On the planet Arieka, Avice Benner Cho is a little girl who is called to assist the local people, aliens to her, in expanding their Language. The Ariekei are physically incapable of lying, so Avice acts out a story so that they can describe it. In doing so, she becomes a living simile, "the girl who ate what was given to her." Human beings can converse with Ariekei only with the help of genetically engineered Ambassadors: sets of human twins who can speak at the same time with the same intent, approximating the Ariekei's two mouths and harmonious consciousness.
After years of space travel, Avice returns to Embassytown. There, a radical Ariekei is trying to teach itself and its followers how to speak a lie. But a larger threat soon emerges: an Ambassador unlike any other, sent by the galactic government light-years away. This Ambassador contains two people who are not only unidentical, but who even dislike each other. The schism behind their words, the Ariekei's first glimpse of individual human consciousness, shatters the base of the symbiotic alien mind. What follows are war, inspiration about the ethics and origins of abstract thought, and a revolution of an angelic society into modern communication.
This is it: the book I meant to order when I accidentally picked up The City and the City. And though that goof-up was worth it, this book is a step even higher.
The odd structure is the first thing worth noting. The book is neither completely chronological nor completely jumps around. Instead, it begins by spinning the past and the future closer and closer together toward two important moments: the liar Ariekei's public attempt at lying, and the new Ambassador's first words to the Ariekei. Once both of these events have been achieved, the narrative switches to the present, which for a while is a period of timelessness, of agitated waiting. In my own writing, pacing is something on which I focus especially. Sometimes this includes going as slow as possible without making the story less interesting. That's what Miéville does here. I've never seen a portion of any other book in which so much suspense is drawn out before anything actually happens. And even better, it makes the moment of crisis that much more exciting.
As far as the sci-fi aspect can go, Miéville does about as good a job as anyone in my limited experience, with the possible exception of Frank Herbert. He places his gadgets and space jargon precisely rather than lose the reader in them, leaving more room for the story without giving the impression that he knows nothing about science. And the Ariekei are never totally described, making it all the more interesting to imagine them as giant centaur-beetles with wings for hands, based on the tidbits that are provided.
I caught only a few weaknesses. Some of the characters are not as strong as they should be. Unfortunately, this includes Avice. Despite the fact that she's the narrator, there's a portion of the book during which I forgot she was present, and when I remembered, I couldn't figure out why she was still there. This is perfectly acceptable if you want to portray a typical view of an event that's happening to thousands of people, as this does, but Avice turns out to be pretty important in the end. More early exposition of her personality would have helped to make this transition less jarring.
My love of speculative fiction was only one of my reasons for reading this book. The main reason was my exploration of language and its philosophic possibilities. In that and in many other ways, Embassytown delivers handily, proving both incredibly original and profound. I'd recommend it to anyone, especially if it's not in your niche. Authors like Miéville give sci-fi a better name.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Review: The Hobbit, An Unexpected Journey (2012)
In a hole in the ground lives Bilbo Baggins: a hobbit, that is, a small, peaceful little man who lives comfortably in a beautiful land called the Shire in the world of Middle-Earth. All this (except his stature, I guess) changes when the wizard Gandalf appears and volunteers Bilbo to accompany a group of dwarves on a quest to reclaim their ancient home, the Lonely Mountain, from the fearsome dragon Smaug. Although he is initially very reluctant, Bilbo learns to grow into the role of the adventurer, gaining the respect of his brave companions. In the meantime, a dark being with power over death awakens in the heart of Middle-Earth.
Chances are you've read the book by Tolkien. Maybe you've also read The Lord of the Rings, or seen the movie. Here's the first thing to accept, for better or for worse: this movie is nowhere near as close to its book as The Lord of the Rings. The fact that this, too, is a trilogy probably clued you in, but this should clear up any lingering doubts.
It's not entirely like the LotR movies, either, but neither is Tolkien's The Hobbit. Written for children, there's a lot more whimsy involved in Bilbo's tale than in Frodo's. In the book, trolls and spiders talk and joke while they're trying to eat the main characters, swapping some gravitas for humor in order to keep Bilbo's character light. He's not a serious character, but that doesn't mean he isn't significant. Unfortunately, one fair weakness of the film is its portrayal of Bilbo. He begins firing off snappy one-liners far too early, without the right kind of development to show how he became used to the adventures of the road. If the film is going to deviate from the book, it should have some sense of depth to those who haven't read the book; otherwise it's using the book's elements in the wrong order.
Other deviations were more fun. Radagast, in particular, is definitely jumbled together from what fans would like to see rather than from Tolkien's notes, but that doesn't stop him from fairly bursting with the raucous balance between silliness and magic that this film works to achieve. And Azog's storyline is blatantly non-canon, but he works very well as a foe for the stubborn Thorin Oakenshield.
In every aspect other than plot and character, the film succeeds overwhelmingly. The visual aspect is totally breathtaking, as if LotR were painted with brighter colors so that it could shine from every crevice. My only complaint about that aspect is that some shots were a bit dizzying, even for someone who isn't normally averse to helicopter shots or shaky camera. But the musical score is fantastic, even better than its predecessors. For days afterward I found myself humming the dwarves' theme song in empty public restrooms (which have quite good acoustics).
Even if you're a loyal fan of the books or the movie trilogy, I recommend this film. After all, if you can look past the fact that Jackson now has a different approach to adaptation, he still comes up with gold. It's fun, which is the only real reason to go to the theater, anyway.
Chances are you've read the book by Tolkien. Maybe you've also read The Lord of the Rings, or seen the movie. Here's the first thing to accept, for better or for worse: this movie is nowhere near as close to its book as The Lord of the Rings. The fact that this, too, is a trilogy probably clued you in, but this should clear up any lingering doubts.
It's not entirely like the LotR movies, either, but neither is Tolkien's The Hobbit. Written for children, there's a lot more whimsy involved in Bilbo's tale than in Frodo's. In the book, trolls and spiders talk and joke while they're trying to eat the main characters, swapping some gravitas for humor in order to keep Bilbo's character light. He's not a serious character, but that doesn't mean he isn't significant. Unfortunately, one fair weakness of the film is its portrayal of Bilbo. He begins firing off snappy one-liners far too early, without the right kind of development to show how he became used to the adventures of the road. If the film is going to deviate from the book, it should have some sense of depth to those who haven't read the book; otherwise it's using the book's elements in the wrong order.
Other deviations were more fun. Radagast, in particular, is definitely jumbled together from what fans would like to see rather than from Tolkien's notes, but that doesn't stop him from fairly bursting with the raucous balance between silliness and magic that this film works to achieve. And Azog's storyline is blatantly non-canon, but he works very well as a foe for the stubborn Thorin Oakenshield.
In every aspect other than plot and character, the film succeeds overwhelmingly. The visual aspect is totally breathtaking, as if LotR were painted with brighter colors so that it could shine from every crevice. My only complaint about that aspect is that some shots were a bit dizzying, even for someone who isn't normally averse to helicopter shots or shaky camera. But the musical score is fantastic, even better than its predecessors. For days afterward I found myself humming the dwarves' theme song in empty public restrooms (which have quite good acoustics).
Even if you're a loyal fan of the books or the movie trilogy, I recommend this film. After all, if you can look past the fact that Jackson now has a different approach to adaptation, he still comes up with gold. It's fun, which is the only real reason to go to the theater, anyway.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Review: Love in Exile by Bahaa Taher (2005)
An unnamed narrator is living in Europe after being failing as a nationalistic journalist in Egypt. There, he discovers that he cannot escape the news of national tragedies; at a conference for the broadcasting of torture in Chile, he meets Brigitte, an Austrian translator, also on the run from a painful past. Though Brigitte is half his age and very beautiful, the two fall in love with the intention to keep the violent world out of their lives. But their love is threatened by Brigitte's broken psychology, the narrator's failing health, and a dubious prince who is conquering the whole world, piece by piece.
I don't want to spend much time on this one because, frankly, there wasn't very much to spend time on. The narrator is dull, although realistically so, and none of the other characters was especially compelling. Even Brigitte failed to convince me that she was truly experiencing any kind of crisis. And the end is extremely disappointing.
The book has a few good points, including a prevalent concept about whether to isolate oneself from the outside world. I think this is extremely relevant to most people, especially those of us here on the internet. The book argues that this kind of lifestyle is impossible, but I vote for a balance. Complete introversion, as the narrator and Brigitte experience, can lead to a greater shock when you are forced to look outward once again.
More books are soon to come! I have quite a few read but not blogged. And thanks to everyone who frequents my reviews; you help me more than you know.
I don't want to spend much time on this one because, frankly, there wasn't very much to spend time on. The narrator is dull, although realistically so, and none of the other characters was especially compelling. Even Brigitte failed to convince me that she was truly experiencing any kind of crisis. And the end is extremely disappointing.
The book has a few good points, including a prevalent concept about whether to isolate oneself from the outside world. I think this is extremely relevant to most people, especially those of us here on the internet. The book argues that this kind of lifestyle is impossible, but I vote for a balance. Complete introversion, as the narrator and Brigitte experience, can lead to a greater shock when you are forced to look outward once again.
More books are soon to come! I have quite a few read but not blogged. And thanks to everyone who frequents my reviews; you help me more than you know.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Review: The City and the City by China Miéville (2009)
Besźel and Ul Qoma are two European cities with a unique geographic rivalry: physically, they occupy the same piece of land, the same dot on the map. Yet theirs is a relationship so ancient and convoluted that the people of either city cannot acknowledge the presence of the other right next door. Next to one Besź building can stand an Ul Qoman one, and two neighbors from cities apart may brush elbows, but neither will acknowledge it. Through a trained process of "unseeing" and "unthinking" the neighborhood, animosity and politics keep the people separate. In the middle of it all is Breach, a deadly secret police that exacts immediate vengeance on anyone who violates this doctrine. But when the body of a young woman is found in Besźel, and Police Inspector Tyador Borlú deduces that she came from Besź, he stumbles across a power struggle between the millions of indoctrinated citizens and forces that want to separate, unite, or destroy them all.
To call this book a cross between 1984 and a gritty detective novel would only get you so far. There's a lot going on in this story, and Miéville doesn't focus on what you might expect. That's his greatest strength, in my opinion: he layers the fictional setting smoothly and continuously across the background, so that you don't lose sight of the main characters. After all, it's not just an allegory, but also a story.
His focus on the present moment and space, while in perfect keeping with the theme of the novel, has its advantages and disadvantages. In spite of my better sense, I found myself wanting to know some more about Borlú's past, which is indicated to have some depth to it, but Miéville only plays over the surface of it. Likewise, the limited, superficial interactions of all the characters is, while intentional, disheartening. If you're more pessimistic than I, count this as a point for realism. But if you want an uplifting or fulfilling novel, look elsewhere.
However, these are only limited drawbacks. All the unique aspects of this book, the way it treats mass thought patterns and physical geography, are brilliant. If you've ever read Pierce Lewis on landscape, consider putting these two together. Landscape, says Lewis, consists not only of hills and rivers, but literally of everything. Without reducing everything to a simple feature of the world, we can therefore say that the physical patterns that surround us are as much projected outward as they are internalized, and we will never fully recognize how profoundly they affect us. A tree is as much a part of this total landscape as is your neighbor's garden gnome or your neighbor herself. This is the science of judging things at first sight, which will never go out of style.
And there you have The City and the City, an exercise in taking a second look at the world. I'm sure there are things I "unsee" in the way Borlú "unsees" that foreign country, Ul Qoma; you may find some, too. Just don't expect it to work out neatly or comfortably.
To call this book a cross between 1984 and a gritty detective novel would only get you so far. There's a lot going on in this story, and Miéville doesn't focus on what you might expect. That's his greatest strength, in my opinion: he layers the fictional setting smoothly and continuously across the background, so that you don't lose sight of the main characters. After all, it's not just an allegory, but also a story.
His focus on the present moment and space, while in perfect keeping with the theme of the novel, has its advantages and disadvantages. In spite of my better sense, I found myself wanting to know some more about Borlú's past, which is indicated to have some depth to it, but Miéville only plays over the surface of it. Likewise, the limited, superficial interactions of all the characters is, while intentional, disheartening. If you're more pessimistic than I, count this as a point for realism. But if you want an uplifting or fulfilling novel, look elsewhere.
However, these are only limited drawbacks. All the unique aspects of this book, the way it treats mass thought patterns and physical geography, are brilliant. If you've ever read Pierce Lewis on landscape, consider putting these two together. Landscape, says Lewis, consists not only of hills and rivers, but literally of everything. Without reducing everything to a simple feature of the world, we can therefore say that the physical patterns that surround us are as much projected outward as they are internalized, and we will never fully recognize how profoundly they affect us. A tree is as much a part of this total landscape as is your neighbor's garden gnome or your neighbor herself. This is the science of judging things at first sight, which will never go out of style.
And there you have The City and the City, an exercise in taking a second look at the world. I'm sure there are things I "unsee" in the way Borlú "unsees" that foreign country, Ul Qoma; you may find some, too. Just don't expect it to work out neatly or comfortably.
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