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hawkwing_lbBooks 2012: 83-84
83. M.K. Hobson, The Native Star. (Spectra, 2010.)
I believe it wasanne who described this as a slight book. I have to agree: there is little here of substance, and ultimately failed to portray its world or characters in convincing depth. Afficionados of late-19th-century fantasy Americana may be entertained by this fish-out-of-water quest-cum-love story, but it has little to say for itself that has not been said better elsewhere.
84. Ian McDonald, King of Morning, Queen of Day. (Bantam, 1992.)
An astonishing and accomplished novel, if stylistically difficult and, conceptually, very much working in a postmodernist vein. (I hate postmodernism as found in literature, normally. This? This is very much an exception.) It is also a deeply Irish book. And it treats the fantastic in an oddly slipstream/cyberpunkish/sfnal fashion. Although, hmm. I do not feel that the ending was earned.
I mean, I still have no plans to read Brasyl or River of Gods or the like. But this is a damned interesting book.
I am tired and sour and hate the world. I wonder why? Oh, right. I have work to do, and cannot conceive of how to start. (And fretting about finances and other things I cannot change is very wearing. I must wait until August to know if I have achieved funding, and backup plans cannot be set out upon without more knowledge of what shall come to pass at that time. Sigh.)
83. M.K. Hobson, The Native Star. (Spectra, 2010.)
I believe it was
anne who described this as a slight book. I have to agree: there is little here of substance, and ultimately failed to portray its world or characters in convincing depth. Afficionados of late-19th-century fantasy Americana may be entertained by this fish-out-of-water quest-cum-love story, but it has little to say for itself that has not been said better elsewhere.84. Ian McDonald, King of Morning, Queen of Day. (Bantam, 1992.)
An astonishing and accomplished novel, if stylistically difficult and, conceptually, very much working in a postmodernist vein. (I hate postmodernism as found in literature, normally. This? This is very much an exception.) It is also a deeply Irish book. And it treats the fantastic in an oddly slipstream/cyberpunkish/sfnal fashion. Although, hmm. I do not feel that the ending was earned.
I mean, I still have no plans to read Brasyl or River of Gods or the like. But this is a damned interesting book.
I am tired and sour and hate the world. I wonder why? Oh, right. I have work to do, and cannot conceive of how to start. (And fretting about finances and other things I cannot change is very wearing. I must wait until August to know if I have achieved funding, and backup plans cannot be set out upon without more knowledge of what shall come to pass at that time. Sigh.)
