Charles Stross wrote Accelerando while high on meth, I think. Not only is it densely packed with author-coined terminology loosely based on the underlying technological innovations, but it’s a meandering plotless testament to its own existence.
It follows the trials and tribulations of Manfred Macx and his descendants before, during, and after what we can call a technological singularity, when the pace of progress reaches such a pronounced crescendo, it becomes self-sustaining.
I’ve never really been a fan of crime thrillers. Sometimes the mystery is enticing, but by and large, it always boils down to the motivation. Why did the killer do it? Most authors answer this as an afterthought. Whether it be an insane, megalomaniacal contrivance, or just plain avarice or one of the other seven deadly sins, they hardly explain or justify the events in the book. There are notable exceptions to this, such as John Connolly’s notable Black Angel.
I’ve finally gotten The Windup Girl off my to-read list, and having finished it, I’ll have to watch Paolo Bacigalupi for future novels.
The Windup Girl is something different than I’ve ever encountered. It’s part wild cataclysm, part dystopia, part social commentary, and all action. I’m not kidding on the last, either. Whether it’s Hock Seng shrewdly planning the rebirth of his financial empire, Anderson Lake pursuing an elusive new fruit on the behalf of shady agricultural megacorporations, Jaidee’s crusade against the corrupt Trade cartel that aims to hijack Thailand’s sovereignty for financial gain, or Emiko’s constant struggle against her lot as a Windup, something is always moving.
It’s no secret that I’m a huge fan of Peter F. Hamilton, even after the gigantic deus ex machina he used to conclude his Night’s Dawn trilogy. His writing is so compelling—to me, at least—that I can forgive that kind of transgression because the story itself is so interesting.
And now with the second entry in his Void trilogy, The Temporal Void, I find another great novel that feels too short, despite its ponderous length.
(I actually finished this book a few weeks ago, but have been too lazy to review it.)
War of Honor isn’t David Weber’s latest by any means, but it is to me, who just started the series earlier this year. This, the tenth book in the ongoing thread, isn’t quite the perfect storm we got in Ashes of Victory, but is nevertheless chock full of everything short of Haven’s total subjugation, and a much stronger novel.
