technology

Déjà Vu, by Ian Hocking

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Déjà Vu, by Ian Hocking
(The Saskia Brandt Series #1)
Publisher: Unsung Stories
ISBN: 9781907389221
312 pages, eBook
Published: 30th June 2014
(Originally Published 2005)
Source: NetGalley
 It is the near future. European detective Saskia Brandt arrives with a foggy mind, despite a vacation, back into her office where she discovers the corpse of her receptionist. With all evidence pointing to her as the killer, Saskia is given mere hours to find a way to clear her name. This seemingly impossible task opens a door of revelation to Saskia, indicating that her identity, purpose, and past may not be what she now believes.
In the meantime, academic scientist David Proctor receives a strange visiter and message from his inventor daughter drawing him back to a research site where his wife died decades prior in a bizarre explosion. Accused of that explosion, but having no memory of it, Brandt travels in flight from European agents, including Saskia.
Shrouded in uncertain identity and memory, the pasts of Saskia and David mix together with their present and future in Déjà Vu, a self-described technothriller that mashes up science fiction and crime thriller genre tropes.
The opening chapters of the novel caught my attention, and Saskia Brandt and her predicament in this book regarding her identity and uncertain past hold a great deal of potential. The shift in narrative to Proctor was therefore a bit jarring, for the remainder of the novel remained on this protagonist. This is especially unfortunate because he isn’t a particularly fascinating or likable character. Also it ends up negating the potential of Saskia, who the series is named after. The female protagonist ends up never having any self-definition. Instead she remains something created and manipulated, within the story as much as by the writer. By the time she returns to the novel after the chapters of focus on David, her purpose becomes fully tied to David’s, and there she basically remains.
Beyond disappointing with the wasted potential of a strong female character, Déjà Vu, doesn’t find any other way to significantly impress either. It is not a bad novel; it’s just rather ordinary. Nothing in the plot is particularly novel in terms of technology or twist. The mystery of how the various plot strands come together between past and future of course involves time travel, again not something new to science fiction. Here though time travel is kept to strict rules of causality, so that if something happened in the past, it will happen in the future. No exception.
So, if you try to shoot Hitler to prevent him from rising to power, it won’t happen. The gun will jam. The bullet will fly off at a ninety-degree angle and hit a wall instead. Etc. This ends up effectively making a deus ex machina situation where the plot advances simply because that is how the past was written – quite literally here, by the author.
There are concepts within Déjà Vu that while done in science fiction plenty of times, could be handled anew in a fresh significant way. The start of Saskia’s story had me excited that this might be the case, but unfortunately that isn’t what the novel became. Again, Déjà Vu isn’t terrible and there are nuggets of creative quality here, that even writer Ian Watson gave it praise. But with a generic plot and characters that never became captivating or profound the work just comes across as flat.

Disclaimer: I received a free advanced electronic reading copy of this via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Echopraxia, by Peter Watts

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Echopraxia, by Peter Watts
Publisher: Tor Books
ISBN: 076532802X
384 pages, hardcover
Published: 26th August 2014
Source: NetGalley
An anticipated sequel to his 2006 hard science fiction novel Blindsight, Echopraxia exists in the same ‘universe’ but can easily be read on its own as the two novels do not directly share any characters and the plots of each are self-contained. While largely disconnected by story or character, these sister novels do share style and theme, so that those who have read Blindsight can reasonably expect to find a similar work here.
 
Each novel is staggeringly intelligent, dense with science, technology, philosophy, and speculation. The major theme of Blindsight is speculation on the evolution of consciousness and intelligence. In Echopraxia these themes are revisited, but they are expanded upon into new arenas, not merely rehashed. I personally found the first novel both infuriating and wondrous. Much of how I responded to it held true for my reaction to Watt’s latest.
 
However, I began Echopraxia actually relieved and hopeful, for in addition to its heady, hard SF mastery, it appeared to not be avoiding actual action. The novel opens with Daniel Bruks, a field-biologist who has fled into exile into a remote wilderness. Bruks has fled from a humanity that is becoming decreasingly biological in favor of technology and computation, and he has fled a horrific violence for which he unwittingly served as pawn.
 
A sudden attack on an isolated desert monastery near Bruks pulls him into their conflict with other factions of Earth’s growing post-human society and leads Bruks, along with some other visitors to the monastery, on the monk’s journey to discover a truth of the divine at the center of the solar system.
 
The opening action of the novel sets the stage for the actual bulk of the book, which similar to Blindsight, skips action for the play of ‘big ideas’ between characters, the relatively familiar/normal Bruks and the more foreign post-humans (which include zombies and the vampires already familiar to readers of Blindsight that Watts has so fabulously rendered plausible in a hard SF setting.)
 
As Blindsight contained the very basic SF trope of first contact as a basis for its deep investigation into those themes of consciousness/intelligence, Echopraxia‘s plot at its simplest level bears familiarity to the much maligned Star Trek V to delve more seriously into the concept of the divine and of faith and science in understanding/predicting the universe. I personally find myself drawn to these themes, and for that reason (in addition to some more moments of entertaining action) I ended up appreciating this novel to its predecessor.
 
The heavy nature of the ideas in Echopraxia make it a novel that really requires rereading to sufficiently grasp, and it is the type of novel that makes you want to talk to other people about, at least in terms of those themes/ideas. Thus, as with Blindsight and much of hard SF, the ideas here trump the actual fiction. Over some drinks you’ll want to talk about the science and the speculation on matters religious and biological and physical. You won’t want to talk about the characters much or what happened in the story because those details are all relatively throwaway.
 
As fascinating and as intellectually stimulating as Echopraxia is, its entertainment never goes beyond academic. So filled with post-human characters and events the very human reader finds very little to emotionally connect with, leaving the novel feel rather hollow outside of the ‘hard SF/technology’ department. This novel is going to be loved by people who appreciate a secular and actual scientific take on the concept of divinity and who aren’t uncomfortable with emphasis on speculative, sometimes disturbing, scientific content above more traditional aspects of story. While not my favorite kind of SF, this is well done.
 
Four Stars out of Five

Disclaimer: I received a free advanced electronic reading copy of this from Tor Books via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

The Director, by David Ignatius

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The Director, by David Ignatius
Publisher: W.W. Norton & Co.
ISBN: 0393078140
386 pages, hardcover
Published: 2nd June 2014
Source: Goodreads First-Reads

 With The Director, David Ignatius sets out to update the spy novel to the present day realities of cyber-warfare, hacking, and post-Snowdon agency secrecy practices. The resulting story, full of realism and detail, is more akin to a combination of a political and techno thriller than to a spy novel. A fictionalized version of the nonfiction that Ignatius is expert in, The Director ends up being a series of information-laden meetings between characters, heavy on conveying facts or analysis and light on action. Despite the appeal and attraction of the novel’s plot and themes, this execution makes it a relatively dry read to get through, a political/spy thriller equivalent of the hard SF genre.

As its title implies, The Director involves protagonist Graham Weber, the newly-minted director of the CIA who is committed to turning the agency around into something more modern and efficient. Mere days into his tenure, a hacker with unsettling information enters a US consulate in Hamburg and soon after turns up dead. As inter- and intra-agency wheels begin to slowly turn, Weber places a young techno-geek agent named Morris in Germany to investigate the hacker’s claims and murder. However, it becomes slowly clear to Weber that the goals of Morris and of other bureaucrats in Washington may not coincide with his own.

On one hand the novel is about idealistic and naive Director Weber and his fight to navigate the bureaucracy of Washington DC and the influence of other players, and to ultimately overcome them for the ultimate good of the nation.  It is in this way that the novel reads more like a political thriller than a spy or action novel. The term ‘thriller’ doesn’t even necessarily apply. With his appointment as Director, Weber serves as proxy to facilitate the reader’s education into theories on the origins of the CIA, its current workings, and the possible future threats it faces.

Ignatius’ experience as columnist for the Washington Post with expertise on the CIA and its workings make him ideal for writing a novel like this. However, his desire to saturate the novel with detailed verisimilitude in the place of action produces something that is hard to get through with enjoyment or captivation, particularly when having the expectation of reading fiction. The Director instead comes closer to delivering the kind of content and experience I’d rather expect from nonfiction.

Despite its title, the novel also spends a significant percentage of time on Morris and other agents of various nations or hacker organizations who meet with Weber or with Morris. Morris is such a key aspect to the novel that in some ways he seems like the actual protagonist who others, including Weber, are responding to. Only at the end, when things suddenly seem to unravel for Morris and Weber plays hidden cards does the novel turn fully back to Weber.

Ultimately, the premise and content of The Director is fascinating, and Ignatius can craft a very realistic and complex narrative around these elements. This kind of political thriller certainly has its fans, but for me the endless dry meetings between bureaucrats or other players simply made the reading experience feel boring and uneventful.

Two Stars out of Five

The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes, by Albert Wendland

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The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes, by Albert Wendland
Publisher: Dog Star Books (Raw Dog Screaming Press)
ISBN: 1935738615
236 pages, paperback
Expected Publication: 25th June 2014
Source: Raw Dog Screaming Press
Just after starting this novel a gentleman riding across from me on the metro and pondering the cover asked me, “So what makes an alien landscape, and why does he love them?” I speculated rather generally and explained I had only just read the first chapter.
This wasn’t the only comment I’ve gotten while reading this about the cover and title, something that sadly can’t occur with eReaders. The reactions and questions I got are testaments to the draw, the hook, of the evocative cover and title. The title is representative of the care that Wendland has put into this novel from cover-to-cover and how so many aspects of it can be compared back to those words The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes.
The plot also first unwraps with a typical series of hook. Something monumental – and dangerous – is unexpectedly discovered in orbit of an alien planet  by a group of people and one of them, Henry, ends up murdered. This crime leads the police to the novel’s protagonist, Mykol Ranglen, who is somewhat unwillingly dragged into the fray of the situation, as it escalates from a simple murder and missing person’s investigation to a hunt for an artifact that can alter or destroy human civilization.
The cops seek out Ranglen because he is an acquaintance of the deceased, linked to him through Mileen, an artist and former student and lover who had become Henry’s fiancée. Mykol Ranglen is a poet and lecturer who values privacy and separation from others, including the various governmental factions that control Earth and extraplanetary settlements. However, Ranglen cares deeply for Mileen, and her disappearance following the murder of Henry leads Mykol into a personal quest to locate his love and learn what happened on the voyage through space to lead to the situation.
Ranglen already has a fair idea of what may have occurred, but it is a secret he has divulged to very few, and is not about to tell the police. Ranglen is responsible for locating a technological artifact of an ancient, long-extinct alien race, one of a handful of related artifacts (called Clips) which have given humanity blueprints for the development of interstellar travel and stations.
With his artistic appreciation for things alien (such as landscapes painted by Mileen), Ranglen seems to have a related knack for locating the mysterious and small Clips. And it is this ability that led Henry to seek his help when Henry learned about the potential location of another Clip. Ranglen knows from personal experience the power of greed and desire to find a Clip and win the wealth and renown that could come with it, factors Mykol has eschewed. He also understands the danger that more incomprehensible technology could have for humanity as it accelerates at break-neck speed, and the possibilities of it falling into the wrong hands.
It is truly astounding how much Wendland is able to fit into The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes. With forward momentum from its start, the pacing is ideal. A mixture of adventure, mystery, and science fiction, each aspect is included in the recipe in just the right proportions for the scope of the tale. The intricate web of the plot and its characters makes Wendland’s work particularly impressive for its size. Overall coherence is managed while also delighting readers with details into the world, such as some of the ‘hard’ science behind the technology (as far as the characters can understand the alien tech). He also includes tidbits into past history that could be further developed into future works.
Though remarkable in execution, the word-count constraints on Wendland’s novel do show in some areas. There just isn’t space to develop characters other than Ranglen. The other characters range from complex to thin and some of their changes in behavior from one part of the story to another feel rushed or forced. Along those lines, the Big Bad seems particularly like a caricature of a Bond villain. His motivations are given to the hero in a rush, just as his plan is going to come to fruition (of course to be thwarted). This Bond-like quality to the novel may be intentional, and the title itself is reminiscent of a title one might see for a 007 adventure.
On the surface then, The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes is a well written science fiction adventure, a story complete within the confines of this volume, but allowing for the development of further fleshing out. Wendland certainly whets the appetite of the reader, but nicely also leaves you satisfied.
But, The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes isn’t just an entertaining sci-fi adventure, it is also about some interesting deeper issues, again alluded to within the title. The title gives a sense of desire – of not merely an appreciation of ‘alien landscapes’, but also of an intense yearning for them. Indeed, the novel begins with a chapter entitled “The Finding”  and closes with one entitled “The Longing”. In between is really a dialogue, even a conflict, between these two ideas. The theme is embodied in the general plot, in the relationship between Ranglen & Mileen, in the antagonism between Ranglen and the villain, and the paradoxical personality of Ranglen himself.
In all these there is a sense of longing for something, and even when something is found it isn’t necessarily enough, or it comes at a price, such as giving up a piece of oneself or of independence. Ranglen is described as a “loner” and “paranoid”, and indeed he is. Though he wants to be left alone, other desires overcome this (such as a yearning for Mileen and her happiness/safety). Yet even without this, Ranglen seems to be constantly dreaming, on the move searching for something more to reach that ‘alien landscape, or that ‘undiscovered country’. He is the person that goes to a party and wants to sink into a corner, yet deep within is simply yearning for some kind of human connection. He is someone who can’t stay just with themselves and the familiar because they crave something new, alien, and beautiful.
Despite a life full of secrets, Ranglen seems unable to prevent divulging them, illustrating this conflict between the two extremes of separation and a longing for engagement, sharing, and adventure. This theme is born out most directly in a key conversation between Ranglen and the villain about half-way through, highlighting the similarities and differences between these two strong-willed characters and echoing the alien conflict that has set up the present situation for humanity and the characters in this universe.
Thus, The Man Who Loved Alien Landscapes is a notable book in many regards, and I’m not surprised it is written by a professor with combined experience in literature and in science. The book has deservingly been recognized by Publisher’s Weekly, but it is a shame that it does not have wider recognition to date. This is something that I should have seen on those “Must read” lists on speculative fiction themed sites like Tor.com or io9. This should attract a wide audience in the genre, and I can’t recommend it enough.
Five  Stars out of Five

 

The Word Exchange, by Alena Graedon

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The Word Exchange, by Alena Graedon
Publisher: Doubleday
ASIN: B00FUZQY7I
384 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 2014
Source: NetGalley

Literary novels can get away with lacking an exciting plot when they are filled with profound insights or inspiring artistic language that like poetry conveys complex emotions and relationships. Genre novels can get away with the opposite, being completely plot-driven, large-scale, ‘simple’ entertainment, even if formulaic. I become most impressed by the authors, or specific works, that are able to pull off the best of both worlds. That kind of mashup is a risky endeavor though, for sometimes it can come out where neither side really comes out well in the product, and that unfortunately is the case overall with “The Word Exchange”.

The premise of the novel is wonderful, and lovers of books, languages, and the power of words will appreciate at the very least the foundations of the novel. The early chapters are dominated more by the literary side of the equation. While the writing is good throughout the novel, it is probably best here Although it verges on gimmicky with the advanced vocabulary-laden prose, that doesn’t feel like a major fault until it gives way to being replaced by fake words for the remainder of the novel. The trick gets old fast, making the advanced real words sometimes overlap in one’s mind as an elemental tool with the fake ones to come. Graedon writes well, but only rarely does it seem profound or elegant. Rather than words being carefully chosen to fit the flow and of the sentence, they are instead chosen to fit the style, or theme moreso, of the novel’s plot. An early chapter from the point of view of secondary character Bart is the most vocabulary-heavy, but it is also this chapter out of the whole novel that contains the deepest musings on the theme of language, delving into philosophy and other intellectually stimulating backgrounds. But for the literary richness of character relationships, nothing is quite achieved.

Instead, the novel seems to delve further and further into being genre, a combination of a mystery (what happened to Ana’s father) and a near-future techno-thriller. OK, so can the novel at least just then be simply enjoyed as genre entertainment? Sadly, the novel doesn’t quite get this right either, though again it does have some things in its favor. The technology of the ‘Memes’ work wonderfully and believably within the novel, a horror that is easily imaginable. The increasing reliance and emotional dependence on mobile connected technology is highly disturbing, much as it was to Ellul who I happen to be reading now too. But, rather than focusing just on these Memes and the technologies direct effects, Graedon creates this incomprehensible scenario where the technology is somehow exerting effects as a biological virus. How exactly this occurs is explained eventually in the novel, yet even then did not make particular logical, biological sense. Handled in other science fiction outlets, here this idea of a language or word virus, simply doesn’t work as believable science fiction.

That could be okay, I am fine with suspended disbelief even in SF. Yet even still, the actual entertainment of the story line and the reader’s engagement with it, sort of plods along. A good third of the novel could be taken out and with some edits to make the deletion seamless, I don’t think the story would be any worse, but in fact better. The plot drags along as the protagonist Ana slowly comes to realize what is going on and where her father may be (and as she proceeds to ignore every bit of advice/warning given to her, thereby prolonging the moment of realizations). The outbreak of the ‘virus’ similarly limps along until sudden chaos erupts in the final portion of the novel.

Filled with lots of wonderful pieces (I loved the retro feel of the Luddite-type society and the use of the pneumatic message tubes), the sum total of “The Word Exchange” somehow fails. In a way the whole of the novel is somehow symbolic of many of the sentences found within it (due to the word virus): phrases of lucidity but lots of meaningless contrafibulations interspersed throughout the crotix that end up making the message of the yozil fail to manifest or grok. Never quite reaching impressive literary feats, but also failing to be more than the average genre novel, the whole feels unremarkable. However, this isn’t a terrible book either. If you are really enticed by books, language, etc, and the description speaks to you, this could be well worth your time. But if you are picky and want something special, this may not be it. Ultimately if you do give it a read, trust your impressions after the first few chapters.

Two-and-a-Half Stars out of Five

The Girl in the Road, by Monica Byrne

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The Girl in the Road, by Monica Byrne
Publisher: Crown
ASIN: B00GVZZL7A
336 pages, Kindle Edition
Published May 2014
Source: NetGalley

The blurb for Monica Byrne’s debut novel compares it to elements from the works of three authors. Often I don’t care for these kinds of comparisons, and never put much faith in them. In this case while I don’t particularly see the Gaiman comparison (and I don’t even recognize Morgenstern), the similarities in themes to Atwood are warranted to my mind. In terms of genre there is a match in literary style and depth with strong undertones of science (or Atwoodian ‘speculative’) fiction, where near-future technology ends up both drawing people together while leading to their exploitation or estrangement. There is also a strong sharing of themes, with Bryne here tackling complex biological and social issues of gender and sexuality, and to a lesser extent issues of spiritual faith.

“The Girl in the Road” is actually a contrapuntal novel of two girls from two periods of time and two places (India and Africa). There stories are related in alternating chapters, but are intertwined both symbolically and ultimately in reality. Certain parts of it are written in a fashion that approaches magic realism, which may have engendered the comparisons to those other authors, but mostly the story resides in a speculative reality that feels familiar and emotionally fragile. With well-rendered moments of beauty, resilience, despair, and ugly tragedy alike, Bryne’s writing demonstrates a tremendous range in capturing mood and emotion. Although some may struggle through some of the more intense passages or may be confused by some of the more surreal moments, I think the novel is worth making the effort to work through them each.

I do wish the closing chapters of the novel had been more drawn out; the ultimate convergence of the two storylines seemed to happen to rapidly given the slow establishment of each thread and the journey to reach their meeting. This is, however, a minor quibble with what is really a consistently captivating and purposeful novel. I highly recommend giving it consideration to read.

Four Stars out of Five

The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light, by Paul Bogard

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The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light, by Paul Bogard
Publisher: Little, Brown, & Company
ISBN: 0316182907
336 pages, hardcover
Published July 2013
Source: Goodreads First-Reads

Since I was young I have loved the night sky, gazing up at the lovely stars. Years later when I had the opportunity to be outside in a small village and the Bush of Botswana, I realized that until then I had never seen true night. Not only were these stars of the Southern Hemisphere different, but there were so many more. I was bathed in their glow and I found that I could even see the Milky Way, something that prior I had never comprehended. Yet even then, there in the heart of Africa, light pollution was evident, blazing along the horizon from distant mining industry.

The End of the Night talks about light pollution, about how most people are born, live, and die without ever experiencing an actual night, actual darkness, free of artificial light. I was aware of the effects of modern electric light on star-gazing, and even a bit on its adverse health effects, but Bogard takes the story far beyond these issues alone to shed light into all aspects of darkness, literal and even figurative.

Bogard writes both well and passionately, suffusing the text with a glow of caring and hope, even amid factoids that can be downright depressing regarding how ubiquitous and how horrible our way of artificially lighting our lives is done. The book is about light as much as it is about darkness, starting at one of the brightest spots on Earth, Las Vegas, and slowly counting down chapter numbers, dimming the focus on light and raising the focus on dark to the final reflections in quiet blackness.

After the initial astronomical discussions, Bogard turns to examining how two large European cities, London and Paris of course, have utilized light in different ways, with very different effects. He addresses the issue that most lighting we use is too strong and too wasteful, both economically and energetically. He discusses findings that demonstrate that all this light we clamor for in fear, all in the name of ‘safety’, actually has the opposite effect.

The most interesting chapter occurs halfway through the book with exploration of light and darkness in the metaphorical sense, and the psychological needs we humans have for darkness and for both sides of related things characterized so dualistically. Another chapter focusing on what people can do to change how we misuse light and foolishly banish darkness completes the tour of this book, leaving the last chapters almost like an epilogue, finding bits of darkness still close to home, and hope that it will still exist in the future, perhaps even return to our daily lives.

Riding the bus while reading this I noticed all the lights blaring inside, lights still on outside in parking lots, lights shining from cars…all while the Houston sun blazed down. This book opens your eyes to the lights that blind us. I’d recommend it to all to read.

Five Stars out of Five