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This was a really interesting book in the Culture series even though it didn't really match the others in subject matter.

The premise of this book is fascinating and it let Banks completely escape the usual hyper-advanced Culture setting and spend some of his boundless imagination on a medieval or Renaissance level world with two Culture agents basically having a long distance philosophical argument.

The world was deep and well thought out in the Banksian way, having enough detail to really make it feel like a unique place while using a lot of Earth short hand for the stuff that doesn't matter (i.e. the world is still very similar to feudal Europe in terms of organization, kings, dukes, barons etc.). The top level plot ends up being a bit boilerplate, but that's because the reader is more interested in the world and individual characters than the political machinations of this backwards planet so I wouldn't necessarily call that a flaw (and is quite typical for the other Culture books).

I enjoyed reading this book a lot, but if I had to criticize one portion of it, it's that we never get the sort of curtain dropping chapter at the end where all of the reader's suspicions about these characters and their origins are confirmed. There are plenty of tantalizing clues about our Culture representatives and their history together told as a story within a story, there are several sly references where it's clear to readers of previous entries what's actually being talked about, but in the end it's entirely background. In a way that's more fun than just having a final chapter that's like "Hey, remember that time we lived on a medieval planet? That was nuts." but I still expected a bit more of a concrete connection to the Culture at the end of the book even if it was just a glimpse of the characters leaving the planet. I did appreciate that the author of the in-world text (Oelph) did spend some time summarizing what happened in his world after the Culture agents faded from view, so I guess that's fair compensation.

This was a thoroughly enjoyable entry in the Culture series. I've been bouncing through the series based on interest and availability (my local bookstore has a big gap between Use of Weapons and Matter for some reason) but this story is much more in the vein of earlier Culture novels than the experimental Use of Weapons (in which the plot was overly confused by characters having multiple disconnected names in different time periods) or the abstract Excession (which focused too closely on floating conversations between AIs).

This story, similar to Consider Phlebas and The Player of Games, is able to use the Culture universe as a setting for a more conventional humanoid story. Which isn't to say that the story is unoriginal or straightforward, it's actually rather unpredictable and twisty, but it boils down to a much more relatable human level of "character I like is in danger" rather than being a more abstract, less tangible threat to be resolved and this is a perfect setup for Banks' writing.

Banks is at his best when delving into the minutiae of his world. Whether it's reasoning about how the vast megastructure Orbitals are created and maintained, or how the Culture deals with personal danger in a world full of safety nets and backups, or the inner workings of alien societies or even the bizarre mating habits of city sized alien creatures. Look to Windward has these details in droves and it's an absolute pleasure to read and imagine.

I read this because it's one of my dad's old books. He calls it his favorite, and is a Faulkner fan in general, but I gotta admit that I wouldn't have finished this if it wasn't for that connection.

There are passages of this book that are great. Long sequences of evocative imagery, especially with Christmas and the "street" of crime he follows from 17 to 33 and his various wanderings leading to Jefferson or his flight after the house burns down where he drifts for days unable to keep track of time.

Faulkner has a definite style of his own, the story reads like it's being told to you, with a lot of vernacular and contextual repetition of words and in that way it feels personal. Considering it was set in Faulkner's modern day and place, that makes sense - it's literally him telling you this story as if you were just sitting and listening.

Generally I love authors with a point of view. That said, Faulkner's style basically goes against everything that I value in prose. His sentences are long and winding and hard to parse. The story jumps back and forth in time, sometimes in order to fill in backstory, but sometimes it just feels like he was jumping ahead to touch on one character before the others and then later he fills in the gap. This does work some of the time (for example, knowing that Brown flees the cabin before you read the scene where he's in the cabin colors all of the lies he tells to Lena) but other times it's just confusing (like when we find out Christmas is shot to death before we read the passage about his "escape", even though we already knew he died). There are also more one-off characters than I care to remember (like how the final chapter is told as a first person recounting of a new character introduced for no real reason). Again, all of this mirrors the sort of long, winding oral history vibe that Faulkner was presenting, but just because that's the case doesn't make it any easier to read.

Anyway, it was these bipolar stretches of greatness connected with almost tediously windy prose that turned this book into more of a chore than I usually tolerate. By the time I was on the last 100 pages I was just reading to finish the book more than any enjoyment or interest in the story and, even if I can intellectually see where Faulkner was going and recognize that there are probably themes and symbols I'm failing to examine, in my mind that gut check is pretty damning.

I really enjoyed this book, even if it's a bit reminiscent of the familial epics I've been growing a bit tired of.

A 3.5 might be a bit more honest, because even though Steinbeck's writing is a pleasure, I think this story was bit indulgent. A lot of words were spent on very early history that was only mildly relevant, tangents out of Steinbeck's life (the novel is semi-autobiographical), and even though he is quite affectionate in his description of Salinas it's occasionally a bit much.

That said, for a novel that's pretty clearly a re-telling of the beginning of Genesis (I mean, look at the title) it had a lot of really great scenes, action, drama, and even a few chapters that were just plain funny. Even though it hits some of the bullet points from the Bible it wasn't predictable and the overall message - which was beautifully underscored by the ending - was quite different than the usual take away from the story of Cain and Abel.

Lots of really good side characters as well. Samuel Hamilton and Lee particularly being a couple of guys I'd like to sit down and have a drink of ng-ka-py with.

This book was amazing and definitely the antidote to some of today's twisty, obfuscated stories.

Coming off of recent Pulitzer fiction that seems to pride itself in being spoken word deep in vernacular and circumlocution this story was so refreshing.

I read it in one sitting, it's only 120 pages, but every single sentence held meaning and advanced the beautifully simple story. In true Hemingway fashion the old man is great at what he does and focused with purpose that's a joy to read about, but the book was captivating as a Zen like meditation on dealing with life as it comes. I felt the whole spectrum of emotions as I read it, and never once did a passage feel weak or unnecessary.

Truly a great work of fiction.

Once again Pratchett delights. It's funny, I always start Discworld books and in some sort of reflexive memory from the first few books that were much more straight parody, I think "Oh, I know exactly where this is going" and without fail I'm wrong.

This book is no different. Of course, Ankh-Morpork and the Watch are returning characters, and the setup for the story is very much like Guards! Guards! (someone wants to install a king, new watchmen) but at its core this book is a solid mystery plot that twists on you more than a few times.

Pratchett's charm, to me, is that reading him makes me feel like everyone has a place in this universe. Everyone has something to bring to the table. The Patrician believes all men are evil, and rules the city accordingly, but effectively. Carrot believes all men are good, and inspires those around him to be good. The dwarves and trolls of Ankh-Morpork are opposing, but only because each is unwilling to listen to the other. Vimes, Nobby, Colon, Angua, Cuddy are all flawed, in their own ways, but all manage to be assets to the Watch and thus the city. Even Gaspode the dog, a flea bitten stray has found his niche in life.

I also thought it was especially brilliant that Pratchett relates Trolls to computer processors because it sneakily fits with lore (trolls being rocks coming from high, cold mountains and evolved best there) but also means inherently Trolls aren't actually dumb... they're just different and running slow at "normal" temperatures for Men and Dwarves. Counting in powers of 2 was a nice touch, and yet another subtle nod Pratchett makes to real world advanced technology.

I also found it interesting the comparison Pratchett draws between traditional Discworld weapons (your typical fantasy fare) which draw on the person's own strength to work, versus the Gonne (the pivotal artifact of the book) which harnesses outside energy in the form of gunpowder (errr Powder #1) and requires you to trigger. You own a sword and put it to use, but the Gonne owns you, and uses you. The Gonne speaks to the user, but it is not actually magical... it speaks to you because of the ease with which it kills. The tempting voice is not some evil spirit, it's your own nature when given an easy way to eliminate your enemies.

I think that's a fascinating distinction to make and it made me think hard about how the shift from sword and arrow to gunpowder also coincided with the shift in how we humans view warfare, and how our leaders use warfare so quickly in the modern day.

Anyway, all of this is wrapped up in the usual comic wit Pratchett brings to his work. I appreciated touching base with a lot of the old favorite characters, and I was thoroughly pleased with the ending. I'm looking forward to the next in the Watch series of Discworld, or another glimpse at Ankh-Morpork with the new Watch.

Stephenson is one of my favorite sci-fi authors. I loved Snow Crash, Anathem, and Cryptonomicon. I had less of a taste for the Baroque Cycle books (although I've been meaning to give them a re-read), but The Diamond Age is easily my favorite of his novels so far.

If Snow Crash was Stephenson's breakthrough into hardcore science fiction, The Diamond Age is really a beautiful midpoint between it and Cryptonomicon. Where Snow Crash was imaginative and fun to read if relatively simple, and Cryptonomicon was brilliant despite being the beginning of his sometimes tediously verbose and tangent-prone stage, The Diamond Age is just the right balance of complexity, sweeping scope, mind-bending technology and interesting characters.

It's actually sort of shocking to me that this book was published in 1995. Stephenson's ideas about technology still feel fresh 23 years later. From the "matter compilers" being echoed (poorly) in modern 3D printers, to intensely distributed systems and heavy crypto that pre-date things like BitTorrent and Bitcoin, to even farther future ideas like the implications of designer nanotech that can carpet the world searching, or building, or killing, or defending. Stephenson also bravely looks at the next permutations of human organization and society. I was especially fascinated by the Drummers and their hivemind orgy of computation, as well as the Reformed Distributed Republic that is creedless and amorphous but anchored to each other through randomized trust exercises. These are the ideas I read science fiction for and in true Stephenson fashion they are well grounded in reality. For example, one of the final stages of the main character, Nell's, education is based in Turing machines that form the foundation of modern computers, as well as the future nanotech. The crypto and routing ideas woven into the other tech all ring true. The result is when Stephenson makes a more fantastic reach (e.g. cities floating on air, or disposable chopsticks made of animated screens) the reader is more than happy to accept that it's not just possible, but an inevitable consequence of the technology.

I don't want to give a rote plot summary, but in the midst of this technology Stephenson still weaves a story that is engaging and compelling. To be honest though, despite the fact that it ends well, Stephenson's characters are never the main event to me, and almost always tend to feel like expository devices. This isn't a criticism, I view it more as the product of the scope of his work. The characters still grow and change over the 20 year timeline, but at the end of the story I was much more interested in the repercussions in the world rather than the specific outcomes. I felt for Nell, I rooted for her, but her story is mostly that of the Chosen One, despite being grounded in technology and chance rather than prophecy. The other characters were sympathetic and fine, well realized, but mostly served their purpose and then collected at the end to be eyes on the Battle of Shanghai. I'm mostly referring to Carl Hollywood and Miranda (and Bud, Judge Fang et. al. in different ways) but even Hackworth, who is as close to a second main character as we get, instigates the initial plot by creating and counterfeiting the Primer, and then checks out for half the timeline (while with the Drummers) only to return with selective amnesia as a vector to explain and effect the Celestial Kingdom's endgame.

Regardless, The Diamond Age is a masterpiece of science fiction and was really hard to put down once I got far enough into the story to get hooked.

I'm vaguely a fan of Doctorow in the real world. I've read BoingBoing on and off, I relate to the perspective he brings to his work, of a sort of radical technologist concerned with information freedom. I identify with and align with that point of view.

That said, this novel was meh. I ended up giving it a 2 because it just reads too plainly and the conflict was utterly neutered by the utopian setting. The society Doctorow portrays is like Star Trek (post-scarcity) meets Altered Carbon (post-death) but it's really hard to have consequences when you live in a world in which the worst possible thing to happen to you is your social score goes down.

There are two components to the overall story. The main one is Julius, Lil, and Dan effectively defending their slice of Disney World from Debra - who represents a social threat of modernizing and thus discarding whatever special magic Julius et. al. ascribe to the place. The second component is discovering who arranged to kill Julius but that ends up being an utterly pointless dead end of a storyline that I expected to have a more interesting conclusion. Julius guesses correctly (in the abstract) who killed him, and then it's revealed his friend Dan was part of the plot... in order to gain enough Whuffie (social currency) to suicide with a high score. This mystery is officially solved in like one sentence (Dan's confession) and then nothing comes of it.

It's a common theme that all of the characters, who read like Doctorow stand ins, are perfectly rational up to the instant that they need to do something dumb to advance the plot. Dan's actions are stupid... there may be few predictable consequences of Julius' death but he's still going to fuck over his best friend for Whuffie when he's already in line for a bunch of it? Does not compute. Then Julius' actions to fight Debra never make sense. His behavior can be hand waved by his malfunctioning implants (which he also irrationally doesn't fix), but that doesn't somehow excuse his actions. He crawls into a tube to destroy Debra's work with some sort of EMP gun, and fails, then later when the heat is really on, he just flat breaks in and takes a hammer to everything. And for what? He states that he only believes it will buy him one or two days (and it ends up being a week) so he burned all of his social credit for a few days of breathing room? Lil and Dan start an affair out of nowhere, and are revealed when Julius comes online for a few moments and they're basically sexting each other in his presence assuming he can't see their locally public messages. What?

Even the motivations of the main antagonist, Debra, make no sense to me. Everyone's gaming to get their Whuffie score higher but at what point is enough enough? Domination seems to be her motivation, Julius believes she wants to control the entire park. But she also theoretically came from Disney World Beijing where she did great. So she's going to risk her Whuffie (and eventually lose it) by engineering Julius' death... and for what? The prestige of running a slice of theme park? Even if you buy that for her take over of the Hall of Presidents, what is her motivation for annexing the Haunted Mansion? How much better can she live with more Whuffie? As Julius mentions when he's become an outcast (for his irrational actions) even the baseline life in Bitchun Society is more luxurious than 99.9999% of all humans that ever lived. It's hard for me to believe that Debra is just that bent on Disney World when she could be literally anywhere else in the world building her own theme park from scratch if she wanted.

Fundamentally, I like this concept of the post-scarcity world and this social ranking meritocracy ("ad-hocracy") to determine who gets control of what (down to who can use the elevator or rent a hotel room) but the entire conflict is undermined by the fact that the very worst possible thing that could ever happen, the thing Julius is trying so hard to avoid, is that he gets kicked out of running a theme park ride and is forced to find something else to do in this wonderful utopia. The horror.

Some of the tangents (like Zora, or the U of T experience at the beginning of Bitchun Society) are more interesting than the main plot, but ultimately also unfulfilling. The themes were better explored in books like Altered Carbon (which came out a year before) or in the Culture books which deal with the post-scarcity and relatively post-death plot by having a galactic scale.

I would have loved to read more about what it means to be broke and undesirable in the Bitchun world, hitting notes similar to Black Mirror's Nosedive episode 15 years earlier. Or even explore the cultures that resist Bitchun society referenced early on (sort of like the Culture's Contact section on a small scale). Unfortunately, as it is the story is less Down and Out and more In the Magic Kingdom.

Speaking of... I've never been to Disney World so I spent a lot of this novel feeling like the setting was completely undescribed. Doctorow name drops a ton of attractions that I've never seen. I have no idea what the Haunted Mansion at Disney World looks like now, much less a hundred years into a post-scarcity future. I kept feeling like there was implicit information that I was expected to have but didn't - I was basically hanging in space. Even outside of the park, Doctorow seems pathologically averse to actually telling the reader about the surroundings instead relying on tropes. Unfortunately, that also makes it feel like early 21st century rather than whatever far future timeframe the story is set in.

Anyway, I was pretty disappointed in this book. I was expecting something a little more clever and absurd on a far future Disney backdrop, something akin to Neal Stephenson in Snow Crash that Doctorow directly references. Instead I got a really amateurish storyline set in a world that eliminates all consequences and never fleshes out what could be a really interesting setting.

Reading the previous 12 Discworld novels, you see Sir Terry Pratchett's style mature and his concepts become more complex. Some of those 12 are great (like Reaper Man), some... merely okay.

Small Gods is the first Discworld novel that feels truly original and well crafted from page one. It's still Discworld, which means there are still correlations to the real world, but for the first time it feels like the story is told entirely in Discworld terms, rather than bringing in images from the real world to lend to the comedy or absurdity of the story.

This book was just flat great. I loved the characters, I loved the philosophy, the rationality of the story. It's really an examination of how belief is formed, is important, and how it's shaped for better or worse. How words can be twisted from intention and removed from context. This book really made me feel like the Discworld was an actual place far removed from the sort of one-to-one Europe-but-not-really tropes that dominated the previous works to a greater or lesser extent.

Other Discworld novels I would recommend to current fans. This book I'd recommend to anyone.

I ended up enjoying this Discworld novel, but I can see why people generally don't rank the Witches series very highly (and I say that as someone who's read Equal Rites / Wyrd Sisters as well).

The first half of this book I was in danger of putting it down (like I did with Moving Pictures) because it seemed like a bunch of disconnected chances for the three witches to comment on real-world cultures from a sort of backward Lancre (rural UK) point of view. There's comedy there, but it's not so compelling.

I'm glad I stuck it out for the second half, however, because once the witches finish traveling and start to pursue the main plot it becomes a lot more interesting and coherent. Exploring the nature of stories and their unrealistic expectations, and even adding some interesting depth to the magic of Discworld. The end, in particular, really did a great job of tying the whole story together.

Definitely worth a read for Discworld fans, despite a bit of a slow start.

I'm an ex-Catholic atheist that picked up this book based on some recommendations on baseball forums (of all places).

This book was far better than I expected. It only loosely counts as baseball literature (compared to fic. lit. like The Art of Fielding, which I also enjoyed), but it really stands out as an expansive tale about growing up with the inimitable Owen Meany and his effect on basically everyone in the fictional town of Gravesend, NH.

The story gets off to a bit of a slow start, but it only feels that way because the book needs to lay a broad foundation for the story that Irving unfolds masterfully. With hindsight, each bit of lore that seems tangential early on is important later and that's a sign of great writing. Once you've become familiar with the core of characters, the story flits easily from one time period to another, one character arc to another, without ever being boring or confusing. Irving has a talent for brief yet powerful description and dialogue that makes even the most everyday scene carry weight.

In threads about this book there seems to be a lot of hand-wringing about the religious aspect. I will admit some of the recounted hymns and prayers can be a bit tedious for a non-believer, but at the same time the religious characters in the book are real and flawed and despite the equation of faith with courage, the book is actually critical of the blindly dogmatic aspect of religion. The supernatural/divine element of the book is light and restricted to Owen Meany himself, so there's no sappy come-to-Jesus tearful conversion crap.

There is also a very political component of the book. As the story moves into the Vietnam Era, the characters generally take a strong anti-war stance for a variety of reasons. Time passing is usually underlined by describing the situation in Vietnam, and characters compare the euphemistic doublespeak of the government with what they know is actually happening on the ground. The first person narrator, John Wheelwright, also flashes forward to 1987 ("modern day") and offers criticism of Reagan and Iran-Contra as evidence of American misdeeds. This might have felt stale just a few years after the book was published, but in the world of George W. Bush and Donald Trump a lot of the criticisms aimed at the insanity of the American public are still well targeted.

Where this book really shines though is weaving all of the various stories of Owen, John and a large cast of Gravesenders into one great story while defying your predictions, but also without leaving any loose ends. Maybe I read too much sequel-obsessed science fiction but it's rare that I've felt so satisfied by the end of a story and that's why I had to give it 5 stars instead of a more typical 4.

I'm a fan of Banks' Culture universe but this book was hard to finish for me.

Culture books, in general, work best when the insane level of technology is a backdrop for a more selective, human story. Excession attempts to follow this formula, but relies too heavily on the detached technological angle and bungles the human one. The main plot line is driven by machines making decisions and communicating with each other, while the human characters are just caught up in their plans. This doesn't sound too different from previous Culture books, but in Consider Phlebas, The Player of Games (or even Use of Weapons which was meh for other reasons) Banks did a better job of creating interesting characters and a plot within the vast and complex universe without the human element feeling vestigial.

This book is only saved by Banks' usual gift for scale, description, and dry humor that occasionally reminds you why the Culture universe is so compelling. It's unfortunate that these are exactly the attributes that are lost when reading pages and pages of what amount to ship logs.

Unsurprisingly for a Pulitzer winner, this book is phenomenal.

I thoroughly enjoyed the story. It's equal parts thriller, satire, and meditation grappling with the complexity of discovering one's identity. Both in terms of the title character's split allegiances and the struggle of his fellow refugees, but also in terms of Vietnam and America reshaping (or failing to reshape) their conceptions of self once the Vietnam War ended.

I'll admit I was skeptical about the writing style at first. The book is written almost as if spoken, sort of weaving and tangenting naturally. Nguyen also eschews some basic English style (like giving proper names, or having quotation marks and spacing to denote someone speaking) which can be a pretentious warning flag. Once you're immersed in the story, however, it's hard to imagine it written any other way and the natural flow and thriller pacing makes this book extremely hard to put down.