Of course we have to hand-wave the time-traveling plot device that is also somehow intelligent enough to prevent history alteration, but beyond that, the entire concept of dedicating one's entire career to a being able to fit in with the peoples of a specific point in time feels like one of the more "real" application's of time travel. I loved the fact that Willis dismisses the "aliens speak English" trope by forcing the traveler to learn the language of the time (I guess the aliens speak Old English), not to mention experience the sights, sounds, and smells (very bad smells as personal hygiene was lower priority 800 years ago).

Secondly, I have to applaud the build up to the unleashing of the Black Death. There are numerous hints dropped in the beginning that foreshadow the main character's unsuspecting drop into the midst of the pestilence. However, we are immersed in the culture and and relationships of the period before Everything Goes to Shi*t™, gaining a better understanding of how humans of the 13th century viewed their world, and how they use those beliefs to frame their approach to the wave of death that begins to befall them.

That being said, I wasn't as much enthralled with the idea of the parallel pandemic happening in the present to somehow compare and contrast with the past. Personally, it felt ambiguous to me whether Willis was trying to say humans have changed in the intervening centuries or not. I thought the idea had potential, but most modern humans don't blame "demons" or "rich food" as the cause of fatal disease. Though given the current pandemic, it's sometimes hard to believe that we have changed, even knowing what we know now.

Overall, I'd recommend this book for anyone who wants to understand what it was like "on the ground" in the 13th century. Most historical reading is dry as-is since it's a regurgitation of facts and figures, but when characters (even fictional ones) are created to embody those facts and figures, it can reveal a whole new perspective and perhaps help us understand why our ancestors believed what they did.

Plus, I just loved that the narrator was forced to read some Old English out loud. What a challenge that must've been!

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That French guy with Washington at Valley Forge

Revisado: 09-14-21

As a big fan of "The History of Rome" and "Revolutions" podcasts, I easily fanboy over anything Duncan publishes. While I enjoyed "The Storm Before the Storm", it felt like an extended episode of "The History of Rome", and I was expecting something similar with this book. Well, Duncan has definitely "revolutionized" his writing game.

While "The Hero of Two Worlds" probably takes elements written during his "Revolutions" podcast, Duncan goes on to paint a unique, fascinating narrative about Lafayette, a man who wrote his own destiny more than let history sweep him along. My America-centric image of Lafeyette was always "that French guy with Washington at Valley Forge", but having the context of his background (and wealth!) gave me a whole new perspective on just how dire the American situation was without French intervention, and moreover how these events dovetailed into their own French revolution.

I think the most interesting aspect Duncan touches on is Lafeyette's struggle with the contradiction of American liberty and slavery. One later chapter of the book outlines Lafayette's "grand tour" of the US several decades after the American Revolution and portrays a country beaming with liberty while simultaneously denying its own humanitarian shortcomings. Seeing a detailed outsider's perspective on my own country's heritage has helped me reframe the too-rosy narrative that is common in public education and discourse today.

In the end, Duncan uses a massive amount of original source material and quotes in his portrayal of Lafayette, that I felt the final tally of his personality was well-balanced between sins and virtues. I think it's all too easy for biographers to become infatuated and biased with their objects of study, but Duncan does well to present the "two heroes of the two worlds", and how that hero was not always that heroic, but seemed like a "good guy trying to do the right thing."

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Weak characters, Weaker conclusion (spoilers)

Revisado: 10-05-18

There is no denying that time travel fiction is hard, and certainly harder when you can't diagram how all the timelines are intersecting and converging because you're listening to an audiobook, certainly a disadvantage to the average reader. Despite this, "Extinct" felt like filler until another book. A weak conclusion to an otherwise strong series, if it even is a conclusion.

Previously one of his stronger suits, Haywood's character building stagnates in "Extinct". I think he has fun crafting "real" conversations between his characters, complete with constant misunderstanding, swearing (apparently outlawed in 2111), and long chains of clarification and euphemism. Endearing perhaps in books 1 & 2, but worn out in the face of the apocalypse, like watching The Avengers discuss shawarma while the villain burns the world, because in the end "good always wins", right?

Maybe the exploration of "serious" topics in books 1 & 2 (depression & mental health, sexual abuse, the logistics of saving the world) warranted some opening of the comedic coffers for "Extinct": apparently all there is to do between changing the history of the world is have sex. A Emily-Harry romantic subplot drags the reader through their awkward mornings-after and Emily's schoolgirl maturity towards Harry's lack of outward emotion. We are treated to a real personality transformation of Alpha, and his relationship with Kate, only to be robbed of any real closure. Instead (and I'm not a prude), we get a regularly scheduled commercial break sex scene and ensuing pillow talk.

"Extinct" is not without its merits: we finally see the limits of the time machine and "perma-death" (or so we think), Rea undergoes a fascinating Cretaceous transformation (though she becomes a convenient deus ex machina by book's end), and Harry's explosive return to WW2 in a rushing action sequence.

In the end, I was disappointed that the most powerful plot device, the power to change history, was criminally under-explored. I gave up hope of ever learning anything past the superficial descriptions of the future. Why do kids have tattoos in the future (and men boobs)? Why do people eat insects? Why is real coffee scarce? Is Miri actually Mother? (That's my fan theory). The cliche's overpowered innovative world building that Haywood championed in the previous books. Mother's evil. Miri & the team are good. We get it. Any real potential at some true character development was too frequently interrupted with innocuous banter or a sex scene.

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Insightful and occasionally pretentious

Revisado: 12-21-15

Would you recommend this audiobook to a friend? If so, why?

Yes, but probably only certain friends. Klosterman is entertaining but he uses the book for long diatribes on philosophy, psychology, and sociology that some readers may find pretentious, or at the very worst, boring. However, I think there are some insightful, thought-provoking discussions that bubble up on occasion that make you stop and think.

If you’ve listened to books by Chuck Klosterman before, how does this one compare?

Having read "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" and being thoroughly entertained cover to cover, this title piqued my interest as I wanted to see how Klosterman would fare in the fiction arena. This book captures his same penchant for social and cultural commentary, wrapped in a story, with some clever plot devices.

What about Annabella Sciorra and Scott Shepherd ’s performance did you like?

This book was the first I've heard with two narrators. It really brought the back-and-forth between Vicky and Y to life as they are polar opposites in the beginning (or at least portrayed as such).

Was this a book you wanted to listen to all in one sitting?

At first no, but near the end as the tension builds and you are unsure of Y's next move, the story is hard to put down.

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