The Lesser Joke: book reviews and more

Book Review: Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder

Book #298 of 2021:

Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder

Powerful and uncompromisingly uncomfortable as the title suggests, this debut novel depicts an exhausted and infuriated young mother who is either having a psychotic break or legitimately experiencing herself turning into some sort of canine-human hybrid. Her body hair is growing coarse, her teeth are sharpening, she’s craving raw meat, and she’s feeling the urge to run naked through her neighbors’ muddy yards at night and howl at the moon. She kills wild rabbits and even her pet cat, in one particularly gruesome moment. Or maybe, none of those things are happening anywhere outside her head. It’s American Psycho crossed with Kafka’s The Metamorphosis.

The story artfully maintains the tension of that ambiguity, while tapping into a lot of uneasy truths about modern parenting and expected gender roles. I hope to never feel a fraction of the rage and resentment this nameless protagonist carries for my own partner or children, but her grievances are legitimate against a society that demands so much of mothers by default and gaslights us all into believing that’s normal. Raising a kid today can sometimes seem unspokenly draining and isolating no matter how dearly you love them, and author Rachel Yoder channels that knowledge into a white-hot feminist fury.

Certain parts of this text are more engaging than others; the satirical multi-level marketing element is a bit broad for my tastes, and I get extreme secondhand embarrassment from the rambling emails that the heroine sends to a professor whose book she happens across in the library. But the odd premise never slips into camp as it so easily could, and the core of the work expresses a righteous indignation on behalf of parents that we don’t see often enough in our culture.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Fabulous Riverboat by Philip José Farmer

Book #297 of 2021:

The Fabulous Riverboat by Philip José Farmer (Riverworld #2)

It’s two decades later in the Riverworld, that strange place where everyone from earth’s history woke up restored to their 25-year-old bodies, which have not gotten any older in the meantime. (The children have likewise stopped aging after catching up to the rest, thankfully removing the element of pedophilia that was mentioned offhand in the first title.) Readers wanting to hear more about Sir Richard Burton’s quest for answers to the mysteries of the world will have to wait, as we have a largely new set of characters to follow for this sequel, headed up by Samuel Clemens / Mark Twain himself.

Author Philip José Farmer continues to seem preoccupied with how great men would react to this setting, so that protagonist is joined by other luminaries ranging from Odysseus to Mozart to England’s wicked King John. And I do mean men, since the women in this story are all off on the periphery, functioning mostly as passive objects of desire. The most central and well-defined is Sam’s former wife, and even she is there primarily for a love triangle with Cyrano de Bergerac.

Equally dated is the 1971 treatment of race, with an awkward explanation of why it’s not fair to call the hero a bigot (delivered by an African-American of the future) and a nearby territory run by a black nationalist who wants to expel all white people, which he insists includes the local Wahhabi Muslims. I didn’t notice those elements when I read this novel as a kid, but they sure jump out at me now.

To its credit, the plot is an interesting piece of political intrigue, and one that benefits from staying locked in the main character’s perspective on his small stretch of the river. I still don’t exactly understand what all of these folks hope to gain by drawing borders and waging war in a deathless utopia, but the depiction of a civilization essentially starting from scratch on the backs of clashing cultures from across time, not to mention the struggle to marshal the resources necessary for massive construction projects, is reasonably compelling. This whole book really is just about a single ship being built, yet I prefer it to Burton’s nebulous journeying regardless.

[Content warning for rape, slavery, gun violence, racial slurs, and Nazi apologia.]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder

Book #296 of 2021:

On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder

This slim volume was published as a very pointed commentary on the newly-inaugurated President Trump, based on his despotic-leaning words and deeds throughout the 2016 campaign. It still works outside of that context, sort of, especially in its warnings of how easily a democracy can be dismantled by the ruling party once elected. Historian Timothy Snyder cautions that no one can ever know which vote will be the last one they’ll be allowed to cast, and that there is no guarantee our own government system will endure, particularly under assault from its head. Citing examples from the early days of Nazi Germany and fascist Italy, he points to actions ordinary citizens can take to resist authoritarianism and blunt the power of would-be tyrants.

I won’t dispute that the author’s worries were justified, and if some seem a touch overblown today, it could be precisely because enough people realized the gravity of the threat and took steps similar to what Snyder lays out here to strengthen America’s societal institutions. On the other hand, this title doesn’t feel as applicable as a general program for any subsequent crisis point, as so many of its specifics are directly tied to Trump. It already seems dated just one administration later. Also, despite the short length of this text, the writer finds space to repeatedly assert that physical books/newspapers and in-person organizing are inherently more trustworthy than their digital equivalent, which I consider eye-rollingly facile at best.

Three-out-of-five stars for a work that presumably served its purpose but surely has better alternatives going forward.

[Content warning for racial slurs and Nazi atrocities.]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: The Hork-Bajir Chronicles by K. A. Applegate

Book #295 of 2021:

The Hork-Bajir Chronicles by K. A. Applegate (Animorphs Chronicles #2)

This prequel is the richest and most complex entry in the Animorphs franchise yet, even more so than The Andalite Chronicles, which I believe was the last time in this series reread that I ventured that claim. It’s also the earliest installment we’ve gotten so far — not counting time-travel to the Cretaceous period! — transporting readers back to the Yeerks’ original escape from their homeworld and subsequent invasion of the Hork-Bajir planet.

One of the biggest surprises to (re)discover as an adult is that this encounter is nevertheless set in our year 1968, a mere three decades prior to the events of the main novels. Either I didn’t pick up on that detail as a kid or it just didn’t strike me as remarkable, but the fact that the Yeerk Empire and its enslavement of multiple species has all been forged within living memory seems like a vital piece of context for their campaign against the earth and occasional strategic missteps here, not to mention their failure to contain the resistance band of our regular heroes. Although they appear to carry the advantage of superior power and technology, the alien warmongers are still somewhat figuring all this out as they go along. The Andalite morphing capability is likewise a fairly new invention at this point, not yet in widespread use and unknown to the Yeerks, and the nonintervention principle of Seerow’s Kindness is not as hard and firm as it will seem to Aximili as a child.

But back to the tale at hand. An initial framing device finds the Animorph Tobias visiting the colony of free Hork-Bajir that he helped liberate in #13 The Change, where he accepts their invitation to settle in for a campfire story. Despite these creatures’ apparent simplicity — the hawk-boy notes that he’s expecting to hear something like, “Yeerks come. Bad. Fighting. Yeerks win. We lose.” — he is somehow caught and immersed, with the three alternating perspectives of the rest of the book representing what he learns that night. There are no humans at all in the ensuing narrative, but the different extraterrestrial cultures that emerge are fleshed-out and engaging.

Following a brief scene of the Yeerks overpowering their Andalite guards to steal ships and whisk a quarter million of their slug-like population offplanet, abusing the trust of the prince who had generously shared knowledge of such things with them, we skip forward two years to that disgraced soldier’s posting in an obscure system, where he’s been assigned to study the native lifeforms and nominally be on the lookout for signs of enemy activity (but mostly stay out of the way of the distant galactic war effort). With him are his wife, son, and daughter Aldrea, the latter of whom is one of our new narrators. She strikes up a friendship with another, the Hork-Bajir Dak Hamee, who has an intelligence far beyond anything else seen in his species. He is a seer, born once in a generation to help navigate an upcoming change, or so the elders say. He already displays an advanced intellect, but with his new friend to teach him further, his mind blossoms into levels of insight and reasoning that neither of them could have predicted.

The relationship of these two figures is the core of the text, an affectionate connection that’s fraught with arrogant colonialist condescension regardless, as Dak is increasingly quick to point out. The widening gulf between him and his people is soon mirrored on her side, especially after the Yeerks do show up and slaughter her family. In the fierce-looking but gentle Hork-Bajir — their claws are designed for stripping bark off trees, not fighting — the parasites seem to have identified their perfect next host bodies. With no assistance from the Andalites expected for months, our protagonists are forced to fight back themselves and train his brethren to become guerilla warriors: a route they are happy to adopt unquestioningly but that he considers a heartbreaking yet necessary corruption.

That mixture of hope and sorrow is essential to this title, which is both bleak and suffused with a blazing spirit. It’s ultimately a tragedy, as we knew it would be from the start. The pacifistic herbivores are destined to be imperial shock troops, wholly conquered and made to serve their masters. This is a losing battle, and when reinforcements finally arrive, Aldrea is disgusted by their patronizing attitude and horrified to discover they’re developing a biological weapon to kill off Dak’s race and keep them from being used as tools for their foes. (The Arn, a civilization of genetic manipulators dwelling in cliffs deep in the planet’s interior who actually created the Hork-Bajir for environmental control, similarly opt not to commit to helping the species they see as weak children, instead simply altering their own biology to prevent infestation — a move that results in their capture as raw slave labor for the Yeerks.) But she and Dak continue waging their hopeless struggle, growing ever closer in their commitment and despair and inadvertently inspiring future Hork-Bajir like the ones Tobias knows — as well as forming a cautionary parallel for humanity’s own invasion that he’s been witnessing and attempting to resist.

The third viewpoint woven throughout this novel is that of Esplin 9466, the Yeerk who will one day be known by his military rank of Visser Three. He’s not really a sympathetic character, but he offers us our first extended look at how his race sees the universe and their role in it. Like Aftran 942 in #19 The Departure, he paints a brutal picture of life outside a host and the ecstasy of mobility and senses within one. He plays an important part in the subjugation of the Hork-Bajir too, much as we previously saw him do for the Taxxons in The Andalite Chronicles, later in his personal timeline.

Overall, this is an excellent space opera with complicated heroes and villains that strengthens the worldbuilding and history of this saga yet could also stand alone as an independent read or introduction to it, given the minimal spoilers or required background information. With war crimes of allies that are rightly condemned, heroic sacrifices in a tragically doomed cause, nuanced discussions of morality and self-determination, and a G-rated interspecies romance, it may be the single best Animorphs volume of the lot.

[Content warning for sexism and gore.]

★★★★★

TV Review: Star Wars Resistance, season 1

TV #78 of 2021:

Star Wars Resistance, season 1

The debut run of this Star Wars cartoon about the lead-up to The Force Awakens gets marginally better in its last few episodes, but for the most part, it’s a real exercise in frustration. Despite the title and the hero’s nominal role as a spy, the story has very little to do with that movement, focusing rather on life aboard an obscure shipping station / repair-yard / race site. (As this description should suggest, it’s not particularly well-defined.) And that’s a shame, because even now there’s a lot that remains murky as to the exact dynamics of the Resistance, New Republic, and First Order — and their relation to the factions of the original trilogy — that a series set in this era could have clarified. But this show instead adopts the same approach as the newer movies, basically ignoring the ending to Return of the Jedi and featuring conflicts that might as well be just Empire and Rebel Alliance under new names.

The characters are disappointing too. Our protagonist is a schlemiel continually blundering into tiresome mishaps, only to be saved more by luck or outside intervention than his own bravery or smarts. His closest friend is an obtuse alien who takes everything literally, sort of like Data or Drax but with less nuance and worse writing. Between the two of them, any given storyline typically ends up falling flat.

On the bright side: the animated visuals are great, and both Oscar Isaac and Gwendoline Christie occasionally drop by to reprise their respective live-action roles of Poe Dameron and Captain Phasma. The final arc offers a much-needed shakeup to the status quo, which could easily result in a stronger season 2. But so far, this is the worst venture I’ve seen from this franchise under the new Disney canon.

★★☆☆☆

Book Review: Echo Park by Michael Connelly

Book #294 of 2021:

Echo Park by Michael Connelly (Harry Bosch #12)

Bosch’s latest encounter with a serial killer is a bit rote, and a twist midway through — that the criminal is innocent of one particular murder, which a corrupt attorney got him to confess to as part of a secret deal — is disappointing for its implications. Before this point, the detective is distressed by the idea that he’s been focused on the wrong suspect for a decade due to circumstantial evidence blinding him to other possibilities, and that he apparently never followed up on a certain clue that could have led him to the true culprit back when he first caught the case. But then it turns out that the incriminating logbook was forged, and Harry’s initial hunch was right all along. It’s a development that justifies the character’s earlier obsession, and is far less interesting than a plot that would actually hold him accountable for his mistakes.

This is also the sort of story that singles out individual wicked members of law enforcement without commenting on problems in the profession as a whole, which author Michael Connelly is sometimes better about. I’m not thrilled that the hero yet again subtly influences events so that a bad guy gets shot to death rather than taken into custody and calls it justice, either. That’s copaganda too, in its own way.

Otherwise the novel is solid enough, and I continue to find the protagonist an engaging perspective as he resists pressures to sacrifice his integrity for the sake of his career in the LAPD. But this is not one of his finer hours overall.

[Content warning for necrophilia, rape, and gore.]

★★★☆☆

Movie Review: Star Trek: First Contact (1996)

Movie #7 of 2021:

Star Trek: First Contact (1996)

This is among the better Star Trek films I’ve seen so far, and a definite improvement on Generations, the previous outing with the cast of TNG. Neither the plot nor everyone’s characterization makes complete sense, but the effects are great, and the story generally zips along with a propulsive energy amid a creepy zombie atmosphere of cyborgs invading the Enterprise. Although the time-travel element lacks the culture-clash humor of The Voyage Home or certain television episodes in this franchise — and raises some unanswered questions about why the enemy species has never used that technology on any prior appearance — it’s a good way of upping the stakes and splitting the crew in two, with one group trying to repel the immediate alien threat and the other keeping earth history on track. There’s still not enough space in the script to give adequate attention to them all, but this is probably the smartest use of a large ensemble that would regularly cycle through different focal protagonists each week on TV.

I could have done without the Borg Queen’s seduction of Data or a few cheesy 90s action one-liners like “Assimilate this!”, but overall First Contact is a thrilling sci-fi adventure that doesn’t require too much background knowledge from its audience yet nevertheless carries a few fun cameos and references for fans. (My favorite is the Emergency Medical Hologram, just as he’s typically the thing I like best on Voyager.) While I’m surprised the titular event ends up as a bit of an afterthought, the big-screen confrontation between Picard and his greatest foes is an excellent culmination of that long-running series arc.

★★★★☆

Book Review: N or M? by Agatha Christie

Book #293 of 2021:

N or M? by Agatha Christie (Tommy and Tuppence #3)

In this 1941 spy thriller, author Agatha Christie reprises her characters of Tommy and Tuppence, last seen in 1929’s short story collection Partners in Crime. The ‘young adventurers’ are now middle-aged and chafing at not being allowed to assist on the front lines of the war effort, but still very much devoted to each other and given to their typical droll commentary. Their lethargy is interrupted when Tommy gets recruited to look into potential German espionage at a distant seaside hotel, and Tuppence sneaks along after him.

As usual for these protagonists, the ensuing tale is a fun romp despite the high stakes, and the book itself is interesting as a historical artifact, both written and set early in World War II. The enemies are Nazis whose antisemitism is explicitly mentioned, and the writer aptly assesses why they might be feeling grievances for their country’s recent international treatment without ever tipping that sympathy too far. Against this contemporary backdrop, the plot has action to keep a reader guessing even if the mystery elements are deduced in advance, and provides plenty of opportunity for the hero and heroine to show off their brains and skill at disguise. It’s a welcome return all around.

Fun random fact that I saw online: the British counter-intelligence service MI5 actually investigated Christie over this book, as she inadvertently named a character Major Bletchley and they were concerned that she had compromising information on the top-secret codebreaking center at Bletchley Park.

[Content warning for gun violence, suicide, child endangerment, and racial slurs.]

★★★★☆

TV Review: Star Trek: Voyager, season 2

TV #77 of 2021:

Star Trek: Voyager, season 2

Overall I would say that this season is a step down from the first, especially when you factor in a few real clunkers like “Tattoo,” “Threshold,” and “Elogium.” Luckily it also has bright spots along the lines of “Deadlock” and “Tuvix,” although the script of the latter doesn’t appear to realize how abhorrent it makes Captain Janeway. (Federation transporter technology absolutely could have let all three men live, and even if it couldn’t, separating the merged figure back into Tuvok and Neelix against his express wishes is straight-up murder. Fight me on it.)

My primary complaint about this program continues to be how unseriously it takes its own premise of a ship stranded far from anything familiar. Despite that logline, we keep seeing other denizens and artifacts originally of the Alpha Quadrant — including, sigh, Amelia Earhart of all people — and running into species such as the Q with the power to easily return Voyager there. As a result, a theoretically great source of tension is rendered quite lifeless, and any new episode carries the potential to immediate resolve the larger series plot. Those encounters with advanced civilizations are all weaker for the inevitable flimsy justifications of why they can’t / won’t help, too.

I’ll likewise quote from my review of the previous year, as it still applies word-for-word: “most of the individual episodic storylines are not taking advantage of the original canvas that the Delta Quadrant represents. Instead they generally seem as though only minimal rewrites would be necessary for them to have happened on a show like The Next Generation that’s exploring closer to home. We even get an hour where the main concern is a holodeck malfunction! Why bother sending the protagonists so far away if that detail has such little effective consequence?”

The story is at least getting a degree more serialized, but so far that’s mostly made up of recurring villains like Seska or the Vidiians who promise that this time they’re not going to double-cross our heroes, really! It’s all a bit tedious, and redeemed merely by the general competence that the franchise has established by this stage. On average, these installments are fine. I just know they could be a whole lot better.

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: From a Whisper to a Rallying Cry: The Killing of Vincent Chin and the Trial that Galvanized the Asian American Movement by Paula Yoo

Book #292 of 2021:

From a Whisper to a Rallying Cry: The Killing of Vincent Chin and the Trial that Galvanized the Asian American Movement by Paula Yoo

An informative account of the titular 1982 assault and how it led to more widespread recognition of racial discrimination against Asian Americans, as well as a greater sense of common identity among that diverse population. (The legal status of hate crimes in Michigan at the time was so weak that the police incident report marked the victim as white, with black as the sole other option available on the form.) This is not a case with which I was previously familiar, but author Paula Yoo has done a good job of presenting it in the ‘true crime’ fashion, drawing from old records and reinterviewing witnesses for her 2021 audience. Overall, it’s an infuriating look at a modern lynching and the racist justice system that ultimately let his killer walk.

Less necessary is the writer’s repeated framing device of Vincent Chin’s fiancée’s later son, who only learns about the killing and his mother’s connection to it as an adult in his twenties. Similarly, the closing discussion on anti-Asian rhetoric and violence surrounding the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, while clearly relevant, is not given the length for either adequate coverage or direct ties back to the main subject. These sections add little substance and don’t build to much in their own right.

[Content warning for gore and racial slurs.]

★★★☆☆

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