Book 15: Stories of Your Life and Others

Stories of Your Life and Others

Ted Chiang

Despite my never having heard of him, Ted Chiang is apparently a hot commodity in the world of science fiction, with ecstatic blurbs promising that his is a collection not to be missed. Though Chiang has a stunning array of intriguing ideas and competent control of his prose, he seems to aim just a tad too high, taking too many tips from the handbook of boring-but-lauded mainstream litfic writers and taking too little inspiration from the wide-eyed wonders of science fiction's past. His ideas, rather than being elevated by moving prose, are stymied by a capitulation to the current move toward pretentious artistry that dooms stories to be devoid of meaning. Its as if Chiang takes his mind-boggling ideas and strips them of all potential to cater to a different crowd, and it's a shame, really, because if he let his ideas roll around a bit and actually had some fun with them, "Stories of Your Life and Others" would go from a collection of interesting stories driven by wonderful ideas to the mind-blowing promise implied on its covers. Not every attempt is a swing and a miss, though, and Chiang's inventiveness and blending of litfic prose traditions and sci-fi ideas does create some memorable moments. "Tower of Babylon" evokes a realistic vision of what the magnificent tower may have looked like in a very realistic ancient Babylon, and though its twist is a bit difficult to comprehend, the setting drives the story to a satisfactory, if slightly baffling, conclusion. Where "Understand" loses its narrative steam somewhere amidst its attempt to explore different consequences of superintelligence, "Division By Zero" barely registers on the science fiction radar, using a scientific concept to deftly explore the meaning of our conceptual frameworks of the world- and what happens when those unexpectedly collapse. Here is a brilliant story on the edge of genre, a vision of science and its implications for the human spirit, a story that reaches the heights Chiang so clearly aspires to, and so often misses, in the other pieces.

There are other periodic sparks of brilliance, such as the hard-science linguistics and effective parallel narration at play in "Story of Your Life," which exhibits Chiang's remarkable scientific versatility. For all of its faults, the collection does truly boast a stunningly diverse array of possibilities, from the religiously-fueled alternate history golem robots (both cooler and more lame than that sounds, oddly) of "Seventy-Two Letters" to the brain surgery proposed in "Liking What You See: A Documentary." Though the author's endnotes imply that I would disagree with his own conclusion about the story, he happily sticks to his well-deployed interview format (think World War Z) and keeps his controversial beauty-blinding procedure at the crux of various arguments, rather than the polemic it could have easily become. Likewise, "Hell Is the Absence of God" works in subtlety, where it could have deployed many forceful bludgeons. The fantasy element is excellent, and it is an much appreciated intelligent treatment of religion that manages to remain somewhat neutral, though readers may read a pro- or anti-religious bias into the story according to their own notions. Ted Chiang may aim high in this collection, but though he sometimes succumbs to the perils of overwriting and losing the plot, Stories of Your Life and Others is a solid collection of forward-thinking science fiction that displays a range of the author's talents.

Grade: B+

Book 14: A Night to Remember

A Night to Remember

Walter Lord

As a major fan of the 1997 movie, I couldn't let the 100th anniversary of the Titanic's sinking go by unnoticed, and I considered Walter Lord's classic post-sinking recap A Night to Remember a good place to start. From the start, it's obvious that the author did his homework: the book is built on a solid research foundation, though a number of inconsistencies in survivors' testimonies prove that the memory is fragile as a source of fact. Lord, however, wisely does not shy away from this fact, and though he tends to put the vast majority of his faith in these tales, 40 years old or more, he has few other options and does choose to briefly address the issues, though he quickly returns to parroting firsthand accounts. The main problem with the book, then, is not in the potential flaws in its story, unavoidable in an age without mobile video and in a story that has only its survivors available to tell the tale, but rather in its execution, for which Lord can be rightfully blamed. Faced with a huge number of precious firsthand anecdotes and primary documents about one of the most fascinating stories of the post-Gilded Era, one that in many ways serves as a microcosm of the whole period, Lord resorts to a bored, stifled prose driven not by narrative force but by his need to add just one more interesting tidbit. While we do follow certain survivors and famous casualties around the ship on that fateful night, the story (such as it is) doesn't so much "begin" or "open" as "commence," and the tragedies are reduced to newsflash microparagraphs, with related story after related story hitting in such quick succession that they quickly blend together. The effects can occasionally prove haunting, as a rapid-fire freeze frame of a crucial moment, but the entire night is reduced to a string of bite-sized pieces, dehumanized through too-intense magnification. What's worse, Lord butchers his attempt to place the sinking in its historical and historiographic contexts, placing his ruminative comments neither at the beginning nor end of the text, but rather right between the sinking and the rescue by the Carpathia. This dilutes the effect of the story, rather than enhancing it in the way I presume Lord intended, and though his thoughts are coherent and his points poignant, they get lost amidst the suspense of the suspended narrative. Nonetheless, while many of the finer points will be handily recognized by fans of Cameron's movie, the book is worth reading and does provide some moving insight into the sinking. Walter Lord is a capable writer, if not a particularly compelling one, and the story never stagnates of wallows, though it sometimes proceeds too rapidly to be truly effective. It is a bare-bones story told adequately but without exceptional literary skill. A Night to Remember is a solid condensing of survivor stories from one of the world's most captivating shipwrecks, and a good place to start for those looking for a firsthand glimpse of the ship's final, fateful hours.

Grade: B+

Book 13: The Rook

The Rook: A Novel

Daniel O'Malley

Let's get this out of the way: Daniel O'Malley went to both Michigan State and The Ohio State, but, strangely, The Rook does not, as a friend suggested it might, burn me when I touch it. Rather, I found myself so enveloped by the fantastic world and tolerably executed- if not particularly groundbreaking- narrative that I was hooked even after I discovered the treachery. Sure, the book feels a bit derivative, dipping into waters tested and explored by the X-Men, among other influences, but O'Malley's book takes a fresh view of a humanity populated in part by those with special powers, not least through his use of amnesia as a driving plot device. While the particular mechanics of this amnesia may be a bit inconsistent- why, for example, does our narrator, Myfanwy, know how to operate in the world but not who she is or where she works?- they provide a handy mechanism by which the author can explain various facets of the secret organization that drives the plot, as well as its history and recent development. The device causes some interesting narrative diversions as these facts are revealed from the narrator's former self through a series of letters, and though it occasionally becomes merely tiresome plot exposition, the narrator's outsider feel makes the reader feel similarly comfortable and disoriented, to great effect. The effect may be occasionally clumsy, but one feels inclined to give O'Malley the credit he is due for seeking a unique and mostly effective solution. Nor can its effect on the reader's sympathies and experience of the book be ignored; Myfanwy's name may be nearly unpronounceable, but readers can sympathize with her disorientation, which acts as a kind of buffer while driving the plot forward. It also makes the character instantly admirable and gives the plot depth beyond its surface Britain-under-attack strains as Myfanwy negotiates a subtly done nature-versus-nurture subplot of self-(re?)discovery. The narrative device becomes an effective way to prompt and explore character development, lending a bit of depth to an otherwise standard surface setup and plot. These are well-executed, if unoriginal, and though there is the slightest hint of deus-ex-machina to the whole thing, The Rook is quite a fun ride, with just the right amount of depth to surpass standard sci-fi and fantasy.

Grade: A

Book 12: I'm a Stranger Here Myself

I'm a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America After Twenty Years Away
Bill Bryson

This collection, comprised of brief magazine articles the inimitable Bill Bryson wrote for a British magazine after returning to the United States, is a hilarious, irreverent, and, occasionally, surprisingly thoughtful look at modern life, both in America and elsewhere. Unlike many essay collections, Bryson is far more hit than hit-or-miss, and though his topics wander both from piece to piece and within individual essays, the collection hangs together remarkably well, forming a cogent set of observations about life in small-town New Hampshire in the mid-1990s. What is most remarkable, perhaps, is the way in which Bryson's observations, though often tied very strongly to the era, are still relevant nearly a decade later. Likewise, it is fascinating to read these essays through the lens of history, to see how American attitudes have changed or been reinforced since the time of writing; sadly, it must be said, some things remain the same, and the Cubs have, alas, failed to win a World Series in the interim. But there is always hope for the Cubbies, if not for the constantly bumbling Bryson, and one may be forgiven for recognizing that he is a keen user of the power of hyperbole and sarcasm, yet though these are hardly used sparingly, they rarely detract from the point at hand and indeed elevate the collection from a set of half-baked complaints to a coherent set of well-formed and humorous musings on the many facets of daily life. These pleasantly range from the banal to the poignant, and Bryson gently prompts readers to think about issues that have real, tangible consequences- such as the proliferation of Walmarts and similar soulless, downtown-murdering big-box stores- without becoming too preachy, though he occasionally toes the line. And though the essays nearly always end with a certain formulaic punchline, the fact that so many of them are structured as jokes makes them pleasant to read in bulk- this book took me just a few sittings, and would have taken fewer if they hadn't primarily occurred on my lunch hours. In the end, I'm a Stranger Here Myself is a pleasant and surprisingly loving, if lovingly satirical, testament to modern America, seen from a rare combination of an insider's and outsider's view, told brilliantly in the brash honesty that is Bryson's trademark.

Grade: A

Book 11: Yestermorrow

Yestermorrow: Obvious Answers to Impossible Futures
Ray Bradbury

Science fiction has always been, at its heart, a thinking person's genre, basically by definition, and it is no surprise that one of its most prominent authors, Ray Bradbury, has penned a number of thoughtful essays throughout his working life. What is most astonishing about Yestermorrow is its longevity; though published in 1991 with essays dating all the way back to 1953, many of Bradbury's thoughts seem relevant all the way into 2012, truly a remarkable feat given their focus on human interactions and, occasionally, technology. While there is the occasional dated complaint about portable cassette players and the nod to the possibilities of the VHS format, the most important aspect of these references is not, in fact, the technology, but rather the capabilities that live on in thoroughly modern iPods and movie streaming services. This makes these essays, written by a more than capable writer and thorough thinker, seem fresh even two decades after they were written. Likewise, pieces on the accomplishments of Walt Disney and his army of magical Imagineers are a pleasant tribute, if a bit self-congratulatory, to the importance of science fictional forward thinking. With their mixture of memoir and extrapolation, these and a small series about the author's relationship with Renaissance scholar Bernard Berenson are pleasant glimpses into the life of one of 20th century literature's most important contributors. Much of the collection, however, wanders into the nearly absurd, and there are far too many essays that focus too closely on the same theme, making much of the collection inexcusably tedious. While Bradbury's complaint that modern America, and particularly Los Angeles, has turned into a strip-mall landscape of car-powered isolation is certainly timely and poignant, he can only design so many plaza-based solutions before the reader will grow irksome. The first essay on this theme is thought-provoking, but the repetitions grow so entirely stale that the whole point of the exercise is lost in the end. These, sadly, comprise the group's backbone, and as a whole the collection seems to muddle about without any real purpose. Its jewels, such as they are, are not particularly world-shattering and pass quickly enough, and the problem with Yestermorrow is not its writing, or age, but rather its repetitious forays into self-importance; a few gems are waiting, but may not be worth the tedium.

Grade: B

Book 10: Soccernomics

Soccernomics: Why England Loses, Why Germany and Brazil Win, and Why the U. S., Japan, Australia, Turkey- and Even Iraq- Are Destined to Become the Kings of the World's Most Popular Sport
Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski

Well, with a title like that, the authors are certainly making quite a few promises, aren't they? First of all, there's the direct allusion to Freakonomics, and the book certainly lives up to its predecessor's legacy, promising to shake up the World As We Know It but ultimately offering some suggestions born of both common sense (don't put your club on the revolving manager carousel) and heavily massaged, selectively applied data. Though Soccernomics does fall prey to many of the same pitfalls as its namesake, however, it is a worthwhile and interesting read, if not consistently engaging or as promising as its title suggests. More frustratingly than the nod to Freakonomics, perhaps, is the promise that herein lie the secrets of future United States dominance of international soccer- a point that is touched upon in the book's concluding chapter, sure, and alluded to throughout, but which becomes almost an afterthought, an inexcusable oversight when its promise comprises 21(!) words of the book's title. This ending actually becomes laughably anticlimactic, and illustrates how the authors, including a far-too-disappointing Simon Kuper, fail to adequately navigate through their sometimes interesting data, often interesting anecdotes, and insights intriguing and silly alike. After explaining their idea of examining soccer through data, they turn to a particular case study, England, in a move cleverly designed to appeal to their core audience. Though this makes sense in a way, and illustrates several aspects of the game that can be studied through data analysis, the chapter contains several allusions to later segments and ultimately feels out of place, particularly as the remaining chapters focus on specific trends or other aspects of the game, such as club teams and international teams.

Worse still, the authors fall into another trap executed so elegantly by their inspiration, and seem to be driven by a desire to prove points rather than to look through their data and see the revelations. This type of book celebrates the counterintuitive, and while that's admirable and, in many ways, often accurate, some bold assertions aren't so bold after all. Is it truly revolutionary to presume that, as European know-how spreads throughout the world, once averse nations such as the United States will warm to soccer? Moreover, the authors base large swaths of their analysis on a self-serving circle of proof. When studying the relative success of different nations, they swear by a metric that takes population, income, and number of international games played- and then use it to prove that those three variables account for success. Why those three, particularly when problems, such as the fact that nations in a weaker federation such as, say, the AFC, play each other more often than the European giants or Brazil? Sure, the United States underachieves based on these factors, but data cannot explain everything. And yet, maddeningly, though the authors acknowledge this, they routinely undercut their data with subjective analysis, which is fine if you're basing your conclusions on the data but which does not induce much confidence when data is supposed to reign unquestionably supreme. Perhaps, then, what the book proves is that, though numerical analysis might help fans understand soccer more thoroughly and help clubs or countries perform more efficiently, the world cannot be understood solely through anecdote or data. This anticlimactic realization on the part of the reader, coupled with the authors' inept organization, ignorance of their book's own title, and repetition of certain points, makes Soccernomics disappointing, perhaps not surprisingly.

Grade: B-

Book 9: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
Seth Grahame-Smith

This is a book where you know you're getting exactly what's on the box: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter takes the standard biography of Abraham Lincoln and inserts the unholy undead. It's a clever- and fun- conceit, one that is both the book's greatest asset (somewhat obviously, perhaps) and its largest liability. The promise seems great at first, with a present-day introduction ripped straight out of Hawthorne and a sly twist on Lincoln's early biography that sets up the main idea of the narrative. Unfortunately, however, that twist- namely, and this will surprise no one, that vampires are real- becomes the novel's only surprise, and every insertion of vampires into the standard lore surrounding Lincoln's life weakens the novel considerably. By the time the fourth or fifth Great Crisis has been re-attributed to vampires, readers can be forgiven for thinking the author rather more lazy than creative; sure, the idea of re-crafting one of our finest leaders into a menace to the undead is creative, but simply adding vampires where it is convenient is not. Why vampires? What does this say about our re-fashioned Honest Abe? I hardly expected the book to be a pinnacle of insightful literature, but without even an attempt at these deeper questions of meaning, the book's conceit quickly becomes tiresome, even as the tension increases and the nation plunges ahead toward Civil War. It's not like Grahame-Smith was unaware of the promising ambiguities littered throughout the text; indeed, he even attempts to introduce such moral grappling into his text as different vampires choose sides and begin to spar. Instead of exploring the moral questions raised by this development, which have implications that impact the novel to its very final line, Grahame-Smith seems content to rest on his laurels, which are trifling indeed. His complacency turns a novel from a seemingly slam-dunk romp into a tedious recapitulation of well-trod history. With vampires.

Yet even when he adds vampires in ways more intriguing than "this pivotal death in Lincoln's life was a result of vampire poisoning," Grahame-Smith can't quite pull it all together. I applaud the attempt to weave vampires' unquestioned evils with those of the South, but simply stating a proposition does not a case make. There is so much more that can be done with this premise, and while I understand that the book is meant to be just surface fun, its flippant ability to raise intriguing propositions while instantly proceeding to ignore- or even outright undermine- them is downright maddening. The book so frequently shows potential, only to ignore it for easy laughs that simply stop coming after the first 50 pages or so. That the author does not seem entirely bereft of talent only makes things worse. His grasp on straight-up horror writing is firm, and some scenes are truly chilling, particularly when juxtaposed with what seems at first a silly premise and with hilariously altered photographs and other illustrations. I may question, and be subsequently annoyed by, the choice to refer to Lincoln as a folksy "Abe" throughout the entire narrative, but it does effectively render the famous President far more accessible than more formal histories might. Likewise, a clever usage of dreams is effective, but as similarly over-used, overwrought, and worn as the remainder of the novel's greatest tricks; it's great the first time, but any subsequent reappearances should have been consigned to the cutting-room coffin. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is not meant to be a serious novel, but its intimations of serious implications raise expectations that simply aren't met; the book is fun for a while, but the charm wears off, and instead it is a clever, but ultimately futile, endeavor, exactly what one would expect from the box.

Grade: B-

Book 8: Sex on the Moon

Sex on the Moon: The Amazing Story Behind the Most Audacious Heist in History
Ben Mezrich

It sometimes seems that everything, and, perhaps, everyone, has a price, but what of those things that are too unique, too valuable to be measured by any measure of value at all grounded in reality? Surely the lunar samples retrieved by the various Apollo missions belong firmly in this category, and thus the caper posed in Ben Mezrich's Sex on the Moon, which involves theft of several moon rocks, may indeed be called audacious. Though the book attempts to put this crime on a pedestal, however, much of the text simply undermines the task, which boils down to a NASA insider's not particularly keen observations, a lucky lockpicking trick plucked from a run-of-the-mill spy film, and a whole lot of gusto. And while these may not a brilliant Crime of the Century make, in Mezrich's hands they coalesce into a hell of an interesting story, if not particularly well told or able to really live up to its billing. Though Mezrich delights in trite clichés, the fact that the story is more of a character study of Thad Roberts, the perpetrator, makes it work, as Thad seems to be the kind of guy who revels in clichéd thinking and grandiosity. Despite his centrality to the narrative, however, it is difficult to tell whether Thad is intended to be sympathetic or, rather, whether the reader should wish to smack him into reality. Mezrich's tendency to catapult the reader through time and, occasionally, space does not help matters, and the relationship that ultimately moves Thad from "wouldn't it be cool to steal some moon rocks" to utterly lovestruck, moon-promising thief is woefully underdeveloped. And though one wonders whether, given Thad's somewhat impulsive personality, that was precisely the case in real life, the plot jumps seemingly at will, from an introductory getaway to the story's present day to a few years earlier to the narrative present to a year later. Mezrich always leaves hints as to the passage of time, but the effect is a bit jumpy, if not quite up to vomit-comet levels.

This effect is most destructive when the story rolls around to the grand act itself, with so little pomp that one wonders whether the author realizes it should, by rights, be the climax of the narrative. Instead, the energy is dissipated and the low-key theft is retold in a matching low-key tone, which may fit thematically but which makes the big reveal a bit of a letdown, to say nothing of the mundane nature of the theft itself. The getaway, aptly foretold in a prologue, is skipped entirely, and it seems that it takes only a few pages to get to the not-at-all-suspenseful conclusion. The narrative arc and pacing could have been handled better, yet despite all of its faults, Sex on the Moon is utterly compelling reading. Maybe it's Thad's strange mix of a mad scientist's determination, self-reinforcing inflated ego, and cluelessness, or maybe it's simply the fact that every kid wants to go to Space Camp; regardless, the book is difficult to put down, even if its calling itself audacious is really the most audacious thing within. The idea of going behind the scenes at NASA is as enthralling to readers as it first was to Thad, and readers are treated to nifty behind-the-scenes visions of the space shuttle simulator and the astronauts' zero-gravity training pool, visions that add to the atmosphere of the novel and keep it interesting despite other missteps and mishandlings. Mezrich's unseemly pleading for a movie deal toward the end (I actually groaned when characters began saying, "My life could be a movie!") is immature and very quickly gets out of hand, yet there is something of a compelling story in all of this, though told in a stilted manner and with only two or three particularly interesting main players. Additionally, one gets the feeling that the story, held so closely to Thad's view of events, may occasionally stretch the truth, but despite a number of literary problems Sex on the Moon is an enchanting, if flawed, character study wrapped around a not-quite-classic heist tale.

Grade: B+

Book 7: Dying Inside

Dying Inside
Robert Silverberg

Science fiction is often seen as the domain of the space opera, the home of works that may not be, strictly speaking, literary, but which excite and entertain nonetheless. That may be true of many books, but Robert Silverberg's Dying Inside, though definitely a work of science fiction with its central conceit, straddles genres in its exploration of aging. Centered on David Selig, a telepath who finds his powers dwindling as he enters middle age, the story examines the impact of telepathy his life, told expertly through well-chosen anecdotes thoughtfully interspersed with the main narrative. The science fictional element surely isn't missing, and Silverberg has clearly thought out many implications of being a telepath, including a reaction entirely opposite to David's, in the persona of self-serving, yet strangely enticing, Tom Nyquist. We also see some unexpected, yet brutally probable, side effects of telepathy when mixed with mind-altering substances and, though the book is more a meditation on loss and the effects of one's choices, there are some thoughtful and, to my mind, original insights into telepathy along the way. Most importantly, the book doesn’t automatically construct Selig as a hero, and his isolating special power is just that- isolating. Though he encounters the occasional new-agey pseudoscientist and, indeed, a fellow telepath who has a refreshingly different perspective on their power, David must face his fate largely alone, and he does not choose to change the world with his keen powers of infallible insight. Nor is he prone to use his powers for his own personal gain; rather, he is content to feel sorry for himself, burdened by the sheer exhaustion of dealing with the duplicity of humanity.

Not that we can blame him, and indeed his pathos, while occasionally exhausting, adds to the depth and reality of Silverberg's character. Is this not a realistic reaction? David is, despite his whininess, strangely compelling as a failure, as someone coming to terms with a wasted life and discovering how his power has affected him and how he might approach a life without it. This is not enough, mind you, to completely carry the book, and there are times when David becomes almost unbearable, particularly when wallowing in passages that don't add much to the narrative. Overall, however, his emotions are deftly handled and come across in prose that is alternately sarcastic, poetic, and simply descriptive. While Silverberg's choice to include lengthy selections from his own college term papers is questionable, they bear some relevance to the plot and to David's characterizations, and similar stumbling blocks are generally overcome as David looks to his past in an effort to make sense of the present. The novel is not perfect, and for those a bit younger it may resonate less than with those approaching their own mid-life crises, but Dying Inside is a prime example of how science fiction can illuminate aspects of humanity in a fresh way, with potentially new insights.

Grade: B+

Book 6: Birds of America

Birds of America
Lorrie Moore

Usually short story collections have ups and downs, but most do have a general level of quality, with a few stories rising above to enchant and a few being, well, less than memorable. Given my previous experiences with Lorrie Moore, I expected Birds of America to present a group of witty and endearing gems; what I got, however, was almost precisely the opposite: a group of disjointed, cloying, and boring stories with only one that seemed to justify the time put into reading it, let alone the rest of the collection. Don't be fooled by the abstract, too-long title, for "People Like That Are the Only People Here: Canonical Babbling in Peed Onk" is a moving tale of a parent's worst plight, and its impersonal manner transcends the plane of pretentious litfic experimentation on which it is built, becoming instead a universal exploration of pain and suffering, an oasis of meaning in a desert bereft of entertainment or, sadly, plot. This story has plot, and characterization, in spades, and almost- but only almost- makes one look more fondly upon the author. Unfortunately, the majority of the stories in this collection, while having their moments, meander along pointlessly until reaching a noncommittal ending that really has nothing to do with the preceding story. It's possible to read these as portraits, and while yes, they are in a sense rich and layered, they fail to captivate; these are still lives, not moving images, and one cannot blame readers for simply wishing that Moore would get on with it already. Too much in here bows to the litfic intelligentsia, appearing to work in profound subtlety but being instead almost unbearably boring. There are moments, of course, where Moore displays her searing ability to peer into the depths of the human soul, but these are quickly swallowed by the boredom that plagues each of these stores. Likewise, both "Which Is More Than I Can Say About Some People" and "Charades" each come very close to being meaningful, before eventually wandering off into the same meaningless, but critically beloved, territory of utter pandering. Lorrie Moore is, I believe, capable of much more than she shows in Birds of America, but the collection sags under the weight of its own assumed importance and never becomes, well, interesting.

Grade: C-