The Last Sun

The Last Sun
K. D. Edwards
Difficulty: Easy
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Blurb from Amazon:

“In this debut novel and series starter, the last member of a murdered House searches for a missing nobleman, and uncovers clues about his own tortured past. Rune Saint John, last child of the fallen Sun Court, is hired to search for Lady Judgment’s missing son, Addam, on New Atlantis, the island city where the Atlanteans moved after ordinary humans destroyed their original home. With his companion and bodyguard, Brand, he questions Addam’s relatives and business contacts through the highest ranks of the nobles of New Atlantis. But as they investigate, they uncover more than a missing man: a legendary creature connected to the secret of the massacre of Rune’s Court. In looking for Addam, can Rune find the truth behind his family’s death and the torments of his past?”

This one was super unexpected and a ton of fun. It took me a long time to learn to enjoy urban fantasy as a genre since it’s usually just ‘the present, but with the magic,’ and I like my fantasy to be farther removed from reality. But The Last Sun is a welcome departure from that formula. Yes, it takes place in the present, and yes, there’s magic, but there’s also a significant amount of engaging world building that I think is often missing from the genre. New Atlantis turns out to be a fascinating city with a well-developed history. When it was first established, its creators ‘borrowed’ iconic buildings and spaces from all over the world to populate it, and the result is a varied, kaleidoscopic landscape that reflects the city’s diverse inhabitants. It makes for an exciting setting, and Edwards does a great job describing the buildings’ histories without being tedious or disrupting the narrative.

But as fun as the world building is, it’s really the characters that are the main attraction. Rune and company are all well-developed, sympathetic, and endlessly witty, and their interactions are easily my favorite part of the novel. The intimate relationship between Rune and Brand was particularly refreshing, as neither character was afraid to express how they felt about each other despite the absence of any romantic or sexual feelings. Funnily enough, I think the plot itself was my least favorite part of the book. It’s not bad, there’s just so much going on and it moves at such a blistering pace that it often got in the way of quieter moments where the characters just talk to each other. But despite its many moving parts, Edwards manages to pull it all together in the end, more or less. It is the first in a forthcoming series, so expect some unresolved plotlines and a bit of a wait for future books.

Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada

Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada
Keith Hale
Difficulty: Easy
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Blurb from Amazon:

“By turns funny, romantic, erotic, and sad, this evocative novel brilliantly recreates the landscape of late adolescence, when friendships seem eternal and loves reincarnate. Set in Arkansas but first published in Amsterdam, Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada (published under the title of Cody in United States) quickly won praise from reviewers and readers across Europe and North America. So beautiful, brave, and ahead of its time that William S. Burroughs was an early fan, Clicking Beat remains remarkably current and continues to be unique in coming of age literature. A haunting vision of young friendship shattered by an outrageously cruel world. Keith Hale’s novel aches with adolescent first loves.”

I’ve attempted to write about this book several times over the last few months but always ended up deleting it. On the one hand, it’s a poignant, sensitive, and thoughtful coming of age tale that definitely deserves attention, but on the other, it’s one of the most emotionally grueling books I’ve ever read, to the point where I don’t even want to reread it for this write-up. It’s not always sad–although it’s sad pretty often–it’s just emotionally dense. I feel like nothing ever just happens in this book because every character, plot event, and interaction is saturated with emotional meaning. It’s exhausting, but I guess it’s also impressive. Many writers struggle to make readers care about their characters, but with Hale’s book it’s like I care too much. I don’t think any of that quite qualifies as a downside though, and the book’s strong characters and crisp prose have earned it a lot of well-deserved praise.

Clicking Beat has a highly political focus that I’ve never been quite sure what to make of. The main character goes by Trotsky, and his mother is a university instructor and outspoken advocate of Socialism (remember that this Clicking Beat is set in the 1980s). The strange part of this is the fact that socialism fills the role of catalyst that sexuality normally would in a coming of age story. It’s his mom’s socialism that earns the ire of their Arkansas town and it’s socialism which inspires a number of the (often bad) events which move the story forward. I’m not sure if it was Hale’s attempt to complicate the traditional gay coming of age format or if there was a deeper political meaning to those choices but mostly I just felt confused. Perhaps if I were to reread it it would become clearer to me, but it’s been more than half a decade since I read the book and I don’t feel the need to revisit it, at least not yet.

Also, it is absolutely criminal that the American publisher initially changed the title to Cody. Clicking Beat on the Brink of Nada is one of my all time favorite titles and I really can’t fathom how Cody is in any way an improvement.

Lord of the White Hell

Lord of the White Hell
Ginn Hale
Difficulty: Easy
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Blurb from Goodreads:

“Kiram Kir-Zaki may be considered a mechanist prodigy among his own people, but when he becomes the first Haldiim ever admitted to the prestigious Sagrada Academy, he is thrown into a world where power, superstition and swordplay outweigh even the most scholarly of achievements.

But when the intimidation from his Cadeleonian classmates turns bloody, Kiram unexpectedly finds himself befriended by Javier Tornesal, the leader of a group of cardsharps, duelists and lotharios who call themselves Hellions.

However Javier is a dangerous friend to have. Wielder of the White Hell and sole heir of a dukedom, he is surrounded by rumors of forbidden seductions, murder and damnation. His enemies are many and any one of his secrets could not only end his life but Kiram’s as well.”

Lord of the White Hell’s chief asset is its diverse cast of likable characters. A regular complaint I have when reading YA or romance novels is that many plots rely on indefensibly poor judgement on the part of one or often more characters to generate conflict, making it difficult to sympathize with them. Youth and stupidity do not need to go hand in hand, but fortunately this is not a concern with Kiram and company. Though they may be young, they are cognizant of social and cultural practices and taboos, many of which mirror those in our world, and the potentially devastating consequences of failing to conform. At times I even found it a bit depressing since I usually read fantasy to escape reality, but I suppose that it speaks well of Hale’s ability to portray such a realistic society. And it’s not as though other prejudices like racism aren’t already staples of the fantasy genre, so I really can’t complain.

This book is definitely a romance before it’s a fantasy novel, but unlike most of the authors who attempt to bridge that genre gap Hale actually does a pretty good job building out her fantasy world. Granted, Cadelonia is essentially a medieval Christian nation subjugating a smaller indiginous population (the Haldiim), but Hale still gives it plenty of detail and character. Fans of romance might find it to be a bit slow paced, fans of fantasy a bit too fast and lacking intensive worldbuilding, but as a regular reader of both genres I still found it enjoyable. One important thing to know: this is only the first half of the complete story, so be aware that you’re signing up for two moderately long (~350 pgs each) but good books.

Murmuration

Murmuration
TJ Klune
Difficulty: Easy
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Blurb from the Amazon page:

“In the small mountain town of Amorea, it’s stretching toward autumn of 1954. The memories of a world at war are fading in the face of a prosperous future. Doors are left unlocked at night, and neighbors are always there to give each other a helping hand. The people here know certain things as fact: Amorea is the best little town there is. The only good Commie is a dead Commie. The Women’s Club of Amorea runs the town with an immaculately gloved fist. And bookstore owner Mike Frazier loves that boy down at the diner, Sean Mellgard. Why they haven’t gotten their acts together is anybody’s guess. It may be the world’s longest courtship, but no one can deny the way they look at each other. Slow and steady wins the race, or so they say. But something’s wrong with Mike. He hears voices in his house late at night. There are shadows crawling along the walls and great clouds of birds overhead that only he can see. Something’s happening in Amorea. And Mike will do whatever he can to keep the man he loves.”

Of the many many (many) books TJ Klune has written (that I’ve read), I think Murmuration might be his strongest. Oftentimes in his work the conventions of the romance genre impose themselves in unfortunate, highly visible ways onto his narrative. An otherwise original idea or plot suddenly veers back into frustratingly familiar territory in the form of a random relationship crisis or an obligatory ending sex scene. But in Murmuration, Klune successfully avoids these pitfalls, or rather, he finds a way to turn them to his advantage, allowing his characters and dialogue to thrive uninhibited. But the success of the plot hinges on a central mystery, so unfortunately I can’t say much more than I already have without potential spoilers.

So here are some things I can talk about. Murmuration isn’t one of Klune’s humorous books, but it’s not too grim either (in my opinion) and it doesn’t have the suffocating angst of Into This River I Drown. It just takes its subject matter very seriously, and the reason for this becomes very clear when reading. While he previously dabbled in post-apocalyptic fiction in Withered + Sere, Murmuration is Klune’s first foray into the harder side of science fiction. Traditionally, hard sci-fi deals mostly with technologies and societies, but rarely with individuals, and I used to steer away from it for that reason (though I read it plenty now). So it’s refreshing to see a take on it that foregrounds real people with real lives and real relationships. I’m deleting every sentence after I write it because I’m unsure what’s safe to talk about without giving anything away, so I’m just going to cut this entry short. I recommend giving Murmuration a shot and going in blind, or as blind as you can after having read this.

Warchild

Warchild
Karin Lowachee
Difficulty: Easy
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Ender’s Game was my absolute favorite book as a kid. I read it over and over, even listening to the audiobook while I was falling asleep. I’m not sure exactly why I was so into it, but, being the obnoxious child I was, it probably had something to do with the too-smart-for-you kid protagonist whose intelligence alienated him from his peers. Still love that book to death. Anyways, Warchild is channeling that same child-prodigy-in-a-space-opera energy and it’s still awesome. Joslyn Musey is only eight years old when he’s orphaned in a violent pirate attack and taken captive by one of Earthhub’s most infamous pirate captains. Suddenly finding himself in a hostile environment without family or friends to turn to, it will take all the strength and resolve Jos has to stay alive, but an unexpected turn of events delivers him from his captivity… straight into the arms of the alien strit, Earthub’s longtime enemies. Now he’s caught in the middle of an interstellar war and discovering that everything he thought he knew about it was wrong.

Warchild is first and foremost a story of trauma. It’s a deeply psychological and character driven military drama that departs from the traditional sci-fi focus on technology and society in order to concentrate more on individual people. Jos is not alright, but he’s trying to be, and that’s what Lowachee is writing about. What really gives the story its edge is the sexual dimension of Jos’ abuse. We’re never really told exactly what happened, but we can observe its effects on his character. The world of Warchild seems to be one of sexual fluidity, with little distinction made between hetero- and homosexual relations, but Jos himself displays little inclination towards either sex. It would be inappropriate to make assumptions about his sexuality given his past experiences, but his behavior at least tends towards asexual. 

After I finished rereading Warchild I was reflecting on how strongly the book stayed with me and how much I enjoyed it. I tend to shy away from too-tragic or depressing stories, a side-effect of reading too much mid-century gay literature, so why am I fine with this one? I guess I don’t really think it’s that depressing; it’s a story of trauma but it’s also one of recovery, and I find that really uplifting. I also wonder how much the sexual component of the book contributed to that. I never had an experience remotely similar to Jos’, but many years of denying a core part of yourself must cause its own type of damage. If Jos can recover, why can’t I? Or anyone else for that matter. That’s probably a little melodramatic and self-indulgent, but fuck it, it feels good to be that way sometimes.

Magic’s Pawn

Magic’s Pawn
by Mercedes Lackey
Difficulty: Easy
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Blurb from the Amazon page:

“Though Vanyel has been born with near-legendary abilities to work both Herald and Mage magic, he wasn’t no part in such things. Nor does he seek a warrior’s path, wishing instead to become a Bard. Yet such talent as his, if left untrained, may prove a menace not only to Vanyel but to others as well. So he is sent to be fostered with his aunt, Savil, one of the fame Herald-Mages of Valdemar.

But, strong-willed and self-centered, Vanyel is a challenge which even Savil cannot master alone. For soon he will become the focus of frightening forces, lending his raw magic to a spell that unleashes terrifying wyr-hunters on the land. And by the time Savil seeks the assistance of a Shin’a’in Adept, Vanyel’s wild talent may have already grown beyond anyone’s ability to contain, placing Vanyel, Savil, and Valdemar itself in desperate peril.”

I gave Magic’s Pawn a bit of short shrift in my write-up for Ellen Kushner’s Swordspoint, so I hope to do it a little more credit here. I initially implied that this book is a gay tragedy, but as I reflect on it, it seems very unjust to reduce it to that label. Just because a tragedy may be present doesn’t mean that a work needs to be defined by it (though plenty are). Lackey’s depiction of homosexuality is sophisticated and reveals a deeper understanding of real-world issues which she reflects onto the land of Valdemar. Modern fantasy novels with queer characters often present worlds in which gender and orientation are a non-issue, and while that’s nice to imagine, it’s too far removed from reality to carry much impact. Lackey’s more realistic approach grants the story a lot more weight, which is perhaps why it was so difficult for me to read when I was younger.

Vanyel’s journey to self-acceptance is a long one chock full of angst and melodrama, just like real ones often are. It’s probably most enjoyable (and useful) when the reader is at a similar stage of their personal development or if they’re in the mood to feel sorry for themselves (that’s not a dig, everyone needs a pity party sometimes!). Subject matter aside, it’s an excellent work of fantasy and easily stands alone on those merits. Mercedes Lackey is a household name in fantasy world after all, and she’s published a ridiculous amount of books, many in the same world of Valdemar. I’ve read several others by her and found them all of equally high quality, with Foundation being a favorite. I still think that Magic’s Pawn is too tragic for me, but I suppose the late ‘80s were a pretty tragic time and it’s only natural that the book would reflect that. And of course not everyone will feel that way about tragedy. I think my aversion to it comes from spending too much time immersed in classic gay literature, which is invariably depressing. Anyways, it’s worth a read so be sure to give it a shot.

Bloom

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Bloom
by Kevin Panetta and Savanna Ganucheau
Difficulty: Easy
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When I was younger I never had much to do with graphic novels, comics, or manga. They somehow managed to be the one ‘nerdy’ thing I never participated in. Looking back I think it was mostly an economical decision. A novel could provide many hours of reading whereas comics or graphic novels only gave me one or two, and I needed enough material to tide me over until the next time my parents could take me to the library. I remember checking a manga out at the library once, I think it was a chapter from Inuyasha, and finishing it before we even left, so they just weren’t a viable time sink for me then. Unrelatedly, I think that manga was the first place I ever saw a boob (just one). Needless to say it was an anti-climactic experience for me. Anyways, this is my really roundabout way of explaining that I don’t know squat about the graphic novel medium, so take my brief opinions on Bloom with a grain of salt.

Beautifully illustrated in monochromatic blue, Bloom tells the story of Ari during the summer after his last year of high school. He’s more than ready to move to the big city with his friends, but the family bakery is struggling and his parents don’t want him to go. But Ari is determined to escape  a lifetime of baking in a small town, and when he starts searching for a replacement he meets Hector, a culinary student on hiatus from school. Over the summer the two grow closer as they work together to keep the bakery in business, and as the months go on Ari finds that he has some important choices to make.

I’m a fan of monochromatic art styles so Bloom caught my eye pretty quickly after its release, but it wasn’t until I came across it in a bookstore months later that I actually bought it. Truth be told I’ve been feeling a little chagrined at my ignorance of visual mediums like comics, and this book seemed like a fine place to start exploring. And I had a lot of fun reading it! Panetta and Ganucheau do a good job showing instead of telling, and the baking scene spreads were beautiful and inspiring (or would be if I knew how to bake). From a narrative perspective I don’t really have a lot to say. It’s a pretty standard coming of age, small town meet cute affair, which there’s nothing wrong with, there’s just a lot of it. I will mention that the ending did feel rushed, but the slow-burn relationship leading up to it was still very satisfying (most romances seem to have the opposite problem). All in all it was definitely worth the purchase, and I feel inspired to continue exploring other graphic novels like this.