Book Review – The Tatja Grimm’s World

Vernor Vinge is my favorite author at the moment. Even his less than stellar works, like The Tatja Grimm's World, is so much fun to read that it's hard not to be impressed.

My wife and I, not sci-fi fans, enjoyed watching the first season of the new Battlestar Gallactica when it was released a few years ago. We thought the story lines were interesting, the acting was good, an all around good show. We felt it slumped in season 2 and stopped watching, but the authors employed an amazing technique between seasons 1 and 2, he advanced the story almost a year. All of a sudden the audience was forced to pay attention to understand what happened and how their favorite characters had developed during the time shift. I bring this up because Vernor Vinge does this not just in The Tatja Grimm's World, but does it in all of his novels, and he does it well. Just as the reader is intrigued by the story and the characters, boom! onto the same story but five years in the future. It's like a whole new story is created during that time but with characters who don't have to be re-introduced. It might be necessary to get reacquainted, but not re-introduced.

Another aspect of Vernor Vinge's novels that I find compelling are his larger than life characters. In Deepness in the Sky and Fire Upon the Deep the reader follows an almost god-like Pham Nuwen. In this novel it's Tatja Grimm. Both of these characters have almost super-human intelligence and reading about them, watching the plot unfold, is like watching speed chess . . . but really fun and interesting speed chess (normally I don't like chess, but the maneuvering of the characters, the ambushes and plots all have that type of appeal).

I noted some lines and words below:

"He was wrapped in blankets, his hands clasped and shivering in his lap. Only one eye tracked and it was starred with a cataract. His voice was quavery, the delivery almost addeled."

The description of the eyes caught my eye.

One of the main characters is on a forced road march, the description of the pain was interesting.

"Each step sent bright spurts of pain up Svir's calves. Each breath burned at his lungs."

Finally, although this is a common theme in many novels and stories about combat, I thought this character's thoughts summed up the idea nicely.

"He reflected with some irritation that in general his courage derived from that fear that he might be taken for a coward."

Mendicant – Beggar; a member of a religious order (as the Franciscans) combining monastic life and outside religious activity and originally owning neither personal nor community property : friar.

Soporific - causing or tending to cause sleep; tending to dull awareness or alertness.

Don't like Sci-Fi but love fascinating writing with rich characters and indepth plots? Go read a Vernor Vinge. Don't read this one right away, go get A Deepness in the Sky then read Fire Upon the Deep. You won't be disappointed.

A Bit of a Retraction

Despite what I wrote earlier about the first line of Wool (here) the five books that I read that formed the Omnibus edition made the story "in toto" really quite good. In fact, I remember dissing Wool and saying Hugh Howey weren't no Vernor Vinge. Well, by book five Hugh Howey came pert near damn close to Vernor Vinge-esque-ness.

I'm glad I made this a "commitment book" by reading the Omnibus edition. I think it would have been maddening to read each in turn. Kind of like waiting for each successive book in the Song of Ice and Fire series to come out. But reading them together, and they do read like a continuous story, made the entire story more worthwhile and fun to read.

I did take a note or two and avid readers of the blog will already know that I posted this description of the morning as a part of my writing about the morning series and my frist line. Beyond those I offer these:

This first note I highlight illustrated a perfect example of providing a setting without hitting the reader over the head.


Each step was slightly bowed from generations of traffic, the edge rounded down like a pouting lip. In the center, there was almost no trace of the small diamonds that once gave the treads their grip. Their absence could only be inferred by the pattern to either side, the small pyramidal bumps rising from the flat steel with their crisp edges and flecks of paint. Holston lifted an old boot to an old step, pressed down, and did it again. 


He lost himself in what the untold years had done, the ablation of molecules and lives, layers and layers ground to fine dust. And he thought, not for the first time, that neither life nor staircase had been meant for such an existence. The tight confines of that long spiral, threading through the buried silo like a straw in a glass, had not been built for such abuse. Like much of their cylindrical home, it seemed to have been made for other purposes, for functions long since forgotten. What was now used as a thoroughfare for thousands of people, moving upand down in repetitious, daily cycles, seemed more apt in Holston’s view to be used only in emergencies and perhaps by dozens.
Another floor went by— a pie-shaped division of dormitories. As Holston ascended the last few levels, the last steps of his life, the sounds of childlike delight rained down even louder from above. This was the laughter of youth, of souls who had not yet come to grips with where they lived, who did not yet feel the press of the earth on all sides, who in their minds were not buried at all, but alive. Alive and unworn, dripping happy sounds down the stairwell, trills that were incongruous with Holston’s actions, his decision and determination to die.


This next note shows the mayor of the silo, an older lady who knits, thinking about her job. I liked the way that the Howey made her thoughts drift back toward knitting.


Jahns lived under the weight of this pressure, a burden brutal on more than knees. She kept quiet as they made their way to the central stairwell. A handful called for her to make a speech, but the lone voices did not gain traction. No chant formed, much to her relief. What would she say? That she didn’t know why it all held together? That she didn’t even understand her own knitting, how if you made knots, and if you did it right, things just worked out? Would she tell them it only took one snip for it all to unravel? One cut, and you could pull and pull and turn that garment into a pile. Did they really expect her to understand, when all she did was follow the rules, and somehow it kept working out, year after year after year?

Then, later, with a different character, he does it again. This time instead of knitting, the character, a mechanic, thinks in terms of stabilizing a machine.



She forced the wavy needle through the breast of her coveralls and clasped the catch on the back. Looking down at the star was a little surreal. There were a dozen folders at her feet demanding her attention, and Juliette felt, for the first time since arriving at the up-top, that this was her job. Her work at Mechanical was behind her. She had left that place in far better condition than she’d found it, had stayed long enough to hear the near-silent hum of a repaired generator, to see a shaft spin in such perfect alignment that one couldn’t tell if it was moving at all. And now she had traveled to the up-top to find here the rattle and squelch and grind of a different set of gears, a misalignment that was eating away at the true engine of the silo, just as Jahns had forewarned.

I like this attention to detail and consistency. How many times have we been occupied with our thoughts and bridged them or the resolution of them over to our day to day lives.

There is a long simile that goes on and on about what the silos are for and how any why humans are housed in them, which is really a focal point of the story. I would have liked to share it but is really just too long for this space. I bring it up because of this:


It turned out some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.

This was when the conspiracy was revealed. It tied everything up nicely and even hearkened back to the knitting from book two.


My favorite part about this series though had to be the villain. Right now my company is trying to purge its network and computer systems of a virus. It is not uncommon to hear my co-workers lambasting and cursing IT through the hallways. The villain in this story is one that anyone who has worked with an IT department has dreamed about making a villain, because the villain is the IT department. It made me think that Hugh Howey had some unresolved issues with his own IT group when he wrote this.

The one thing I didn't like as a reader, but I appreciated as a writer was seeing the way the author developed his writing over the course of the series. His first three novels all focused on one character solely. Then by four and five he had a whole cast of characters. I was hoping he would keep the one character mein throughout. Despite this one, itty, bitty, thing, it was a great series to read. Ranked right up there with watching the new BSG and other current, excellent Sci-Fi. Still not quite Vernor Vingian though.

Most Recent First Line

I started the "First Lines" thread because my editor was so brutal in red lining my own first line, and because so many of the "Writing" books I read emphasized their importance. Lately, I've started to take David Morrell's advice an have begun to read the first lines and first few pages of new books in the bookstore, looking for unique or novel writing styles. Today's entry, . . . not so great.

"Fair Haven at South Cape was a squalid little town."

The Tatja Grimm's World – Vernor Vinge.

Anyone who reads this blog religiously will know that Vernor Vinge is one of my faves. So I'll give him the first paragraph to wow me. He fails there too.

"Fair Haven at South Cape was a squalid little town. Ramshackle warehouses lined the harbor, their wooden sides unpainted and rotting. Inland, the principal cultural attractions were a couple of brothels and the barracks of the Crown garrison. Yet in one sense Fair Haven lived up to its name. No matter how scruffy things were here, you knew they would be worse further east. This was the nether end of civilization on the south coast of the Continent."

BLAH. Truth is things don't really get interesting till chapter three.

Not Much Into This Genre

Although I don't necessarily lean toward this genre, unless we're talking about a Vernor Vinge novel, I took a flyer on Roger Lawrence's Three Hoodies Save the World due in large part to his contributions to this blog and my resolution to not pay more than 3 bucks for books this year.

I read a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy when I was a kiddo, and I LOVED that first scene, the scene with the bulldozer claiming imminent domain followed by the aliens doing the same to Earth. From then on it went down hill in my estimation. I liked it, but I was never as much a fan as others. That being said, I thought that Three Hoodies Save the World was quite similar in that it felt like I was being taken on a crazy, wild ride and just wanted to see where things went.

There were a few things that screamed "this is a self-published book" just as you would find in my first effort, Toe the Line, but the author has an impeccable ability for cliff hangers that make you want to read on at the end of a chapter and for foreshadowing. I was confused about the action several times and that might be the worst I could say about the story.

All in all I look forward to reading the sequel.

AVOID this Book at all Costs

Don't you hate when you're favorite authors fail to live up to expectations. Some do it over and over. They have a best seller out of the gate, then each book after is just mediocre. They never live up to that first. Others, have a slew of good to great then BOOM! you read one and it's rubbish.

The second one happened to me a few months back when I tried to read the new Vernor Vinge novel, The Children of the Sky (see here). I even gave him the benefit of the doubt and went a few chapters further than I would have. No dice. Horrid. Gave up. (Might try again though).

Just happened again with Lawrence Sanders.

I love Lawrence Sanders work, if you want the proof, just note the number of times he mentioned in this blog (see here). I love his works. Love em. Lately I've loved his 1970's stuff. Caper (see here) . . . left me wishing I'd never heard of him.

BLECH

It started well, and for the first half it was a typical Lawrence Sanders. Great descriptions of the city, terrific analogies, sparkling writing. But then it turned jejune. It started to read more like a biography rather than novel, and worse it was a boring biography about a road trip. I wanted to give up on it but hung in there. Next time I will got with my initial reaction.

May not have ruined me for Sanders' novels, may not have even ruined me for his early work . . . but it sure ruined my week.

Writer's Continually Stun Me

I don't know where writer's come up with their ideas. I've said before in his arena that some writers and author's ideas are amazing to me. Vernor Vinge's novels, or Hugh Howey's Wool are good examples of authors who have ideas that are just mind blowing to me.

My critique group hosts only three or four other writer's but it's stunning to me that they are so creative. One writer is working on a mystery in 19th century London. Another, who has a background in writing about Zombies, has a novel start that takes place in the WWII era and stars a WAC. Finally, one writer has a story, similar in nature to the Highlander series, but is so intriguing that I, who never fall for stuff like that, find myself reading it eagerly and wanting more.

I'm a tad worried that I'm out of my league. These are deep, deep books with some really well thought out plots, themes and stories. Then again, that's sort of the point of joining a writing group . . . to push oneself beyond the normal boundaries we are used to. As I said yesterday, so far . . . I'm marking it as a success.

George R.R. Martin and No One Else

As I said a few posts ago, I don't read much Sci-Fi, but when I do, it's usually Vernor Vinge. For Fantasy, a genre I usually find gag inducing, the only author I will read is George R.R. Martin. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series is remarkable in its depth of characterization. Each book focuses on several major characters, each characters point of view dominating each chapter. So each time you finish one chapter and go to the next it's like a brand new story and book. One thing I find interesting and novel about his approach is his willingness to kill off his own characters. Nevertheless at the moment it is a four book series but he's been promising book five for several years. This is the aspect of the series I plan to address here.

Every now and then I double check his website and others to see when the next planned release of his fifth book is. As I perused Wikipedia's entry (here) I saw this line:

"Despite initial hopes of A Dance with Dragons being published quickly after A Feast for Crows, the writing and revision process for this fifth novel proved more difficult than anticipated. On January 1, 2008, Martin published an update on his website saying he hoped to have the book published in the autumn of 2008, but that it was only a hope. As of October 2010, the author has published no further updates on his website. Martin has in the past announced finishing dates for earlier works on his blog, and in the last several years also announced the genesis of other projects, which has caused some fans to wonder if he has lost interest in writing A Song of Ice and Fire."

It's easy to see where fans could get a bit perturbed by having to wait so long and for having the release date delayed so often, but it's the last line that grabbed me. Who cares if he's lost interest or not, it's his story. If he wants to kill off all the characters or not finish the series it's his perogative to do just that. I did more research and saw one long string of messages on a forum from a host of angry fans. They were bemoaning the fact that he doesn't promote "fan fiction" for his work, and the delay of Dance with Dragons. Again, go get mad about something else. It's reminiscent of sports fans who castigate team owners for not doing what they, the fans, feel is appropriate. Go write your own book I say to these fans. Then again I suppose this is a problem I would love to have, . . . if only because it would mean there were fans of my writing.

Morning's Still Working . . .

I'm still waking up early to write every morning, but "early" has taken on quite a fluid meaning during the holidays.

Also, I've noticed an uptick in readership over the last couple of days. Who out there is reading this (as if I didn't already know). So, as a sop to my fan(s), I'm rededicating myself to journaling. You can thank of curse me later.

To that end, I'm writing about what could have been my favorite book of 2016. During my hiatus from writing here, I've finished quite a few books. Throughout 2016 I've read the following:

The Stand by Stephen King - What a great walk down memory lane (see here).

The Manchurian Candidate - Great book, but you could watch the movie and get the same thing (see here).

Four to Score by Evanovich - My fave for rainy day quick reads. It's eerie how much she's modeled her love interest(s) off of me (see here).

Icon by Frederick Forsyth - Even better than Red Storm Rising (see here).

Jack Reacher Running Blind - No comment. Just a time waster as so many of his are (see here).

The Third Deadly Sin - I've spent too much time telling this audience about my favorite author, but I'm sad that this will be the last new book of his I'll ever read (see here).

But among all the books I've read this year, The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August by Claire North (see here) is hands down the best of the bunch. 

The first line is actually one of the last lines, so by posting the first line here, you get a two-fer:

I am writing this for you. My enemy. My friend. You know, already, you must know. You have lost.

North, Claire - The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August 

After that introduction the story starts and starts quickly:

The second cataclysm began in my eleventh life, in 1996. I was dying my usual death, slipping away in a warm morphine haze, which she interrupted like an ice cube down my spine.

Like my favorite sci-fi author, Vernor Vinge (see here), Claire North does and outstanding job of creating a believable alternate universe. In this case it is alternate universes. The crux of the story is that Harry gets to relive his same life over and over. Easily the most intriguing thing I've ever read if only because it makes one think of all the things that person would do differently. The story wanders a bit, jumping back and forth from one life to another but always showing that journey toward the cataclysm. One of the most fun and entertaining books I've read lately. 

I love what must have been the impetus behind the story, finding a religious teaching or obscure idea, interpreting it into modern times and providing a structure and rules to it that make sense and completely engross the reader. Then taking even that a step further and adding a plot, characters and story line that is just as compelling as the world that has been created. 

But still, I loved it most for the thoughts and fantasies it inspired in me. Sure there are those who will disparage the idea that lives can be re-lived just the way you want them, to them I say "pshaw!" And one thing I loved most about this novel is that it showed that those people who you loved and liked in one life continued to be the same people no matter the life you find yourself in. 

So jealous of Harry and his ability to relive his life. I now hope that when I die I wake up and find myself reborn just like he does. 

Gonna Be a Hard Choice

I have a slate of books to be read now that I've finished Flashman and the Mountain of Light (see here).

First there is a book recommended by Kristi Jones (see here). A horror to be sure, so outside my norm, but I'm a horror fan historically, and I know Kristi has an excellent sense of taste and writing talent (see thinks I'm a good writer, need I say more), so there's a lot going for The Troop.

Some thrillers produce shivers, others trigger goose bumps; Cutter's graphic offering will have readers jumping out of their skins. Scoutmaster Dr. Tim Riggs takes his troop for their annual camping trip to Falstaff Island, an uninhabited area not far from their home on Prince Edward Island.

Then there is Mila 18, a "deep dish" or "commitment" novel from Leon Uris. I loved Armageddon (see here) and based on what Amazon says about Mila 18, I'm betting I'll love this one just as much. The question is am I ready for a commitment book.

Italian-American journalist Christopher de Monti finds himself in Nazi-controlled Warsaw before the outbreak of World War II. Though wined and dined by German officers eager for sympathetic coverage, de Monti’s nose for the real story soon leads him to discover the terrifying conditions of the Warsaw ghettos and the Nazis’ chilling plans for the ghettos’ inhabitants. He soon comes to know the Jewish resistance movement and joins their courageous—if doomed—last stand.

Next is a horror that I read about last week on a blog. Never heard of this, but the writer stated it was among his top ten more horrifyingly creepy, psyco-murder novels. How can you say no to that?

Lou Ford is the deputy sheriff of a small town in Texas.  The worst thing most people can say against him is that he's a little slow and a little boring.  But, then, most people don't know about the sickness--the sickness that almost got Lou put away when he was younger.  The sickness that is about to surface again.

Then there is the old standby, Frederick Forsyth. I've loved all of the Forsyth books I've read (see here), and I can't imagine The Veteran would be a disappointment.

On a grimy sidewalk in a defeated neighborhood, an old man is beaten to death. When a cop investigates, he finds two killers and a startling legacy of honor ... In a prestigious London art gallery an impoverished actor is swindled out of a fortune-until an eccentric appraiser hatches a delicious scheme for revenge... On an airplane high over war-torn Afghanistan, a passenger sends a note to the plane's captain, warning of suspicious behavior. But no one can guess who is really conspiring aboard the 747, or why... From the war-torn Italy to the Little Big Horn, from soldiers of fortune to victims of fate,The Veteran is a riveting experience in crime, heroism, and the kind of mano-a-mano duels-and surprising twists of fate-that are the hallmark of Frederick Forsyth at his very best.

Finally there is The Forever War. This was one I picked after following my way through this flowchart I found online through NPR (see here). Granted, the last Sci-Fi, by my favorite author no less, was a miserable failure since I gave up on Vernor Vinge's newest novel, but I'd be willing to try again.

The Earth's leaders have drawn a line in the interstellar sand--despite the fact that the fierce alien enemy they would oppose is inscrutable, unconquerable, and very far away. A reluctant conscript drafted into an elite Military unit, Private William Mandella has been propelled through space and time to fight in the distant thousand-year conflict; to perform his duties and do whatever it takes to survive the ordeal and return home. But "home" may be even more terrifying than battle, because, thanks to the time dilation caused by space travel, Mandella is aging months while the Earth he left behind is aging centuries...

Inspiration

Inspiration finds me at funny times and in funny places. I saw a post from Dark Roasted Blend today on Airship Dreams. I scrolled down a bit (a bit out of order) and ran across this picture first.

Then I saw this one and inspiration took hold. 

When I put these two pictures together in my mind some pretty neat ideas come to mind. It makes me realize the way a fantasy or sci-fi writer must begin working. I've always wanted to write like Isaac Isamov or Vernor Vinge. World Building is something they excel at. 

Nevertheless, these two pictures inspire some pretty interesting ideas about a novel based in the future. It could even be something similar to Night Over Water by Ken Follett. A plot that involves a murderer loose on the dirigible. People being pushed overboard or found dead in their luxurious cabins. The problem is that it would all be too similar to one of my favorite episodes of Archer, Skytanic.

Then I saw this picture and things got even more interesting. 

Add this picture to all the others and you have a really interesting take on The Poseidon Adventure. This could very well be this years NaNo idea. 

Thanks Dark Roasted Blend.

New DUNE

 I got a chance to watch the new DUNE movie today. Loved it.

I'm a huge DUNE fan. I read it when I was in middle school. Then again in high school. I think I read it again in college or the military.  Each time I read it I got more out of it. There's a messiah figure, good vs evil, colonization vs native people, drug lords and victims, there are so many stories wrapped into that one book and it's fun to read it and see different aspects and perspecgtives each time.

 This movie is a great telling of it. I would have loved to see Jodorowsky's DUNE but barring that, this one was quite good and I think I'll go try and read DUNE again once this class comes to an end. It's a fun look at another world, much like any Vernor Vinge (see HERE).

Missed It in High School

For whatever reason, one that I can't remember, I was not in the advanced  or International Baccalaureate English program in high school, ergo I missed out on the assigned reading of Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis. I still remember seeing the other students running around with their copies and thinking to myself that I should like to read that book. Never did. Might need to take a hiatus from my "Thriller Only" year to read that sucker, particularly after having read this little piece by A.B. Yehoshua in the WSJ entitled The Limits of Imagination.

The most compelling passage in A.B. Yehoshua's article is this one:


In every work of literature, perhaps in any work of art, we may distinguish two principal forces contending with one another. Each pulls in its own direction, and finding the right balance between them is what gives the work its unique value.

On one side is the unbridled imagination—the primal spark, the fantasy, the fresh insights, the innovations in form and language, the raw originality that entitles a book to claim the attention of the reader. On the other side is the force that constructs and connects, that imposes logic on the content, winning the reader's trust, enabling him or her to relate to unfamiliar material. As a result, the reader isn't merely impressed with the fruits of wild imagination but consumes them, internalizes and identifies with them.

That tug of war between unbridled imagination and realism. How much will the reader believe? How far will they follow the author into their imagination before they say, "eh, not worth it, not believable."

This is why I am always so humbled by writers like Vernor Vinge and Isaac Asimov. Authors like these take completely made up worlds, they provide stories that are full of imagination but provide them to the reader in such a way that it's impossible not to believe them. It's as if they dare the reader to disbelieve them. It's all a matter of how far you can push the reader.

I'm Big Into Flowcharts . . . But . . .

I write a lot of flowcharts for work, and I understand their abilities and the need, but this one . . . not a huge fan of the style, but I love the outcomes (see here).

I'm sorry I can't properly reference where I got it, I found it on a reddit site and I can't refind it. I'll let the title speak for itself, but I was surprised by how many of the books I've actually read! A more pleasant surprise, there are still a lot more to be read.

My favorite, Vernor Vinge (see here) is on the far right side of the chart, right near my other favorite, Asimov (here for more).

Well worth a click see (here) if you're a sci-fi or fantasy reader.

Ups and Downs of Reading an Article

I read the question in my email that spurned the article Is the Novel Dead? by Cynthia Crossen in the WSJ yesterday (here). The question was: Occasionally I read about the "death of the novel." It doesn't look like the novel is dead to me. Does it to you?

Ho hum was my immediate reaction. Kind of a silly question don't you think? But then I thought to myself, so many of the questions that are used to generate articles seem silly at first . . . I'll go give it a try. So I did. I saw the graphic that showed a 1950's era poster for an H.G. Well's novel and my heart rate quickened. It slowed the further I read.

The article was about as ho hum as the article generating question, but it did provide fodder for this article. After reading it I thought about a class I had my freshman year of college, The 20th Century Novel. It wasn't a bad class. Not great, but not bad. When the professor asked us what we would do for future classes I thought it would be interesting to breakup the topic into subjects.

Subjects such as: 20th Century Romances, 20th Century Novels on War, Mystery Novels through the 20th Century, Sci-Fi Novels in the 20th Century, etc. I think any of these would make for a far more interesting class than just 20th Century novels.

By my senior year I found myself in a Charles Dickens class. lt was fun. Bleak House, Great Expectations, David Copperfield, Oliver Twist and more. Still, I think my idea had legs and wonder if some Aggie (or Maggie) isn't right now sitting in a Sci-Fi Novels in the 20th Century class and writing about the similarities between Vernor Vinge and Isaac Asimov. What fun!

Sci-Fi World Building

I'm not a huge fan of Sci-Fi, but I have my favorites. Having just read Wool, I started thinking about my favorite Fantasy and Sci-Fi authors and why I like them.

As you know from my past posts, I really like Vernor Vinge and George R.R. Martin. I like them because they are great at world building. Constructing an entire world from nothing, with its own problems, people and concerns.  I think these two are the best of the best at this. Hugh Howley did a good job with Wool, but the world was a pretty tight little world. More like building an aquarium, not a whole world. One of the worst well known authors is Neal Stephenson. Go read Anathema and try to be impressed.

I bring this up for two reasons. First I read this article from a blog I like called The Kill Zone that was entitled  5 Tips on World Building from Scratch. It's a decent article and well worth a look. The second reason is that I am shying away from writing a novel, Soul Food, because the idea of world building is so scary. This would be a huge undertaking and having never tried it, I'm a tad overwhelmed by the idea. I wonder if there is some way to try a small world building exercise.