Used Books Blog

Do you remember the Choose Your Own Adventure book series? If you grew up in the 80s I’m guessing you might. I know I do.

Here’s what Wikipedia has to say on the subject.

Choose Your Own Adventure was one of the most popular children’s series during the 1980s and 1990s, selling over 250 million copies between 1979 and 1998, and translated into at least 38 languages.

I can understand why they were so popular. Written in the second-person, these books put you, the reader, in the driver’s seat, allowing you to make choices during the narrative that effect the outcome of the book. Talk about empowerment!

Here’s an example from the The Abominable Snowman, the first book in the Choose Your Own Adventure series.

If you decide to cancel your meeting with Runal and search for Carlos, turn to page 7.

If you feel Carlos is OK and go ahead with your plan to meet Runal, turn to page 8.

You make these choices frequently through the book, winding your way to one of multiple endings. The number of endings for each book could be as high as 44, or 30 like in my favorite of the series, Inside UFO 54-40.

There was usually one really good ending. You’d try again and again to get to that ending instead of the others that ended in death, imprisonment or some other misfortune. Inside UFO 54-40 was unusual in that none of the normal paths actually got you to the really good ending. ‘Paradise’ could only be found by breaking the rules of the book and finding the ending you wanted by thumbing through to that elusive, orphaned, page.

While I certainly enjoyed the structure of the Choose Your Own Adventure books, it was the lesson in Inside UFO 54-40, about thinking outside of the box, that stuck with me.

Choose Your Own Adventure books have been praised for capturing reluctant readers. I wasn’t one of those. I was reading Watership Down, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Cat’s Cradle, Dune and Caves of Steel. But the series helped continue my passion for books. It seems to have done that for many others, and is also heralded as a great gender neutral series because of the second-person narrative style.

The series was written by a number of authors though most were penned by R.A. Montgomery and Edward Packard. Montgomery is trying to revive the series through Chooseco, his new publishing company. I can definitely see a way for the series to connect to a new generation, but it’ll take better integration with the Internet and a major overhaul of the Choose Your Own Adventure site.

Perhaps a few dedicated fans with technical savvy can reach out and help Chooseco? It’s a worthwhile endeavor in my opinion.

In the mean time, check out the great collection of covers and reviews at gamebooks.org and pick up a few used copies for your kids (or you).

Software by Rudy Rucker is a gritty, gripping science-fiction novel that explores cyberpunk themes in a retro (Pulp or early Golden Age) format. Software feel like reading an old Amazing Stories or Astounding Science Fiction magazine. The slim volume and direct prose make Software feel slightly and deliciously subversive.

Winner of the inaugural Philip K. Dick award in 1982, Software is a clear influence on many other science fiction writers, most notably Richard K. Morgan and his Takeshi Kovacs trilogy.

Rucker creates a world in which robots have broken Asimov’s laws of robotics and become self-aware and free, taking up residence on the moon. Cobb Anderson, the scientist who set this rebellion in motion, is now an aging ‘pheezer’ in Florida, slowly drinking himself to death.

The story begins almost immediately as Anderson is approached by a representative of the robots, known as boppers, with the offer of immortality. What follows is a terse, action-packed adventure that presents interesting science-fiction concepts beside bits of lurid imagery and unsubtle social commentary.

A central theme of Software is the division of a person into software and hardware. If the software - the mind and memories - survive, does the hardware - human body or robot - matter? Could switching hardware be likened to the regular molting of skin? If the software is part of a greater program - a collection of software - are you no longer an individual? How does the soul fit into the software and hardware division?

Rucker takes all of these issues on, but does so without preaching and, refreshingly, doesn’t seem to take a side. Even his characters are confused and conflicted about their stand on things. And the characters are memorable, though not particularly deep.

Software is populated by two to four main characters; the previously described Cobb Anderson; Sta-Hi an aimless drug addled surfer type; Ralph Numbers, the first bopper to be free; and Mr. Frostee, a ‘big bopper’ who wants to collect the brain tapes of humans and boppers alike, a forerunner of Star Trek’s Borg.

Don’t expect to just sit back and muse about Software. There’s no time with the short chapters, quick dialog and visceral action. After the fact you might feel like a shower and, once in the shower, can begin to evaluate the higher meaning in Software.

I highly recommend Software by Rudy Rucker for anyone who enjoys Philip K. Dick, Richard K. Morgan or Neil Gaiman. However, you may want to avoid Software if you’re not into science fiction, or like your science fiction to be neat and tidy. These robots have no relation to the cute beeping R2D2.

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.