Used Books Blog

Fiskadoro by Denis Johnson is a jumbled, frustrating post-apocalyptic novel. Don’t expect a paint-by-numbers approach to revealing how things went wrong, nor what happened between that fateful day and the present. There is no omniscient character to provide the necessary background. There is no guide. Instead Johnson’s characters inhabit the world as it is, without the explanation that might bring clarity to the reader.

I admire what Denis Johnson is trying to do in Fiskadoro. He immerses the reader in what it might really be like to be a survivor. History is lost or, worse, is a warped collection of things heard or imagined. The connection to the past is limited, receding away until it vanishes like a sunset never to return. What remains isn’t well understood or is taken for granted as part of daily life.

Admiration and enjoyment don’t always go hand in hand.

Johnson creates a realistic world in which the survivors, and reader, are often fumbling for answers. The survivors crave those answers. They want to know what happened, how it happened and what comes next. And so did I! There are a few sign-posts in Fiskadoro that point to a quarantine and some sort of civilization in Cuba. There is one particular scene late in the book that paints an interesting portrait of the hours or days after the bombs fell. But it’s not enough to quench my thirst for answers. And while I know that’s what Johnson wants me to feel, it leaves me frustrated.

Yes, I enjoy post-apocalyptic novels and Johnson provides one reason I might be drawn to this theme.

Can we help it if sometimes we like to tell stories that want, as their holiest purpose, to excite us with pictures of danger and chaos?

I’ll admit that I see part of myself in that statement. But it’s overwhelmed with the idea of starting again; of battling back from the brink; of stripping down all the old conventions and building anew; of how you might respond should civilization disintegrate. What would you do if …? I am intrigued by this idea.

A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr., Lucifer’s Hammer by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, The Postman by David Brin and Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell all answer this central question and satisfy in different ways. Fiskadoro doesn’t.

Oddly, the best passages in the book revolve around the past life of a now elderly, nearly mute, woman. The reader is taken back to her harrowing escape from Saigon. This is where the book comes alive and Johnson is certainly drawing some parallels between the two timelines with themes such as the breakdown of society, of leaving the past behind completely and of survival.

I don’t doubt Johnson’s writing ability. He’s talented, with interesting insight …

The sabotage of knowledge by a wealth of facts - they weren’t professors, but guerrillas.

and observations.

The seagulls walked back and forth at the border of the water, all bellies and beaks, throwing out their chests with an air of flat assumption like small professors.

In the end Fiskadoro proves that the post-apocalyptic genre is tough to get right, even for gifted writers. With all the great post-apocalyptic novels out there, I simply can’t recommend Fiskadoro by Denis Johnson.

I recently found a stunning international collection of cover art for The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. This first one is a favorite simply for the laugh factor of putting Star Trek’s Enterprise on the cover.

The site allows you to explore the covers by a number of methods including date, language, artist, publisher and design. The ‘Enterprise’ edition is classified under the aptly named ‘Huh??’ category. Other categories include ‘Screaming Humans Running at You’, ‘Humans Grabbed by Tentacles’, ‘Damsels in Distress’ and the popular ‘Tripods’. You can even view the covers by color.

I’m not a cover art aficionado, the kind who knows all the history and the actual artists. But I appreciate interesting cover art and am lucky to have inherited some spectacular examples from my dad’s collection. I read Frank Herbert’s Santaroga Barrier and got into Keith Laumer’s Retief series because of interesting covers.

I highly recommend that you visit and browse The War of the Worlds book cover collection if you are at all interested in science fiction, cover art, or art in general. A hearty thank you to Chez Zeus for putting together and maintaining this fine user contributed collection.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams is like that old Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups advertising campaign. You know, the one where the peanut butter and chocolate lovers clumsily bump into each other.

“You’ve got peanut butter on my chocolate! You’ve got chocolate in my peanut butter!” they exclaim before finding out just how delicious the combination turns out to be.

Replace peanut butter and chocolate with science fiction and humor and you get Douglas Adams’ brilliant The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Follow the rollicking exploits of Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect as they pinball around the universe, getting into tight scrapes and meeting up with a zany assortment of outlandish characters. You won’t find hard science here or a complex tale mirroring a modern day social issue. In fact, Adams lampoons these staples of science fiction and instead creates a wild parody without equal.

Here’s a secret. You’ll even learn the puzzling answer to the meaning of life, provided by Deep Thought, the second greatest computer in the universe.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy begins when a nasty bunch of officious aliens called the Vogons destroy Earth to make way for a ‘hyperspatial express route.’ Arthur and Ford survive by thumbing a ride on the Vogon spaceship. They’re able to do this only because Ford happens to be an alien and, more importantly, is a researcher for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a type of electronic tome which is a cross between a Lonely Planet guide, a George Carlin cassette (remember this was published in the late 70s) and the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Adams uses entries in the Guide with great effect, providing quick tongue-in-cheek explanations or background information without it feeling forced. The cast of characters are entertaining and undeniably memorable: the wisecracking Ford Prefect; straight man to the farce, Arthur Dent; the swashbuckling Zaphod Beeblebrox, President of the Galaxy, who happens to have two heads and three arms; Marvin, the Paranoid Android, a severely depressed robot; and a beautiful woman by the name of Trillian.

This motley band of characters jet about the universe on The Heart of Gold, a stolen ship powered by an Improbability Drive and equipped with an annoyingly cheery computer named Eddie.

Forget about highly defined plot lines and let yourself bounce from one screwball situation to another. Give in to the lunacy and snappy dialog that drive the novel. Douglas Adams is without a doubt the funniest science fiction author in the universe. Sadly, we lost Adams well before his time.

Don’t panic! The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is just the first in a classic and oddly titled five book trilogy. So there’s plenty more to read if you enjoy this introduction to the series.

Think twice about reading this in public, since a bark of laughter in your local cafe may earn you some odd looks. Though this could work to your advantage if you want some space during your commute to or from work.

Darwin’s Children by Greg Bear is a satisfying but imperfect follow-up to Darwin’s Radio that reaches too far outside the scientific realm and into politics and religion. Bear is a gifted storyteller with a knack for building great suspense. Bear uses a scientific framework to create interesting characters and places them in situations that compel you to read on to find out what happens next. Darwin’s Children is no different.

Darwin’s Children picks up 11 years after where Darwin’s Radio ended. Bear doesn’t do a whole lot to catch the reader up, so if you haven’t read Darwin’s Radio you might be a bit confused. I definitely recommend reading Darwin’s Radio before Darwin’s Children. (Jeez, how many Darwin’s can you fit into a paragraph!)

The story revolves around the treatment and integration of a new type of human, children born through a retrovirus embedded deep in our DNA. As with all Bear novels, you’re treated to a bit of hard science. I personally enjoyed learning about the differing nature of viruses; a disease but also as a carrier of information. But the story is really about the Rafelson family who were central to Darwin’s Radio.

We follow Kaye Lang, a scientific researcher who essentially discovered the new virus; Mitch Rafelson, a former archaeologist who made a critical discovery in Darwin’s Radio; and Stella Nova, their “virus child” daughter. Stella is the most interesting because we get insight into these new humans.

Virus children have a hyper developed sense of smell that allows them to sniff out emotions. In addition, they can produce scents that can persuade others, a subtle type of mind control. Their faces are freckled and these freckles can be manipulated to produce patterns that allow non-verbal communication. In the verbal arena, they’re able to carry on two streams of conversation at once. Bear does a fine job of exploring the evolving ways in which these new humans will form relationships and develop new social patterns.

Alone, this type of speculative sociology would be interesting but Bear places his characters in tense, explosive situations. Can the Rafelson family evade capture by government agencies bent on placing Stella, and all of her kind, in internment camps? Will Stella survive a new disease that is ravaging this new breed of humans? And that’s just the first act of Darwin’s Children.

In fact, Bear creates three consecutive suspense stories which is both good and bad. The set-up is great but in many cases the climax never came. Instead you’re thrown head long into another set-up. So just when you’re warming up to how the situation would be resolved … the rug is pulled out from under you and you’re back to square one.

Yes, they all did support the final resolution, but I found the final story weak, the novel petering out near the end, ambling into cliche territory. In addition, Bear takes on a bit too much, straying into politics and religion.

On politics he takes very transparent shots at governing by fear and the erosion of freedom. I completely agree with Bear’s clear sentiment, but didn’t need or want them in this context. Yes, it’s easy to create some parallels but inference would have been better than exposition.

Bear also brings religion or God into the mix when it does nothing for the story and doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s simply his own personal observation and, from reading the caveats section, personal experience. My advice is to write up an essay or put this into another novel entirely. It’s distracting here and unnecessary.

Despite these failings Darwin’s Children is a good read as Bear deftly draws you into a new reality. Not his best by any stretch of the imagination, but worthwhile if you’ve read Darwin’s Radio and appropriate for those who enjoy readable hard Sci-Fi.

Foop! by Chris Genoa is an appealing science-fiction farce with healthy doses of amusing social commentary. I liked Foop! but wanted to like it more. All the ingredients were there, and it did taste good, but I couldn’t help but think that a dash more of this and a little less of that would have really made it a great read.

The story follows a rather overwhelmed and juvenile Joe, a time travel tour guide. We join Joe in crisis, having to step in for John Wilkes Booth and assassinate Abraham Lincoln. (I can’t help but think of Sarah Vowell right out of the gate and have to believe she’s read Foop!) It’s in these first few chapters that we’re introduced to how time travel works in Foop! and the ’shaved cat’ principle that ensures that any changes made in the past do not effect the future. Or do they?

The story pinballs, nay, ricochets from character to character and wacky, odd-ball scene to the next. There’s Joe’s macho yet tender boss Burk; Martini, an Eeyore-like needy co-worker; Ba Hubba Tree Bob, a new age religious leader; and Boogedy and Nibbles, a mute alien Laurel and Hardy team that stalk Joe throughout time. Genoa stitches these scenes together artfully, particularly since the plot isn’t exactly the cohesive force it could be in the novel.

The vaudeville like tone to Foop! is enjoyable and you can feel a Christopher Moore vibe going on. And perhaps it’s because Moore is so accomplished, or that Tim Scott was successful in doing something similar, that makes me want more from Foop! It’s like early Neal Stephenson, he knew how to start, but had problems really closing the deal. Because there are some deeper messages buried in Foop!, about how we live, about being connected to those around us, and about the general conduct of humans.

But there was too much of the crude Judd Apatow (Superbad, 40 Year Old Virgin) humor steeped in genitalia and bodily orifice jokes. Once in a while and it can be humorous. Frequent use makes me feel like I’m listening to a 14 year-old trying (and failing) to have adult conversation. In addition, the main character seemed a bit uneven, oscillating from spineless stunted geek to acerbic dominant bully.

So, at the end of the day I liked Foop! but hope that, like many first time authors, Chris Genoa turns out an even better sophomore effort.

Outrageous Fortune by Tim Scott is a rare blend of action, humor, absurdity, science-fiction and personal insight. You know things are going to be interesting when the first word of Outrageous Fortune is ‘Fuckers’, uttered by main character, Johnny X67. He has every right to be pissed. His house has just been stolen. But that’s not even in the Top 10 of strange things that Johnny encounters in this non-stop adventure.

The world that Tim Scott creates is a fantastic collection of interesting ideas, vivid imagery and incisive social commentary. On top of that he’s laid out a riotous action plot coupled with interludes of penetrating observations. I knew I was hooked when he described a city that had been divided by music genres. Such a brilliant concept I’m green with envy!

The Classical section is high-brow and well maintained with sound ordinances and large signs that chide the noisy with large flashing ’shhhhh’ signs. In Jazz you have all sorts of strange free-form architecture but can’t be sure to get a decent pizza since they might be ‘experimenting’ with an ‘all olive’ phase. Or visit Compilation, the haven for those pale, boring souls who don’t have taste enough to identify with any one type of music. And stay away from Holiday Song, an area with perpetual snow and roaming, ho-ho-ho-ing Santas.

Scott takes readers on a fast-paced ride that reminds me of the movie After Hours and Brazil. It’s a desperate, funny, bizarre world where you (and the characters) are struggling to catch-up and digest what is going on. You don’t want to put the book down because you know something else is going to happen in the next few pages.

The only thing that distracted me was the mix of English and American phrases and places. Scott is English and that comes through unmistakably through his prose. However, the novel takes place in America in some sort of composite of Santa Cruz, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Perhaps the cultural collision is intentional and part of the alternate reality Scott wants to create. I don’t know, but it jolted me out of the regular reading and flow of the story.

Amid the Monty Python meets Philip K. Dick prose are amazing reflections on relationships, religion, reality and happiness.

On relationships:

I watched her character shrink before me and I felt so helpless. The spirit I’d loved her for had turned into fear, so that she no longer thought she could cope with the world; was so scared of the thought of being on her own that she crushed the present, suffocating any joy from life, and turned everything into a battle for survival. I knew this was not right - not for us, not for people who had a house and food and friends. And the more she clung to me, the more we both drowned, sinking under an invisible sea of desperation.

On religion:

Now the emphasis was on seeking peace rather than clinging to spurious explanations for our existence - and once the focus moved toward peace, religion seemed to lose a lot of its hold over the masses. Religions never had been interested in peace that much, anyway.

On happiness:

What mattered was regaining who I was, because the pleasure of being alive is not pining for different lives, or different things, but just being.

For every talking elevator who tells bad jokes there is a literary gem. Tim Scott gives readers both sizzle and steak; swashbuckling science-opera and high-minded literature. Read Outrageous Fortune and then wait for Scott’s next novel.

Brasyl by Ian McDonald is a bloated, confused novel that obscures an otherwise interesting story. Reading Brasyl was a struggle and I had to fight off the urge to put it down nearly every time I picked it up. The novel is composed of three different stories, one in the past, one in the present and one in the future. The plot revolves around the nature of the universe, or in this case the ‘multiverse’, and how these different stories converge and intersect.

I have never read Ian McDonald before and I’m not sure I will again. He’s received a lot of praise and some nice awards. I can only hope that his body of work that made it difficult for an editor to take a red pen to Brasyl. I’m not a writer (well I am, but I don’t get paid for it) nor an editor, nor an ivory tower literati. However, I think I can spot poor writing when I read it - and Brasyl has it in spades.

The warm humidity help and amplified smells; the fruity, blousy sickliness of the bougainvilleas that overhung the fundacao’s fighting yard, the rank smokiness of the oil from the lamps that defined the roda, the honey-salt sweetness of the sweat that ran down Marcelina’s upraised arm, the fecund, nurturing sourness of her armpit.

That’s but a sample of the overblown prose that litters the pages of Brasyl. McDonald can’t help but attach not one but (at least) two adjectives to every noun. More adjectives do not make better descriptions! McDonald does this repeatedly, not trusting the reader to use his or her imagination to fill in the blanks.

In addition, McDonald overuses native language. Again, it seems McDonald worked to put at least one native word per sentence. I’m not opposed to it as a rule, but in this instance it does little to enhance the story and makes it even more difficult to read. I know he’s trying to reach for Burgess or Gibson like dialects, but it simply never comes together.

McDonald also misses in his use of pop culture references. The mention of Mentos in Diet Coke is lame and far too ephemeral; the use of ‘alt dot’ is dated and misplaced; and the DJ competition scenes are unauthentic. Most of these are contained in the insipid, present day storyline that follows reality-programming producer Marcelina Hoffman.

The future storyline has some interesting elements, but they’re lost amid the prose and a flat romantic plot. Brasyl shines the most when in the past, following Father Luis Quinn and Dr. Robert Falcon into the Amazon. They are the most fully formed characters and their relationship is a strong point in the novel. It’s in this section that you get a (very) faint echo of the great Hyperion by Dan Simmons.

I can’t recommend Brasyl by Ian McDonald. It’s muddled, indulgent prose hides what might be an interesting story. Perhaps someone can comment on whether his earlier works merit reading.

Spook Country by William Gibson is a satisfying book, but it’s not the best of Gibson’s work and not even close to his science fiction masterpiece - Neuromancer. Spook Country flirts with some of what made Neuromancer such a fantastic read, a complete immersion in a strange, fascinating world that explored technology and how it could alter society.

It actually seemed like it was headed that way as Hollis Henry, minor-celebrity from her days in an alternative band, delved into the the new ‘locative arts’ scene. Essentially, creating art on a GPS enabled virtual dimension. Easiest way to think of it is if you were to walk down Sunset outside of the Viper room and could still see River Phoenix dead on the sidewalk.

The technology was interesting, and bumped up against the avatar like representation that Neal Stephenson presented in Snow Crash. So, I was intrigued and read on quickly. But it turned out that this was simply a plot device for the real story, which is a shadowy race to find and retrieve a shipping container with some unknown mystery inside.

The story is told from numerous points of view and, in a somewhat rote way, they all wind up converging toward the end of the book. Outside of the Hollis Henry thread there’s Tito, a Russo-Cuban trained by his family as a spy and Milgram, a prescription drug addict who is being held by Brown, a Blackwater type mercenary. Each story does have its moments and there’s no question that Gibson is a fine writer.

Be forewarned, there’s also a very strong 9/11, anti-Bush administration overtone to the entire novel. That’s not a problem for me, but it might be for you.

An added boost to my enjoyment of Spook Country is how it wove into my own life. I commute into the city on BART. I often put my book down to stare down at West Oakland and then the shipping yard full of containers with names like Yang Ming and “K” line and Maersk. I marvel at the landscape and think about what it’s like to work there and what kind of lives they all lead. Gibson unknowingly tapped into this curiosity which helps me give Spook Country a moderate recommendation.

Th1rte3n by Richard K. Morgan is a satisfying blend of his previous novels, equal parts of his hard-boiled Kovacs series and Market Forces, his recent Road Warrior meets Halliburton social treatise. If Andrew Vachss wrote science-fiction, this is what he’d write.

As with all of Morgan’s work, you’ll get a healthy dose of pulse-pounding action sequences and grisly crime descriptions. I’m not a horror buff and I don’t generally like gore. However, Morgan makes it accessible by delivering these sequences without the giddy glee or overly dramatic flair others employ. It’s a very straight-forward factual description - a nearly academic deconstruction of the brutality of what he’s envisioning. You’ll understand the appeal if you like CSI or Criminal Minds.

Th1rte3n continues Morgan’s science-fiction detective genre and delivers Carl Marsalis, a ‘Thirteen’, or genetically altered human who works as a hard-case bounty hunter. The back cover of the uncorrected proofs I obtained calls Marsalis “a hit man who has lost his desire to kill.” This, frankly, isn’t accurate. Marsalis is a genetically-modified soldier with increased aggression and machismo. He’s built to kill, is damn good at it, and doesn’t mind doing so for profit or revenge. It’s not a perfect life, but it’s the hand he’s been dealt and he’s a realist.

Marsalis is hired by agents of the governing body of Mars after one of their spaceships is ‘compromised’ by another Thirteen. The ship splashes into the ocean, filled with the remains of the other passengers, eaten by the renegade Thirteen. Using genetic trace the team has linked the escaped Thirteen to numerous seemingly unrelated murders across the country. Marsalis is the necessary evil they turn to as the body count rises without any further progress on capturing their suspect.

There’s a bit of rote material, necessary for the full plot, in which Marsalis bonds with his new ‘partner’, Sevgi Ertekin. It’s a satisfying tale of sleuth as the two follow the tangents, misdirection and clues to arrive at a final epiphany. In the end, the whole crime feels a little bit like a stretch, but the rest of the novel is strong enough to overcome this obstacle.

The world Morgan creates is a future fractured by racism and religion. Unlike his Kovacs novels, Morgan’s dialog is often a direct discussion of the topics he wishes to analyze and present to readers. Th1rte3n isn’t for you if you’re turned off by topics like the nature of man, of how society evolved, of Fundamentalism, of nature versus nurture and the corrupting influence of power. These direct miniature essays are peppered within the dialog, bringing introspection and intelligence to the inventive future world and hard-edge action sequences.

I recommend Richard K. Morgan’s Th1rte3n as a good way to introduce yourself to Morgan’s work. If you’re entertained and provoked, you’ll have plenty of great reading ahead of you by delving into his prior work.

Wasp by Eric Frank Russell is the first in what I’m calling a Retro Review. These are books that I’ve read in the past instead of recently and are most likely older books that aren’t currently in popular circulation. I’m also using the cover art for the edition I have on my bookshelf. Thank you to the Denver Science Fiction & Fantasy Book Club from which I sourced this image.

The artwork was a big reason why I picked this out ages ago when I was in my teens. My dad had - still has - a large collection of science-fiction paperbacks in the basement. So, when I wanted something to read I’d go down and leaf through the musty books looking for something interesting. I’d often look for some of the names I’d come to rely upon: Heinlein, Laumer, Aldiss. But I could also be persuaded by a cool looking cover. Wasp was appealing (particularly the finger print font) and the quick teaser got me to open up the book and trudge up the stairs to start reading.

Wasp is about “intergalactic guerrilla warfare” and is based on the idea that small things can have big effects. The analogy is about how a wasp, “under half an ounce … killed four big men and converted a large, powerful car into a heap of scrap.” Furrowing your brow on that one? The scenario is that the driver is stung by a wasp and loses control of the car and crashes.

We follow James Mowry - reluctant hero - who is recruited as a wasp in the war between Terra and the Sirian Empire. Mowry is dropped on the planet Jaimec after undergoing training and surgery to blend into the humanoid Sirian population. What transpires next is a taut, but darkly comic look at psychological warfare.

After 9/11 and with terrorism such a buzz word, Wasp has been revived, discussed and debated. I’ve read Wasp twice and just can’t get myself lathered up about it being too close to home. Newly minted critics feel it’s a bad example. The thing is, most of what Mowry does is psychological warfare and not outright terrorism. Mowry creates a mythical rebel organization, places stickers and decals on storefronts, writes menacing letters and places fake wire-tapping devices in high-profile government buildings.

Wasp is about how to use communications to create paranoia and fear. In that way, I find it extremely relevant and interesting. But to tell the truth, each time I’ve read Wasp I simply fell into a reverie of rooting for David against Goliath while marveling and chuckling at the way in which Mowry went about his business. Russell’s Wasp is far more like reading one of Laumer’s Retief novels - a fun, yet intelligent, winking at the reader space opera.

It’s only after enjoying the tight plot line and too cool Mowry that you might connect the dots to present day geopolitics.