The October Country

Back in October 2022, I started reading this Ray Bradbury collection. I thought it apropos for October-season. Well, I read the first three and half stories in the nineteen story collection and I put the book down for a year. I have tried to read Ray Bradbury several times in my life – the earliest in the early 1990s when I had Something Wicked This Way Comes and I could never bring myself to read very far in it. I eventually just got rid of that book in defeat. I do not dispute that Bradbury is an interesting author with skill. He is incredibly well-known and well-read and is usually considered among the greats of speculative fiction writers and American writers. So, here’s me with another unpopular opinion; I learned such things from Nabokov:  Bradbury is not an author who’s writing works well for me.

The Dwarf • (1954) – (3 stars)
The Next in Line • (1947) – (2 stars)
The Watchful Poker Chip of H. Matisse • (1954) – (1 stars)
Skeleton • (1945) – (1 star)
The Jar • (1944) – (3 stars)
The Lake • (1944) – (1 stars)
The Emissary • (1947) – (2 stars)
Touched with Fire • (1954) – (3 stars)
The Small Assassin • (1946) – (1 star)
The Crowd • (1943) • (3 stars)
Jack-in-the-Box • (1947) (1 star)
The Scythe • (1943) (1 star)
Uncle Einar • [The Elliott Family] • (1947) – (2 stars)
The Wind • (1943) – (4 stars)
The Man Upstairs • (1947) – (2 stars)
There Was an Old Woman • (1944) – (3 stars)
The Cistern • (1947) – (1 star)
Homecoming • [The Elliott Family] • (1947) – (3 stars)
The Wonderful Death of Dudley Stone • (1954) – (3 stars)

I read the first story, The Dwarf, and was not overly impressed. It just seemed mean-spirited (more on this later).  However, the story is not bad. Surprisingly, when I glanced around online, it seemed many readers understood the ending to be different than I understood it.  I read the ending a few more times and I just am confused about what other readers may have seen that I did not.  Regardless, its not that great of a story and I was not really enthused to keep reading.

I read the second story, The Next in Line, in the collection and I liked it a lot because it really played on the tension between the main characters.  I liked the atmosphere and the setting.  Ultimately, though, the horror is domestic/psychological. I liked a bunch of elements in the story, I thought this was original.  It just went on way too long. I felt this was unending. Maybe this story would be best as a TV episode or a short film.  It just took the effort out of me. I liked the sugar skulls and the mummies, the vehicle troubles added to the tension. There was just too much of this whole thing.

By the time I got to the third story, The Watchful Poker Chip of H. Matisse, I was quite exasperated. This story is stupid, do not read it. Somehow, some way, I got through this one and began Skeleton. I read halfway and abandoned the book. Skeleton ruined my reading experience – it is a terribly stupid story (in my opinion).  It goes on too long, the characters are all witless, the ending is something a middle-schooler would come up with.  Of course, it took me a year to find out about the ending, because I was so put off by the whole book already.

The Jar is an interesting story. Again, the feeling I have about Bradbury stories is that the real horror is the pyschological/human horror, if you will, even though this usually occurs among elements of the standard horror ingredients. The Jar involves a carnival and a weird, disgusting whatever in a jar of strange liquid. It takes place somewhere rural and folksy. The story is superficially about the jar and its contents. In reality, the story is a character study of the main character, Charlie, and his desire to be popular and important.  The horror is the length Charlie will go to in order to keep his perceived amount of “prestige.”  This is a good story, finally.

The Lake, The Cistern, The Small Assassin, Jack-in-the-Box are the stories that I rated so low – a one-star. I know some folks will argue with me about this. Heck, they may be correct – but whatever they mete out to punish my reviewing skills, please do not make me re-read these stories!  All of these stories feel endless – they go on far too long. They grew really tedious and boring, especially The Cistern. I could not be more disinterested in a story, I think.  Now, the Small Assassin seems like some trope, but its stupid. Babies. I cannot even write more about this story – just no, forget it.  The Lake was similarly pointless and it had zero suspense because it is completely predictable and the take-away is null.  Now, Jack-in-the-Box is slightly different because I feel like there are so many potentials here that are wasted. There are twisted plot elements, euphemisms, fantasy-level world-building, etc.  Somehow though, it does not all stitch together nicely, and this includes the actual toy jack-in-the-box in the story.  Definitely an interesting story, the whole does not add up to enough and the ending is predictable.  I probably could bump the rating of this one up a star, but at the same time, I know I did not enjoy it as I was reading it. It just feels like it had fragmentary goodness and then also scenes of stupidity.

The Scythe is the story that I think most readers are familiar with.  It also gets high ratings from readers. I was so annoyed by it that I really read it faster than I should have.  The idea is rather straightforward, I wonder that no author has explored this concept? The idea is that the wheat fields and the reaping done with the special scythe represent the actual reaping of people who die in the world. Except the characters are toxic and unlikeable. And then Bradbury heaped on a rather gruesome fire. Again, I am not sure why the writing does not work for me, but I have zero sympathy for the characters and the stories all seem so boring or obvious.

The Wind is my favorite of the collection.  This was another that I felt was well-done and was less about the character-traits and why lurks in people’s psychologies as opposed to having an actual horrific element that the story is about. Sure, the one character spends some time pondering people and their lives, but at the end of the day, the fierce wind is anthropomorphized. The ending is bittersweet. I am glad I read this because I like the courage and friendship I see in the story.

For the most part, the stories in this collection are not exactly horrific, but rather they are uncomfortable.  They are stories about people and their psychological drives.  I do think that the majority of the stories have a meanness to them that I find off-putting. The characters are not people I want to know.  The dialogue is caustic.  The characters are mean. I do not really like anything in these stories, though I can appreciate some of them.  Bradbury does a huge amount of wordsmithing. By this I mean that he likes to write prose-poetry, he likes to play with descriptions, and so many segments of his stories have unusual wordplay. I gave Touched With Fire three stars not because I loved the story, but it was definitely the most suspenseful. Much of that suspense is built with the descriptive wordsmithing that Bradbury uses to draw the reader into the scenes.  Including his term “irritable murder” – which I think is a neat term that I have to consider as I continue in my horror-genre reading and my Big Crime Reads.  In this story, Bradbury’s style worked. It was immersive and interesting. However, most of the time, it backfired and Bradbury’s writing style annoyed me.  Like in The Cistern where I could not believe how long the thing was drawn out with all the words and words and words.

Truthfully, I can understand why some readers love these stories. I can see how some readers would rate this book so highly.  I am not saying those folks are wrong, but Bradbury just does not resonate with me. His stories chafe and bore me. I get restless and disinterested in reading his work. That being said, I am glad, in a way, that I was finally able to finish any Bradbury book in my lifetime.  These are stories that, if pressed, I will think of like Friends titles, i.e. The One with the Sugar Skulls, The One with the Dog, The One with the Skeleton, etc.  I think mainly writers who want to write in the horror/speculative fiction genre need to read through these stories carefully and decide what works and what does not. The general reader may or may not like this collection, I have no idea, since my opinion on this one seems vastly divergent.

2 stars

The Naked Sun

I finished The Naked Sun by Isaac Asimov yesterday and I really appreciate a lot about the novel. It was first published in 1957 and is the second in the R. Daneel Olivaw “series.”  I read the Spectra/Bantam edition with cover art by Stephen Youll. I read the first novel, The Caves of Steel, and enjoyed that one. There is a third novel, The Robots of Dawn, but it was published in 1983 – so a long gap between this novel and that.  I do intend to read that one eventually.  Here is the thing with Asimov – for me, he is a guaranteed 4 star read. I know many people take issue with his novel writing (in particular his characterization) and also many readers enjoy debating his sociological/historical concepts.  All of this is perfectly fine with me – debate away because he would have loved that sort of thing. That is the whole point of some science fiction and Asimov “gets it.”

I love being able to pick up an Asimov novel and have my expectations met. The standards for his writing always are high and he delivers every time. No, not all of his novels are the most fun novels ever. Sure, they are not perfect novels. I never, however, finish one of his books and feel like I wasted time or my mind is worse off or that I should have selected something else to read. Well, that being said, I do not know what I can rightly add to the conversation about Asimov generally or about this novel specifically. Having been published in the late 50s and being one of the most significant and popular books/authors, I hardly have any new insights about the novel.

The worst part of the novel is the main character’s attitude. Lord have mercy, there are points when he is so sour, petulant, snarky, and impatient I want to clobber him. I mean, I can understand some of his discomfort and his confusion, but his constant poor attitude is really grating. I would exonerate the other characters if they had, at any point, walloped Elijah Baley a nice good one. I mean, I like Elijah, but I really wanted to punch him in this novel. Anyway, Elijah suffers enough without me beating him up because he is undergoing a massive bout of agoraphobia. Amusingly, I finished reading this novel outdoors on a sunny day in which the sky was so clear and blue, I did have a hint of some of what Baley was experiencing. I looked up and watched a Boeing 777 overhead and felt that the world was so utterly open and expansive……

Anyway, I think anyone who has read this novel prior to the Great Pandemic Of 2020 should re-read it. I promise there are some uncanny, interesting, and relevant thoughts and comments in this novel that could make a reader wonder if Asimov was from the future or some sort of hazy prophet. I am not being super serious here – I just want readers to know that there is a bit of a reader-perspective shift due to current events and world events. Its strange because there are not many novels that actually become less dated and oddly apropos after so many decades.

As far as the storyline, its a locked room mystery on a far-distant planet named Solaria. The characters spend a lot of time on video-chat. Again, in 2023 we tend to take this sort of technology for granted or without much fuss. Its interesting to see Asimov know about this sort of tech and to force his characters into it. If you do not find this facet interesting, I wonder if you really enjoy science fiction? I think the overarching theme of the novel is the contrast between the Solarian world and the Earth world – to include their cultures and technologies. A reader who is disinterested in such a very obvious storyline will probably think this book is dull or too heavy-handed.

Overall, this is fast-reading novel.  It is a worthy read and valuable to science fiction. There is plenty of conversation/imagination sparking ideas in here that intelligent readers might enjoy conversing about. The main character is certainly annoying in this book, I would “like to” do a tally of how many times he says Jehoshaphat! – because it seems like millions. He is annoying, but even with this, the novel remains relevant and fun. The magic of Asimov, I guess. Recommended for all readers including those who read it several decades ago.

4 stars

Things Fall Apart

Continuing the shelf-clearing efforts, I came upon Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (1930 – 2013).  It was first published in 1958.  I think a lot of people in this generation now read this in their school years.  I had never even heard of this novel until, maybe the 2010s. This particular novel can be read in many ways – with different purposes in mind.  The most important and obvious way would be as novel qua novel. Before it is anything else, this is a fiction novel of 209 pages that has a main character and a setting.  I am sure there are other ways of reading this book wherein the focus might be anti-colonialism, pro-tribalism, anthropological, human geographical, comparative religion, historical, or modernization.

I think most readers read this novel and probably feel upsettedness at either colonialization or westernization. As if this novel is a protest novel clamoring about injustice. I can see readers wanting this to be the case, but I do not draw that from this novel. In other words, I do not think this is a “blame” novel.  Readers should not, I think, be finishing it and then pointing at things and asserting its this or that’s fault. I do not think this is an apology for any specific culture.

Anyway, I really like the main character. Okonkwo is a fantastic character to write a story about.  Achebe manages to bring this character vibrantly to life through tight, spare vignettes that give us good highlight reels of Okonkwo’s personhood. There is a lot of commentary in the world about Okonkwo’s rôle in his clan, his relationship with his ancestors (particularly his father and his mother), and also his relationships with his wives and offspring.  Repeatedly, the term/concept “masculine” or “patriarchal” came up in reference to Okonkwo when I looked around the internet. I know its awfully subversive and non-conformist of me, but I think the application of those terms to the character tells us far more about those who apply it than the character himself. It is a projection of their psychological categorization that seems to be foisted upon a fictional character in a short novel. I mention this because I would caution the best readers to be wary of all of these assignations that seem to have been heaped upon Okonkwo. The super ironic thing about it is that is that if he were a real person he would not find this burden surprising, but he would definitely be angry about it happening.

As far as the novel plotline goes, Achebe does seem to write closer to what would be folk tales – or just community storytelling. This means that there is not some hugely convoluted and yet intricately strung-together plot akin to something George R. R. Martin would write.  The little moments we are shown about Okonkwo’s comings and goings, his meetings with friends, his interactions with his family, are not enough to round out an entire picture of the character. I say this because it seems like, well, I, too, can tell you stories of a person that only highlight one or two of their attributes and not tell you any stories that would paint them in a different light. So, and this is as novel qua novel reading, it can feel suspect – like the author is purposefully only presenting one dimension of a character. 

The end of the book, of the character, really surprised me. To this very moment I am still thinking about it – trying to decide if this is a legitimate scenario. I keep trying to reconcile events with the character and his personality. I keep flipping through scenes of context and so forth trying out different lighting, backgrounds, and soundscapes, if you will pardon this way of speaking. So, I do not know if I think the ending is in line with Okonkwo’s personality and history. Is this legit? or did the author just throw something sensational at his readers? And, there is a major feeling that it was all a sham. I mean, I have to share that as I read the event that ends the novel, I strongly felt that things happening off-screen, as it were, made it very much feel like something is being hidden. Some cover-up has occurred, maybe “for the sake of” the clan. Or “for the sake of” peace. Or any other “for the sake of” that people use…  So, maybe Achebe wrote this enigmatic ending and stayed silent about all the possible readings. Maybe it is as straightforward as the rest of the novel and there is no hidden nuance – it is exactly as it is presented. Yet, as a reader, I am still uncomfortable meeting Okonkwo, empathizing with him, admiring him, worrying about him, and then having to come upon this ending.

One of the things in the book that perplexed me were the guns. Okonkwo has one early on in the novel – he brandishes it at one of his wives. Yet, it feels like guns are somewhat common in the clan – Okonkwo is not the only one with one. And, of course, it leads to a major life upheaval for him for not being totally safe with it, let us say. However, where did the guns come from? 

I know a lot of the world believes that it is ideologies that cause the clashes of cultures and violence in humanity. Ideologies definitely participate in the cause. However, to my mind, the “thing” that is the ultimate cause and force is technology. Industry, science, technology… whatever you want to call it that provides the tools and weapons and machinery to the ideologies. The advancements in science and tools that allow all of the techne to be ever-stronger, ever-faster, ever-more-dominant. No, I do not support any anti-technological views or some sort of pseudo-Luddite counter-culture. Technology, and its effect on humans driven by their instinctual curiosity, is something like a gigantic voracious monster, gobbling ever-onward. The Leviathan, the Charybdis, the swallower and gobbler: unstoppable.

4 stars

The Master of Go

After decades have gone by, I have finally read The Master of Go by Yasunari Kawabata (1899 – 1972). It was first published in 1951 and then in English in 1972.  I think I have owned my copy since 1997 or so. In fact I think I have been wanting to read it forever. However, this is one of a few select books in the galaxy that I think a reader really has to wait with infinite, inexhaustible patience to read “at the right time.” When is the “right time”?  Only the specific reader knows, but if its not the right time, the novel will be frustrating and will go undigested. Hey, this was decades in my case….

Now that I have read the novel – and at the right time – I am very glad that I read it and waited to read it this very month, this very year.  It is very much unlike all of Kawabata’s other novels that I have read.  The difference is in the subject matter, for sure, but also Kawabata’s style here seems less dramatic or on show. In a sense, I feel this is the closest we readers get to a look at Kawabata’s natural, instinctual style of writing. In contrast, in Snow Country (1956) or Thousand Cranes (1958), Kawabata is nearly flamboyant with his wordsmithing as compared to this novel. In those novels Kawabata seems to write effortlessly and with flourishes and a subtle, but well-earned smugness.  Not so here.  In The Master of Go the writing is spare and unadorned. Of course the structure of the novel is entirely different as well.

The structure is somewhat a fictionalized account of a 1938 game of Go that Kawabata himself reported on. Kawabata reported on the game for two newspapers and it is remarkable to say such a thing in 2022, wherein I doubt any newspapers really matter any more and certainly would not be running segments on Go games. The novel is written in first person, as they say, from the perspective of the newspaper reporter named Uragami. How close is Uragami to Kawabata?  The novel is not one that contains the gross-level of character “personality/development” so common in fiction today. So, it really does not matter how similar Uragami is to the real Kawabata – as remembered by Kawabata years later.  After all, and this where it gets a bit sticky, it is difficult to locate this novel because it definitely does not read like Kawabata’s memoir, but it does read like Uragami’s. However, it hardly reads like some introspective rehashing. It feels “real time” as if we are in 1938 and awaiting the next move in the game.

Maybe this structure prevented Kawabata from being as artistic, let us say, with the work as he was in his other novels. To say this gives a different impression, though. It seems to imply that those other works are artistic and beautiful and this work is some piece of newspaper article. No, the distinction between the works is not as sharp as that.

Chapters 12 and 28 are the most important, in my mind, chapters in the book.  They are the ones wherein Kawabata does not simply report on the game, but actually touches upon the relevance of Go to Japanese culture, of the supposed clash between two shifting eras of culture, of people’s varying responses to Go and similar activities. These are not lengthy chapters full of discourse and meandering, though. Just brief interludes that open the door for Kawabata to consider all of these things while we wait for the next Go session.

Hon’inbō Shūsai (1874 – 1940) is the master in this novel. He was, of course, a real historical Go master as well. In some sense, however his character is described in this novel versus the more historical reports, it is something that Kawabata renders almost meaningless. The Shusai of the novel is the one Kawabata has remolded for humanity.  His opponent was Minoru Kitani (1909 – 1975). It seems that the character of the novel, Otake is similar in some respects to Minoru Kitani, but seems a bit more agitated and unsettled.  Otake’s unsettledness is contrasted with the relative busy-calmness of the Master.  Otake’s agitation also disturbs the reader. It can be a little difficult to remain neutral in this matchup because Otake seems to be such a difficult opponent – just in his bearing and nervous energy.

I think that many readers come to this novel with expectations and are annoyed when those expectations are not met.  It is not entirely their fault, the publisher and media lead readers to believe this is a novel about a game and we are going to get into the nitty-gritty details of things. I do not think any knowledge of Go is necessary to truly enjoy this novel and I do not think I had any difficulty at all with the technical Go aspects. Kawabata did not write an instruction manual or even a game commentary. The profundity and wisdom in this novel is not heavy-handed and there is not any moralizing about the context of the game. Kawabata ends the novel as it begins, dry and matter-of-fact.

The entire novel is Kawabata saying that one time, this significant game happened. It played out over months and months and he reported on it like a combat reporter. Some of it was dull, some he did not comprehend. At some points, though, it was too tense and he would leave the scene in order to get his thoughts together. It was significant to whom it was significant. It happened. It mattered. It might still matter, but that is not Kawabata’s role or argument.  I do think it was a key moment in Kawabata’s life – perhaps influencing him in a myriad of ways.

Minoru Kitani had a cerebral hemorrhage in 1954 and he died in 1975. The Master of Go was published in 1951 and I have no idea if he read Kawabata’s work or not. I would assume so and I would be curious as to his authentic – not second-hand – thoughts on the matter.

Readers need to read this at the right time, whenever that is for them.  I do not think it is true that because it is a novel about a game that it therefore would interest those interested in board games. This is not that sort of book. This book also demands a patient and steady reader. This book is just over 180 pages and could be read in an afternoon, but I do not think that one should. I think that literally goes against the months-long timeline of the novel. Gobbling this one would ruin it. Similarly, if a reader has any sort of shortened attention span, they probably, really, will struggle with this. Not just reading it, but understanding it, I suppose. I think it is probably among Kawabata’s best, but that does not mean we readers like it the best.

3 stars

The Falling Torch

The last novel I will review for the famous Vintage Science Fiction month of 2021 is The Falling Torch by Algis Budrys (1931 – 2008).  It is a fix-up novel published as a whole in 1959.  Originally, segments were published in science fiction magazines in 1957-1959.  This is the second Budrys novel I have read.  As with the previous review, I have owned this novel a long time, but the motivation of Vintage Science Fiction month got me to read it. I read the 1978 Jove edition with cover art by Eric Ladd. 

Budrys and I would probably have understood each other very well and yet really disliked each other.  This becomes particularly clear to me after having read this novel.  The Falling Torch, while having a wide-vision “space empires” sort of setting, is actually very personal.  Did Budrys purposely write so self-revealingly? Well, only Budrys would know the true answer to that. I feel that even if a lot of this is autobiographical, the novel likely draws from Budrys’ knowing others who ran in his circles and felt as he did about political matters. I am going to be absolutely blunt here – take it or leave it as you will:  many readers focus on the obviously political-tone of this work; parallels are drawn and history can be traced.  However, many readers in America in 2021 are going to be less able to understand the layered ruminations here that underlie a lot of this novel. Not because they are idiotic, but because the sentiments and experience that Budrys is probably writing about are also unavailable to many readers.  Indeed, maybe due to that fact, Budrys’ novel(s) can be very frustrating.

Specifically, Budrys felt genuinely countryless.  For most of my adult life I feel similarly – and I know I am not alone because when I look at my cousins and so forth, I see signs and symptoms of that same feeling. Recognizing is not the same as empathy or sympathy, though, and most of the time, via Budrys’ writing, I find him to be agonizingly stubborn and dismal. So, yes, with him and his characters I also say, as I look around, “these aren’t my people, this isn’t my home.”  And it may be the generation gap between he and I that changes his dismality into my generation’s restlessness.

Anyway, the first part of the book is from Thomas Harmon’s point of view, really. Who is this character? We only get bits and pieces and frankly, maybe a little more about him would have been okay in order to smooth the transitions between the segments of this novel. Harmon is the major character in the beginning and then only reappears in the last pages. It would have been nice for him to get another chunk of paragraphs so the reader could discover what he has been about.  Harmon is part of the Government in Exile – humans from Earth, living on Cheiron.  Opportunity arrives for a new action in pursing liberation to occur. The president’s son is to be sent back to Earth to make efforts to restore the homeland.

The tone of the novel is very introspective. Characters get a lot of screen time to examine their thoughts and feelings. Some of it seems honest, some of it seems utterly obnoxious.  It is challenging to be patient while characters start musing on their intentions, purpose, destiny, and morals  – especially when these moments are pasted against an action movie scenery.

He had thought better of himself than that. All his life, he had known better than to expect or desire continual selflessness from others.  He had conceived of himself as one of the few in each generation who must rise above the flesh inorder that the great majority would not be called upon to do so. He had made the choice early, knowing that by doing so he was giving up his heritage as a man enjoying humanity. – pg. 32

The largest part of the novel deals with the president’s son, Michael Wireman, who is HALO dropped onto Earth – in the middle of the mountains to meet the supposed leader of the resistance forces. This is tough reading. It is really accurate and reasonable and also completely stilted and idiotic and annoying. Its just not smooth and engaging reading. Its jarring and, at points, cartoonish. But I am not saying, though, that it is bad. Its really difficult to explain. In any case, once Michael begins to evaluate the situation and the players of the liberation/resistance, he also starts re-evaluating his personhood and his rôle in the universe. At these points, I found the character to be really distasteful and wretched. He seemed self-absorbed, two-faced, and naïve.  Its harsh because reasonably, Michael is undergoing this re-evaluation because the things he knew and was taught are contrary to what his current experiences are.  

Who are the bad guys? Who are the good guys? What effect does the passage of time have on these positions? Is everyone locked into their worldview?  These are mighty questions to ask in a short little novel with an unlikeable main character. But at the same time, such questions do not seem completely out of place.

Again, there are brief scenes in this part of the novel that literally I have seen written in my own family’s letters. Phrases that run like: “…we were in the shadows of the woods, along the treeline……” etc.  I really dislike being so personal in this review, but I am happy to blame Budrys for it. My point in bringing this up is that, while for many readers this segment of the novel was something like an action plot that Budrys wrote, I can attest to it being realistic and not so “fictional” as readers might think.  Yes, loyalties are shifting and manipulated when you are the oppressed. But I do not think Budrys experienced such in person – he obviously knew people who did, though. 

Wireman is allowed the luxury to change sides. Surrender is often a luxury.  Once he does so, the novel changes again into an escape-evasion storyline.  Wireman has again become disillusioned and disenchanted with society.  More annoying, yet necessary rumminations occur. At times Wireman is insufferably whiney and vexing. He knows it, too, because several times during his self-reflection he questions his “right” to judge or complain or feel a certain way.  Altogether, though, its way too navel-gazing to make it fitting for a science fiction novel. 

But what of it, one way or the other?  If he was right, had he made her what she was?  And if he was wrong, was it worse to act in accordance with his judgment than to decide he might be wrong and not act at all? He had been making mistakes all his life, and now if he was going to live much longer he had to do something. Could it hurt to make a few more mistakes? And – and – for the first time in his life, this thought came to him – perhaps he was right. – pg. 132

The circling introspection gets very heavy-handed at points. A lot of reviews about this novel suggest to the reader that the novel is, at heart, an investigation into the idea of a Great Man.  I guess that is vaguely part of what is going on, but to be honest, the novel is about two characters who are homeland-less and exiled and trying to find out exactly what their position should be. The thing is most of these meditations come across as obnoxiously arrogant. At the same time, no way can I suggest that they are unrealistic. 

So, I wanted to give this novel one star at the start.  I hate how Budrys is so dismal.  I hate it because its so heavy to read his work that it makes the novels seem four times their size and weight. The edition I read must weigh fifty pounds. During the middle of the book, I gave it another star because it was so ridiculous. But realistically ridiculous. Finally, I am giving the book three stars because though the characters are all repellant, there are some thoughts in here – mixed up in the endless speculation on destiny and one’s part in the whole – that are so very honest that there should be readers who read them. Just please do not ask me which ones.

3 stars

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Ring Around The Sun

ACE 1959

Ring Around the Sun is the seventh novel by Clifford D. Simak (1904 – 1988) that I have read. I read the ACE 1959 edition, but the novel was originally a serial publication in 1952-1953. The cover art to the ACE edition was done by Robert E. Schultz, but ACE utilized this artwork on other books, to include the 1955 ACE Double The Big Jump by L. Brackett.

Ultimately, of the seven novels I have read by Simak, this is the most complete and well-formed novel, in my opinion. Unlike most of the others, this novel has a solid start, middle, and ending, which is a bit of a pedestrian manner of speaking. The truth is, I have previously written that I feel Simak’s novels have dissatisfying endings and that this detracts from a measure of completeness of his novels. In Ring Around the Sun, the ending is sufficient – the resolution to the novel is downright cool!

So, seven novels of Simak and I feel like I am reading the same story at this point. Well, not in the details, of course, but the themes are still the same. Simak has big ideas that get demonstrated in the relationships between three “character types.”  There is usually the Everyman that is well-represented, the alien or non-human, and then there is a human of an evolved nature or who possesses some paranormal quality.  In this novel, the big idea is that there are multiple, but not entirely “parallel,” earths in which advanced humans are trying to “save” humanity from humanity.

Just like in other Simak novels, the first quarter of the novel has that creepy intensity wherein the reader could be convinced this is not quite science fiction, but maybe also some crime/thriller read. Just like in other Simak novels the pastoral, rural setting comes into play. Old country homes, farms, sole proprietor hardware stores, wooden fences, crabapple trees – all the stuff of rural middle America serve to anchor the novel’s character.  Just like in other Simak novels, the main character is a middle-aged chap who is likeable, but aloof. Jay Vickers lives alone, but sufficiently, in Cliffwood. (Get it? CLIFFwood? Har, har har…) The opening of the novel introduces us to Jay in a gentle way, but yet giving us huge clues and valuable plot pieces for the rest of the novel. Unlike so many novels where we find plot elements descending on us like ACME Anvils, these are subtly written and gently placed so that the development of the novel is not heavy-handed.

There is a major goings-on that is the deciding factor for humanity as a whole – and not in a long-distant future. The tipping point is now, with Jay Vickers! Another trademark of Simak is how he focuses on individuals, but yet writes events that affect the whole planet. Jay Vickers is not simply human and as he discovers more about this fact, the novel progresses to show that while Vickers might be abnormal, that specialness is in the process of becoming the norm.

Present in this novel, are also the long moments of philosophical thought wherein the main character questions and wrestles with a variety of existential questions. In this novel, these segments did seem longer than in the other novels, but they also were written with more acuity, I think. Chapter 36 is a big philosophical think for Vickers. In this novel, Simak really ties in a lot of the novel’s subplots, mechanical elements, and incidentals better than in the other novels. I think his work with a child’s top (remember those spinning devices?) is exceptionally well-done. Simak also understands that for the depth that his big idea needs, he has to look at things from a variety of spheres – so he does consider man-as-laborer, man-as-social, economics, culture, and oddly, love. His consideration is also not limited to the here and now; Simak’s big idea always takes a big timeframe. He does a strong examination of humanity in this novel, but I will say, his results are somewhat negative. As in other novels, I feel that Simak is a bit dismal, but that its not as direct or overwhelming as some very miserable dystopia authors.

Although almost all of the elements that make up this novel are found in Simak’s other novels that I have read, I feel they are just done better in this one. From the plot, to the pieces of the storyline, including the characters and their motivations, the props and incidentals, this big idea is both satisfying and complete. It contains all of the key Simak trademarks and has a consistency I don’t find in some of his works. Therefore, if I was to select one Simak work that (out of those I have read) best exemplifies what Simak is about, I would choose this novel.  Further, this novel also serves as an excellent example contra those readers who are under the mistaken belief that science fiction is goofy and inane. This is a serious novel written by an author that is deeply concerned with the state of the world and humanity.

The odd thing, to me, is why, after writing this one, did Simak then attempt the same basic plot so many other times? If it was to sell novels and make money, okay, I accept that. However, an author of this much obvious skill could have written more diverse stories with equal gravity and insight. Instead, this novel seems to be something of a template that Simak then returned to, at least a few more times, in other novels. It is because Simak is a skilled writer that the other novels remain valuable and are well-liked. But, I admit, after reading this one, I think the other novels seem less original and more like template-fill-ins. I guess Simak just really wanted to hammer these concepts down and they were what was vital to his thinking and writing.

Recommended for good readers, vintage science fiction readers, readers who like philosophical speculation, and Simak maniacs! (Also, I don’t know that I will ever look at/think about/use a toy top in the same way!)

Lastly, the “originality” of the film Inception (2010) fades after reading this. But fans of Inception should surely love this novel as well.

4 stars

 

The Caves of Steel

It seems like this book is not as well-known nowadays as it was a few decades ago. I think that is because many readers started to feel that it was dated and when other readers heard that, they became less enthusiastic about reading this novel. The Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov (1920 – 1992) was first published in novel format in 1954. I read the Fawcett Crest 1972 edition with cover art by John Berkey.  I have tested the title out on a few people – they had no recognition of it. But when I said something like: “Asimov’s robots stuff,” there was immediate recall and familiarity (at least of some concept of the book). Frankly, I love Asimov and his works; he’s one of my answers to those tedious questions of: “Who would you invite to a dinner party if you could pick any six people, deceased or living?” I mention this to say, no, the work does not seem especially dated, and yes, I think this is still a vital read. (By the way, the title comes from a rather poetic line in the novel and represents the state of civilization on Earth.)

Of course other readers will disagree; that’s fine, I just hope they hear me out, too.

One of the reasons that I love Asimov is that he loves to take up a challenge and then chew on it until he has made it his. Can science fiction be a detective mystery? Cross-genre fiction that remains top-notch? The Caves of Steel is such an example. Now, in 2019, readers may not be all that impressed. There are dozens of steampunk-westerns, romantic-urban-fantasy, high fantasy-technothrillers, and mystery novel time-travel stories. How many are any good? Well, that’s a different question. But the familiarity of this mixing is taken for granted now.

I love that Asimov writes about robots. But this isn’t the “juvenile” fiction that we might get from, perhaps, Hal Clement or John Christopher and I always associate with the TV show Flipper (1964 – 1967).  Asimov takes the concept “robot” and chews the heck out of it. I think he even forgets that he’s still chewing on it. The result is a concept of robots that spans nearly all of his fiction works in a consistent manner. The concept is detailed and well-examined. It is also lasting, since everybody seems to run into the Three Laws of Robotics in some fashion. Readers, writers, actors, philosophers, historians, programmers – at one point or another the topic will come up and someone will name drop Isaac. The robots are not tin cans with antennas.

Asimov wrote this novel as a detective story. But he has a few sections where he forgets (this happens often with him) that he is writing a story and he gets on a soapbox, using his characters as mouthpieces, and he runs on about some issue. I am sure some readers find this so very tedious. To me, I love it because this is Asimov chewing on that topic. He is never going to simply hand-wave at a concept. Once he gets on it, though, he really has to flesh out this matter before he can move on.

It sometimes seems to me like readers are always complaining about how they want more depth in their novels. They don’t want wooden motives, cardboard characters, and superficial matter-of-fact plot devices. Well, this is how you get depth sometimes; by getting to the crux of the matter and just working your way around it and carving it out – maybe even using some long-winded soapboxes.

Finally, besides the novel having robots and future-science, besides it being a detective mystery, here are problems of overpopulation, complacency, and stubborn-minded societies. If that was all I mentioned about a book, viz. that it deals with overpopulation and how society needs to be more forward-thinking and tend less toward a nostalgic mentality, who would immediately assume I was talking about a 1950s novel? No one, because such a novel could easily be written and popular in present day!

The biggest complaint that I can justify about this novel is that it is a bit dry sometimes. Dry as in a little bitter, a little dull, and maybe needs a little more gas pedal.  It is true that the main female character is really tough to deal with because she is so hideous a caricature. I would hope that we will reach a stage when it is moot to mention that the female characters in 1950s novels are usually written hideously, demonstrating a chauvinistic mentality common in that era. Certainly there will be some louts today who are still a degree more barbarian in their thinking, but a word from me is not going to change that.  Nevertheless, I understand the level to which the female character (Jessie is her name) vexes readers. Literally, in places, it seems like the entire problem of the storyline is all her fault. The fact that Asimov actually names her Jezebel is just ridiculous. But there it is; do not read this novel for a female role model or strong female lead to identify with, okay?

The characters in the novel (excepting robots) are all tempestuous creatures. Readers might find their stubbornness and their opinionated attitudes disagreeable. None of that is because the novel is dated. Go on Twitter and look at any tweet about anything – you will get the same indignant vehemence and triggered psychoses. One of the robot Daneel Olivaw’s neat abilities is that he can study a person’s psyche by cerebroanalysis. It is as pseudo-science as Asimov gets in this novel. The robot is able to sense when/why humans are willing to change their minds or are receptive to concepts and ideas outside of their own. Definitely this is relevant today – from marketing to ethics.

It is difficult for me to dislike an author who understands that humans, including himself, can be irrationally stubborn or pig-headed. Asimov wrote a detective novel – with some science fiction elements. At the same time, he presented an unnervingly unfriendly look at human attitudes and mentalities. Unlike some modern dystopia novels wherein all is lost and we are waiting for a special, unique hero, The Caves of Steel offers a solution. Shunning the “hold on for heroes” ideas, it makes some strong suggestions for us to roll out of our caves and rekindle our curiosity and bravery.

4 stars

 

The Demolished Man

Its Vintage Science Fiction Month 2019! I see a lot more participation this year from readers and I am happy about it. I, so far, have only read one novel. I actually cannot guarantee that this is the first time I have read the novel. Its hard to know with some of the more famous older ones. Anyway, I read The Demolished Man by Alfred Bester (1913 – 1987).  The novel was originally published in periodicals in 1952. One of its biggest claims to fame is that it won the first Hugo Award. Now, in the last decade or so, I have read a lot of dissent regarding the Hugo Awards. I have read a few. Some seemed quite deserving of a prized award, others not so much. Having read several novels from the 1950s, I think that this novel is a reasonable and worthy selection for the award. I can see how it was selected.

I read the 1996 hardcover edition by Vintage. I also own the 1970 Signet paperback. Looking at the various covers this novel has seen through the years, I gotta say there is not yet one that really appeals to me.

So the story takes place in the future, but a future that is not marvelously different from our current world.  The biggest element is that there are espers – peepers; telepaths who are known to exist and are employed in a variety of jobs in the governmental and corporate worlds.  In fact, there is some effort to produce these espers – for example, a peeper has to marry a peeper. There are grooming places where potential peepers are farmed.

This telepathic society is probably what Bester is most known for. It helped that Babylon 5 (TV series, 1993 – 1998) showcase a Psi Corps in which Walter Koenig (Cp. the character Chekhov in Star Trek) plays a Psi Corps commander named “Bester”.  In any case, while Alfred Bester did not write a large number of novels, this is the one people seem at ease in recalling.

The storyline is interesting – until its not.  It’s good when it’s a page-turning game of cat-and-mouse between two slick characters. Detective versus murderer. But when it moves into the very pseudo-psychological-trippin’ territory, I got bored and uninterested and, frankly, a little lost.  And the motive for the killing….well, it was there all along, but I was hoping it wasn’t true because it’s rather lame and unsatisfactory, anyway.  Because FREUD.  I am thoroughly sick of Freud. But I do wonder a little bit how nifty and edgy authors thought of themselves when they decided to use Freudian concepts in their works.  Now it seems ridiculously overdone and tedious and, sometimes, ridiculous.  However, its 2019 – I am sure when it was first done it was fresh and novel or a little bit edgy.

The thing is, authors tend to cherry-pick their Freud when it suits their stories. Which is fine, but if they get too in-depth with it all, like in this story, it gets blurry and muddy.  It harms their stories – turning them from unique and interesting into sketchy inexact mush. Novelists might like to borrow from Freud, but few of them actually are Freudian, I guess.

Anyway, what is good:  I really think the first half of the novel is good stuff. Its fast-paced, there are guns, men-of-action, and cool cats who smooth talk like noir kings.  I like the way the game pits the wealthy Reich versus the telepaths. Can money beat “omniscience”? Can telepaths always play by the rules even when it might seem the end justifies any means? Can one man outwit the masses?  Can a crime that has allegedly been extinct be committed and gotten away with?  These are super fun questions the first half of the book brings us.

The canvassing the scene of the crime is one of my favorite sections in the book. I like the way the telepath detective works with and upon the witnesses/suspects and his fellow investigators. Its well-written and fun.

The bad is when the game of chase changes into a weird Freudian exploration. See, when Freud comes in, it gets bad. So, there are some quite rough parts here where it is really heavy-handed in the psychology arena. And at this point, so much Freudian stuff makes the novel seem really dated and not well-kept.

Also there is hideous love-interest business. Its really awful. I mean, I tried to look at it as optimistically and kindly as I could – I mean, if you speak in Klingon, stand on your head, close one eye, and spin tops – then you may be able to see the small ounce of romanticism in this scenario.  However, nowadays and without all that effort, it just comes across as majorly uncomfortable and very weird. In defense of it all – this whole love-arc is couched [sic!] [I had to…sorry!] in a hugely Freudian architecture. So, maybe its not as bad from that perspective.

There’s some good fun science fiction in here. Concepts and methods writers needed to have and build on. But I don’t see a big need for us to return to it. Recommended for the strong readers of vintage science fiction. Readers who dig psychological focus may find something here to enjoy.

3 stars

The Temple of the Golden Pavilion

“The Temple of the Golden Pavilion” – Yukio Mishima

This is actually the second time I read this novel. But since one cannot step into the same river twice, I suppose, this is also my “first” time reading “this” novel. Written by Yukio Mishima (1925 – 1970), it was published in Japan in 1956 and was translated into English in 1959. I read the Vintage International edition, translated by Ivan Morris.  It is a literary fictional re-telling of the life of Hayashi Yōken, a Zen Buddhist Acolyte, the arsonist who burned down the original Kinkakuji (Temple of the Golden Pavilion). Hayashi Yōken committed this horrible act in 1950 and six years later, this novel was published.

The main overarching point that I want to assert regarding all of this is that no other author in the universe ought to have written this novel. Yukio Mishima is precisely the one that would, could, and did write this. Allegedly, Mishima met with the young monk once the monk was imprisoned. Somehow this is accepted as near-fact, though, I do wonder how Mishima was allowed this access?  I do not doubt he was, though. Mishima was enigmatic, overwhelming, significant. He was also a member of the samurai class; even if this was already 1950.

Take note, I think if all the dates can be trusted, Mishima was nearly the same age as the young acolyte – allegedly, Hayashi Yōken was 22, Mishima was 25.

Mishima was not one who would stop a rumor, I suppose, were one to circulate. But he might be pleased to give contradictory reports, just to see what would happen. He seemed to enjoy the spotlight, but also knew to keep his cards close and covered. The alleged interview with the mad monk may have been worthless and useless. Or it may have be everything. Or, most likely, it was nothing to most people, but everything to Mishima’s insightful, perceptive, literary eye.  All of this is to say, this could be one-hundred percent rubbish created by Mishima who enjoyed making idols and knocking them down and shocking his readership. It could also be totally peppered with truths and the reader is at a loss for any tools to distinguish what is true and what is not.

Hardly could there be another author who would dare and who would care in the same way as Mishima to write this notorious novel of this national tragedy. Not to mention, using some of the material of the story for esoteric considerations of beauty and nihilism. So, when it is all said and done, I am not entirely sure what Mishima actually thought of the event. It was horrible and shocking and he loved that it occurred because of its horror, is what I think.

Moving from Mishima to history and the temple itself, it should be noted that this event occurred not too distant from WWII. The Nanking Massacre started in 1937, the Pearl Harbor attack was in 1941, and, of course, the Hiroshima bomb in 1945.  While the boy was likely isolated to an extent by his life at the temple, the war doubtlessly crept into every nook and cranny and had profound effects on everyone.

My concern, what confronted me with my real problem, was beauty alone. But I do not think that the war affected me by filling my mind with gloomy thoughts.  When people concentrate on the idea of beauty, they are, without realizing it, confronted with the darkest thoughts that exist in this world.  – pg. 48

The temple known as Kinkakuji was originally built in 1400 or so. And after the young acolyte committed arson, it was painstakingly rebuilt and it is likely rebuilt to restore the original glory of the early temple, and not simply that of the 1950s. I think that even as recent as the early 2000s, highly detailed repairs were being completed. I would be interested to know if Mishima knew of these efforts, what he thought of them, etc.

Mishima changes the name of the acolyte to Mizoguchi, a boy afflicted with a serious stutter who is also the son of a Buddhist priest. Hayashi Yōken was allegedly diagnosed with schizophrenia and eventually died from tuberculosis. Mishima has Mizoguchi narrate this story.  As a narrator, Mizoguchi is entirely self-centered and self-occupied.  If this is something that Mishima intended, I do not know. However, it is difficult to truly sympathize or empathize with Mizoguchi, although he often seems simple and awkward enough to merit some mitigation for his thoughts/actions.

“For what purpose do I live? At such thoughts people feel uneasy and even kill themselves. . . Just to exist was more than enough to satisfy me.  In the first place, doesn’t uneasiness about one’s existence spring precisely from a sort of luxurious dissatisfaction at the thought that one may not be living fully?” – pg. 100

Readers who may take an interest in this story because they want to watch the development of Mizoguchi; from a young boy with his ill father, to an acolyte obsessed with the Temple, to a madman with a nihilistic spark [sic!], will be disappointed. The slope that Mishima takes us on is not steep and daring and breakneck.  If such development is present, it is very subtle. The story is indeed told in episodic fashion, mainly in a variety of relationships that Mizoguchi has with his Superior at the Temple, his fellow acolytes, and his fellow schoolmates.

Many of the episodes that Mizoguchi undergoes are, in a sense, difficult to read through.  He is not a comfortable individual and it seems that he is unable to discern the normal from the abnormal. Bizarre situations fascinate him and affect him strongly.  Mishima suggests that Mizoguchi is a fully-aware of the evilness or sin in his actions.  Mizoguchi seems, at points, to revel in the sin, to perform the evil action just to bring evil into the world – as if it is a thing of beauty. The way Mishima presents all of this is weird, because Mizoguchi does not seem to want to commit any particular sin for the sake of that sin. Instead, he just wants to do anything evil, any sort of immoral act will suffice.

Was one obliged to pay back one’s debts in the face of a world catastrophe?  I was tempted to give Kashiwagi the tiniest hint of what was in my mind, but I stopped myself – pg. 208

Kashiwagi is a character possessed of a big personality that strongly affects Mizoguchi. Its clear that Kashiwagi is a toxic relationship for the young acolyte, even if Mizoguchi is unable to discern this.  If Mizoguchi had toyed with self-loathing feelings and dabbled in a variety of profanities, it is after Kashiwagi’s influence that Mizoguchi embraces the truly destructive. Mishima likes to juxtapose these two characters and both and neither are his some-time mouthpiece throughout the novel.

“Why does the Golden Temple try to protect me?  Why does it try to separate me from life without asking it?  Of course it may be that the temple is saving me from falling into hell. But by so doing, the Golden Temple is making me even more evil than those people who actually do fall into hell, it is making me into ‘the man who knows more about hell than anyone.’ ” – pg. 153

Unfortunately, Mizoguchi’s obsession with the Temple seems to cloud his judgment and he is unable to discern who or what is influencing him.  To top it off, he has no close confidants or role models to look toward.  There is no one to turn to in the hopes of pulling him back onto a better path.  So the question is not always “what is the evil influence?” but sometimes:  “why can’t Mizoguchi find, create, and maintain close relationships?”  Of course Mizoguchi would tell us it is due to his stutter. Sometimes he believes the Temple – and all that it represents – forms a blockade between himself and others.

There are definite sordid and profane moments in this novel.  Mishima likes to look at the concepts of evil, beauty, war, religion, relationships and show them both at their best and worst. Sometimes Mishima comes across as quite nasty.  At other points, Mishima seems to crave purity and and beauty more than anyone. This book is not for gentle readers.  It is not an easy read – even just textually, though there are only ten chapters in this novel, there are several whole chapters that really slog, especially when Mishima allows Mizoguchi’s mental meanderings to go wide-open.  It can get boring and rambling.  Nevertheless, though I have read this twice, I don’t like this book. But I know I will probably re-read it in the future. Its a good book that is really tough to enjoy.

2 stars

Thousand Cranes

Thousand Cranes by Yasunari Kawabata (1899 – 1972) was published in 1952 and in English in 1958. It is the second Yasunari Kawabata novel that I have read. I disliked his main characters, however, in this novel they do seem to possess a measure of realism. I felt that the characters in Snow Country were not realistic. While this is a speedy read, one can finish it in a day, it is not really an easy story to penetrate. There is a great deal of native culture within that can keep non-Japanese readers at bay. Further, this entire novel is very much focused on human interrelationships and their responses to each other. For some readers, this could be challenging.

Wikipedia’s entry, in very forthright style, explains precisely what this book is about. This means this, that means that. And while some of that is probably true, I think there are deeper and more complex interpretations possible.

The storyline, the characters, and the other general dimensions of the novel were not anything I was particularly drawn to. It is quite a dramatic work and does not immediately appeal to any of my major interests. As I mentioned above, this work is very heavily focused on human relationships. The defect is in me, clearly, because I am usually disinterested and bored and even confused by novels like this. Autistic. Russian. I have a hard time with some aspects of stuff in this genre. All of this being said, though, I will admit wholeheartedly and very profusely that in this novel, Kawabata’s skills are on showcase. In a sense, I feel this is almost a brag novel – Kawabata knows he is that good of a writer and he is showing off. He is an excellent novelist and even if this particular storyline does not appeal to everyone – the skill with which it is written is undeniable.

Do not suppose, however, that this novel is arrogant or that it is over-the-top with writerly flourishes.  Perhaps in its minimalist oh-so-Tanizaki/Japanese manner, it is precisely what it needs to be:  no more and no less; and Kawabata deserves all the praise he gets for it.  He proves himself an acutely aware, highly sensitive, perfectly edited, writer. He is a master-writer.

Layered upon the story are tea ceremony items and elements of Japanese aesthetics, specifically pottery. This would be best understood by someone with familiarization with such topics. To some readers, the frivolous and fastidious obsession with which tea bowl to use, which vase, what tokonoma flower, may seem massively tedious. I was able to assimilate my personal cultural experiences fairly easily and completely empathize with the discussions of the tea items etc. To some people, such concerns seem “petty” or “decorative” as opposed to practical. The tea ceremony is such a THING, though, that I hardly know what to say about it. From its origins, to all of its iterations throughout history, and from the praises of it, to those who scorn it… whatever one thinks of it, it is not something to merely hand wave at.  Yet, I struggle to discuss it.  Regardless, if someone were to ask me about the tea ceremony, I do think I would recommend that they read this book. It sort of provides a situation for the whole process without directly confronting it.

Like the back of book says: “a luminous story of desire, regret, and the almost sensual nostalgia that binds the living to the dead.” Again, this is going to be felt more by a reader who can assimilate certain cultural/religious aspects. This blurb accurately describes the novel. But I liked all the smaller points, symbolism of water, of mould, of the thousand cranes. And more than anything, the very subtle presentation of old Japan crashing with modern Japan.

The symbolism in this work is significant and excellently written. And while I dislike the main character, Kikuji Mitani, even I could not help but be caught up in some of the sensitivities Mitani faces and is caught up in.  The dispositions and inheritances (both in objects and relationships) that befall him from his deceased father are mighty and certainly not pristine “black and white” dichotomies.

This is a very good novel. I think I took it for granted as I was reading it and only afterwards was I able to process how good a work it is. I think it is a written by a master writer, but the storyline itself does not interest me at all. Three stars is a very good rating for a plot that I was uninterested in…….  Recommended for all fans of Japanese literature, students of the tea ceremony, ikebana scholars, and readers of quality literature.

3 stars