The Lesser Joke: book reviews and more

Book Review: The Gods of Guilt by Michael Connelly

Book #65 of 2022:

The Gods of Guilt by Michael Connelly (Mickey Haller #5)

A solid legal thriller like most in its series, but one with some unfortunate pacing issues and a letdown of an ending, in my opinion. Nevertheless, this volume is interesting for showing a bit more serialization than the Harry Bosch-adjacent novels usually do; the case in question concerns the murder of a sex worker who gave evidence against a drug dealer back in the original Mickey Haller book The Lincoln Lawyer, revisiting and revealing another side of that arrangement. On the other hand, we skip over the hero’s run for District Attorney that was teased at the end of his previous installment The Fifth Witness, which feels like a real missed opportunity and gives rise to a measure of tedious catch-up exposition.

(There’s some further weirdness in the continuity too, as author Michael Connelly has decided to include the recent movie adaptation of The Lincoln Lawyer — published as nonfiction, in this universe — into the narrative here. But no one ever alludes to Mickey’s newfound celebrity or the fact that the dead woman was a character in the film, both of which seem like they’d have been raised at trial. The main impact seems to just be more lawyers practicing out of their cars, resulting in a repeated comedic beat of the protagonist not being sure which vehicle to get into when he exits the courthouse.)

Overall, this particular entry is thoroughly workmanlike, which sounds like faint praise but actually speaks to the writer’s continued technical proficiency at generating good and even periodically great stories. This one falls more into the former category for me, with only occasional flashes of brilliance, like a ploy to draw out corruption in the prosecution via a strategic inclusion in the defense’s potential witness list. But I’d say it’s still worth reading for fans of the genre.

Note: in some editions, this novel is accompanied by the Harry Bosch short story “Switchblade” which details a cold case the detective is investigating around this same time. Bosch and that defendant feature in The Gods of Guilt, but only in passing.

[Content warning for alcohol abuse, gun violence, racism, and (in “Switchblade”) homophobic violence.]

★★★☆☆

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Movie Review: Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021)

Movie #9 of 2022:

Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021)

Crossovers are reliable crowd-pleasers that a ‘cinematic universe’ of joint continuity is custom-built to fulfill, and even outside of colossal team-up events in the main Avengers line, Marvel Studios has gotten good mileage in recent years out of sticking one superhero in another’s movie. So the Hulk shows up unexpectedly in Thor: Ragnarok, and Dr. Strange appears here with Spider-Man, prior to roping in Wanda Maximoff for his own upcoming title. This story goes further, however, pulling in figures from the two previous Spider-series under Sony as well: the Sam Raimi / Tobey Maguire trilogy of 2002-2007 and the Marc Webb / Andrew Garfield pair of 2012-2014. The inspiration may have come from the unrelated Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) cartoon, but it’s still neat to see this live-action mashup play out.

It’s hard to know exactly what’s fair game for spoilers, but suffice to say, the nostalgia bid largely succeeds even for viewers like me who haven’t watched those earlier films in quite a while. It’s a blast to see certain old faces again — although some are less resonant than others, and perhaps could have been trimmed from the unnecessarily long 2.5-hour runtime. The new character dynamics are fun too, bringing together individuals who previously never could have shared a scene to marvel at the comic weirdness of their respective franchises.

The inciting incident here, of Peter Parker recruiting the wizard to cast a spell, and then inadvertently interfering with the process to disastrous side effect, is… fine. It serves to get the ball rolling, and probably could have been moved up sooner in the script for efficiency’s sake. But I like that we do spend some time first exploring the fallout of the last Spidey film, which MCU entries don’t often indulge in. I also feel that the decision to have Peter try to rehabilitate his alternate selves’ foes, rather than just automatically fight them and/or send them home, is an interesting one. It sort of falls apart in practice, because most antagonists don’t have a condition that a maguffin injection can cure them of, and it’s somewhere between silly and offensive to act like they do. (Change Dr. Connors back into a human if you must, but the man wants to be a lizard! He’s just going to turn himself into a lizard again as soon as your back is turned. And the villains who are driven by mental health problems deserve more than a magical serum to fix them.) But I like the idea in theory and for particular bad guys, as a way of gently retconning their original fates and of underscoring this Spider-Man’s sensitivity.

By and large, though, this is a plot that begs you not to think too deeply about it, since the necessary explanations for everyone’s appearances either aren’t supplied at all or break down under close scrutiny. Instead it promises spectacle and more or less delivers it, albeit via fanservice banter combinations more than the disposable climax of CGI whizzing around the Statue of Liberty. That doesn’t quite make up for the weakness of motivations or meaningful arcs throughout, or the number of allies-to-enemies reversals and back that stretch out the piece. And don’t get me started on the conclusion’s frustrating protagonist-deciding-what’s-best-for-their-loved-ones shtick that this Tom Holland trilogy had generally managed to avoid until now! But it provides a lot of goofy entertainment in the moment, and at least it manages to connect the disparate Spider-Verse segments into something more cohesive than their slapdash origins.

★★★☆☆

Book Review: The Familiar by K. A. Applegate

Book #64 of 2022:

The Familiar by K. A. Applegate (Animorphs #41)

Following another particularly gruesome battle in which the Animorphs barely escape with their lives, their leader Jake staggers home, too exhausted to comfort his traumatized girlfriend Cassie or take his usual precautions like changing clothes or checking himself for signs of blood. He’s seen in that state by his brother Tom the Yeerk Controller, who appears to lurk menacingly by the bedroom door as the protagonist collapses into sleep. And from there we jump ahead a decade, with Jake awakening in his twenty-five-year-old body to find a future where his team has failed and the invasion of earth has succeeded.

The dystopian tale that ensues is a fine one, and well in line with the dark tone of these stories, but there are two big problems that hinder its effectiveness. The first is sheer poor placement within the franchise, coming right after Megamorphs #4 Back to Before — in which Jake accepts the Drode’s offer to create an alternate reality where the Animorphs never got their morphing ability and the Yeerks end up waging all-out war much quicker — and Alternamorphs #2 The Next Passage — in which the reader gets presented with yet another version of events in the form of an AU choose-your-own-adventure. Each of these three installments has its own strengths and weaknesses, but encountering them all in sequence is frustrating for any hopes of forward plot momentum.

The second issue here is the nature of just what Jake’s experiencing. It’s clear by the halfway mark at the latest that the boy is having some sort of nightmare — via outside influence or not — because there are simply too many inconsistencies in his vision of 2010 New York, regardless of how he’s arrived at it. His morphing powers come and go. His dad hasn’t aged a day. Marco is first said to be the host to a Yeerk who’s Visser Two, but then identifies himself as Visser Three. Jake sees visions of David and mutilated enemies he’s killed in combat, then blinks to discover them gone, a hallucination within a hallucination. He sometimes moves from scene to scene without any awareness of transition, and so on. It’s scary and disorienting, but to the point where it’s hard to seriously invest in the character’s troubles, since they’re so ungrounded and malleable. He’s faced with dilemmas, but we’re mostly just waiting around for him to wake up.

The ending is a disappointment as well, with no resolution to Tom’s apparent suspicions and the reveal that yes, some strange intelligence has been studying the sleeping teen… but not the Ellimist or any other being we’ve already met, and not a presence that will ever be addressed again in the series. Whoever it is, they’ve been watching as Jake’s mind processes stuff, I guess, and are especially interested by his final act before waking, when he’s made to choose between saving Cassie’s life or sabotaging a Yeerk scheme to turn the moon into a massive Kandrona generator that would guarantee their dominance on the planet forever. (We’re not shown the result, but it’s strongly implied that he goes with his heart over his brain and picks the former — fitting with his earlier protests that the terrorism tactics used by the new resistance group “sacrifice the very things we’re fighting for!”)

So the novel only really works, to the extent that it does, as the hero’s subconscious grappling with the course his war is taking, the toll that’s exerting on him and his friends, and the morals they’re increasingly having to compromise. In that light, it’s an interesting exercise, particularly when he confronts a person he first takes to be Elfangor, the Andalite who originally recruited them to fight (but later revealed to be Tobias, permanently morphed into the prince’s brother Ax for some reason and then grown older). There’s a lot of raw pain here, and returning ghostwriter Ellen Geroux taps into it as effectively as she did in #33 The Illusion, showing the other Animorphs as embodiments of Jake’s fears for them: Rachel mangled and wheelchair-bound, Cassie a hardened killer, and Marco a helpless prisoner forced to watch himself serve the enemy. These glimpses are appropriately haunting, but I don’t know that they add up to tell us anything new when the specific details and their incongruities don’t ever seem to matter.

[Content warning for body horror, gore, torture, ableism, and eugenics]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: The Cartographers by Peng Shepherd

Book #63 of 2022:

The Cartographers by Peng Shepherd

A fun but very trope-heavy research adventure, sort of like The Historian meets The Shadow of the Wind by way of Secret History. The heroine’s estranged father dies suddenly, and she finds an old highway map among his possessions that seems worthless yet for some reason has people willing to pay a fortune and/or kill to get their hands on it. Hints of magic abound as she follows a trail of clues and learns more about the mysterious history of her parents and their old grad school friends, with explicit confirmation halfway through: there’s a town on the map that doesn’t actually exist — it was added as a copyright trap for rival publishers trying to steal the work — but which anyone holding the thing can nevertheless reach.

I love this as a Stephen King-esque fantasy concept, but in my opinion it is both properly introduced too late in the narrative and not developed rigorously enough by author Peng Shepherd. There are all sorts of open questions / plot holes around how the enchantment functions, of the kind that really damage the story the longer you dwell on them (or wonder why the characters aren’t). The few twists are predictable well in advance too, and multiple folks decide that the best way to protect their loved ones is to break off contact with them for literal decades, a tiresome idea that’s disappointingly just accepted on its face without challenge.

Despite these flaws, this is generally a fast-paced and engaging title that draws a reader onward to uncover its dusty secrets. But there’s a lot of potential here for an even stronger version of the project that’s ultimately squandered at every turn.

[Content warning for gun violence.]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis

Book #62 of 2022:

The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis

Charmingly strange and surprisingly modern for a novel first published in 1881 Brazil, this story details the life of a fictional dead man from his own perspective, written “with the pen of mirth and the ink of melancholy” as he lies in his grave with nothing better to do than entertain the worms. Subverting the usual order of memoir, he begins with an account of his funeral and the visitors at his deathbed instead of his childhood, explaining, “I am not exactly an author recently deceased, but a deceased man recently an author,” and that pretty much sets the stage for the quirky, hilarious, and thoroughly original tale that follows.

When we do see his early days, our protagonist is (or rather, was) a wastrel son of a noble family, squandering his inheritance in advance and doing his best to avoid any serious responsibilities as he falls in and out of love and tries to hide his main affair with a married woman. Plotwise, this is all sort of thin, but the narrator has such a delightfully peculiar viewpoint that it’s easy to simply relax and enjoy his declaiming in all its experimental oddities. The chapters are short and staccato in form, and they regularly indulge in metafictional consideration of composition rather than actually continuing on from the previous thought. One page consists of a dialogue mostly in question marks. Another section encourages us to remove and insert it somewhere else in the book instead. And a favorite of mine dolefully lists the elements found at a typical graveyard service, from priest to coffin to sobbing mourners, only to suddenly swerve and conclude, “These are the notes that I took for a sad and commonplace chapter which I shall not write.”

It’s madcap and surely frustrating to any expectations of straightforward narrative, but it just about works despite the distance now in time, space, and language from the initial context for a contemporary reader. I’m sure there are some cultural nuances that have escaped me in this translation, much as the constant philosophizing sometimes seems to get in the way of Brás Cubas deploying his caustically self-deprecating wit. But overall, this weird title is right up my alley.

[Content warning for racism, slavery, corporal punishment, and miscarriage.]

★★★★☆

TV Review: Bob’s Burgers, season 3

TV #16 of 2022:

Bob’s Burgers, season 3

This animated family sitcom has been getting better year over year, and this third season produces what I’d call its first all-time classic episode, Mother Daughter Laser Razor. No other half-hour in this run quite matches that one’s fantastic blend of action, comedy, and character growth, but several do come close. Plus at this stage the writers have a firm enough handle on the core cast and their extended world of recurring weirdo acquaintances that the jokes are categorically well-grounded in personality, which helps smooth over the weaker stories. And while this will never be a particularly plot-heavy show, there’s sporadic signs of serialization and personal arcs throughout, mostly concerning Tina’s love life.

It’s still a mixed bag, though, and those clunkers like Mutiny on the Windbreaker have to be factored against the stronger moments. I think on balance the series remains ever so slightly more good than great overall, but at least it feels like we might finally be reaching a tipping point there.

[Content warning for fatphobia, ableism, and drug and alcohol abuse.]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson

Book #61 of 2022:

Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #1)

This 1999 debut is an incredibly dense high fantasy adventure that I can’t honestly say I’ve enjoyed too much. Author Steven Erikson clearly has an epic scope in mind for this saga, but this first thick tome — of ten, plus several companion volumes and adjacent series — seems driven primarily by birds-eye plotting, rather than insights into the hearts of its characters. The writing is competent enough that I wouldn’t say these protagonists don’t have respective goals they’re working toward, but the motivations explaining why they each want to achieve their particular aims are somewhat elusive. As a result those figures often read like interchangeable automatons moving around a game board — a fitting summary for a project that apparently began as an idea for a tabletop RPG setting and only later had a sample campaign devised for publication.

There are frankly also just too bloody many of them to easily keep track of, particularly in audiobook format and with a narrative style that frequently switches perspectives mid-chapter without notice. In total in this one novel, there are 33 different point-of-view characters alone. That’s a heavy mental burden for a reader/listener to follow, and I now realize why I’ve seen fans of this series earnestly recommend taking notes along the way. (For comparison to other massive genre introductions: Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings has 17 distinct POVs. George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones has 9.) With fewer heroes and/or better-drawn ones, I might feel more invested in this elaborate history that Erikson has concocted. But there’s simply no ready point of entry here, even before we get to all the secret identities, name changes, and possessions by elder gods.

I do understand why the franchise has its devotees, and I would imagine it’s rewarding for a close-reading of its lore, even though the worldbuilding so far strikes me as fairly generic, offering breadth over depth as it traffics in various standard archetypes and monocultural flavor. But there are fun scenes and surprising twist reveals, generally involving some all-powerful warrior coming out of the shadows to clobber another, and if this sort of thing is your cup of tea, I wish you the best of it. Personally, however, I’m more bemused than entertained overall, and I don’t expect I’ll be continuing on to any of the sequels. While the strengths of this title probably merit a rating no lower than three-out-of-five stars, I really don’t believe I’m the ideal reader for it.

[Content warning for gore.]

★★★☆☆

Movie Review: Doctor Who: Legend of the Sea Devils (2022)

Movie #8 of 2022:

Doctor Who: Legend of the Sea Devils (2022)

I’ve been treating standalone TV events like this as movies in my reviews, but that does feel a little silly for a title that, at just 48 minutes long, is the shortest special of modern Doctor Who thus far. I liked it a lot! It’s without question among the stronger entries of its kind, and a major step up from the franchise’s only previous Easter outing, 2009’s Planet of the Dead. But I find that I don’t often have much to say about individual episodes, and that’s true even when they’re not especially situated in the middle of a longer storytelling arc. This is a fun showcase that I’d argue deserves four-out-of-five stars for the sheer entertainment factor alone, but there’s not much thematic meat on its bones to pick over critically.

Still, this nautical story that centers an obscure species from the classic run — previously seen only in 1972’s The Sea Devils and 1984’s Warriors of the Deep, though their land-dwelling cousins the Silurians have continued to recur since then — is altogether a delightful romp. The cleverness and humor in the writing feels a cut above normal, with plenty of killer lines that would merit a rewatch to catch them all. The visuals are gorgeous too, from the historical Chinese costuming to a lovely scene of the TARDIS doors opening up on a technobabble-protected underwater vista. (And the script doesn’t embarrass itself in the treatment of a foreign culture, as I’m always half-afraid this series will. Some reductionism is unavoidable given the runtime and the sci-fi elements, but real-life pirate captain Madame Ching is fantastic and nothing in the setting strikes me as particularly exoticized, though I’d welcome any dissent from someone of that background / heritage.)

The plot’s a bit simplistic, although not egregiously so, but mostly this exercise is serving two functions in the broader canon. First, it picks up the thread from the preceding Eve of the Daleks, wherein — spoiler alert — the Thirteenth Doctor’s companion Yasmin Khan was revealed to have developed romantic feelings for her. Here, that inchoate queer relationship is pushed slightly further, presented as something that the two heroines talk obliquely and awkwardly around before finally addressing head-on in a frank and insightful moment of characterization (as haywire technology blows up in their faces, of course — this is still Doctor Who).

The second important link in this tale points forward not back, and it exists primarily in subtext that most viewers will bring to the experience. That’s the fact that this is the penultimate chapter in Thirteen’s journey, the adventure immediately prior to her regeneration into an as-yet-uncast successor this autumn. She’s getting reflective and sorrowful in her quieter moments, as incarnations of the Doctor generally do at this stage, but this unfortunately cuts against the effectiveness of the love angle with Yaz. That is, I’d be more convinced that that dynamic would ultimately be handled well if it had been introduced at least a year earlier with ample room to be explored. As is, what should be a groundbreaking concept for this long-running saga seems like it’s instead going to be rushed into part of the protagonist’s latest tragic end. That context is hard to set aside as a fan, even though I like all the ‘Thasmin’ content here just fine on its own terms.

I’ve probably now spent more time writing this than watching the thing, but like some of soon-to-be-outgoing showrunner Chris Chibnall’s other contributions, I think it’s as interesting for how it adds to the continuity as for its simple enjoyment as television. Since the latter is a swashbuckling good show and the former’s got some engaging wrinkles to it, four stars feels wholly appropriate.

★★★★☆

Book Review: Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel

Book #60 of 2022:

Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel

This sci-fi novel starts off pretty disjointedly, repeatedly jumping ahead by literal centuries (1912, 2020, 2203) to no immediately discernible purpose or connection between successive protagonists. If not for the overall shortness of the volume and for my abiding affection towards author Emily St. John Mandel’s pandemic classic Station Eleven, I might have gotten cold feet and bailed before finishing. I’m quite glad I didn’t, however, as the structure of the project becomes clear around halfway through: this is a time-travel story, about an agent from the year 2401 investigating a series of anomalies across history, when moments of one era could suddenly be glimpsed in another. The scientists at his organization are worried these instances represent corrupted data that would prove all of reality is nothing but a complex digital simulation.

The action that ensues from that point is pleasantly mindbending, yet also satisfying on a character front as the cast respectively grapple with the issues facing them, which resonate thematically regardless of their isolation. One recurring preoccupation that links these souls is the question of how to endure and make sense of an ongoing global health crisis and its casualties, which of course has metafictional echoes of the writer’s own experience and the contemporary context in which she produced and we receive this title. (The heroine in the twenty-third century is literally an author whose pandemic novel is being adapted for film when a real outbreak arrives, much as how production on the Station Eleven miniseries was interrupted by the onset of COVID-19.)

For some readers, these details might seem too cutesy or navel-gazing — there are even alternate versions of people from Mandel’s otherwise unrelated work The Glass Hotel, just like how that one repurposed folks from Station Eleven for its own new narrative — but the eventual effect works for me despite my initial hesitation. I still don’t really love the beginning of this account even in hindsight, but it’s a plot that gets steadily better as it goes along and builds to a genuinely impressive ending. That’s worth the journey, in my opinion.

★★★★☆

Book Review: Crooked House by Agatha Christie

Book #59 of 2022:

Crooked House by Agatha Christie

This 1949 standalone novel is one of the more excellent Agatha Christie mysteries, with a tight plot, a plethora of solid suspects, and a fiendishly distinctive — though totally fair — ultimate solution to its puzzle. I think it helps that the protagonist is not one of the author’s usual investigators, or even a detective at all. He’s a soldier fresh from the second world war who’s arrived at the titular manor intending to propose to his friend who lives there, only to find her distraught at the recent poisoning of her grandfather and unwilling to marry until the murderer has been discovered and the fog of suspicion over the rest of the family lifted. Motives, conflicting wills, and red herrings abound, and the sudden conclusion seems guaranteed to linger in purposefully unresolved tension regardless of whether a reader sees the twist coming or not. I would rank this book alongside The Murder of Roger Ackroyd among the writer’s best, and definitely recommend it as one to pick up outside of her main Poirot and Marple series.

Fun bonus: Christie later named it as one of her favorites, too!

★★★★☆