Book Review: Remote Control by Nnedi Okorafor

Book #108 of 2021:

Remote Control by Nnedi Okorafor

I think the conclusion to this novella could have had a little more punch to it, but overall it offers a great character study of a young girl afflicted by an extraterrestrial artifact with the involuntary power to kill anything around her when physically threatened. As the now-orphaned tween wanders the countryside of a near-future Ghana, her invulnerability occasionally renders her a demanding tyrant like the kid from that Twilight Zone episode who could send people to the cornfield, but mostly author Nnedi Okorafor focuses on her protagonist’s feelings of solitude, loss, and anguish that drive her to a succession of potential new homes. Like many works of this length it’s more open-ended than I prefer — and I’m not really sure I understand the title — but the narrative gently draws a reader in, captivating us with a heroine who’s striking in her utter loneliness.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark

Book #107 of 2021:

The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark

This 2018 novella is short enough that it feels more like a proof-of-concept for the setting than a full story, and while that worldbuilding has cool potential — a steampunk Afrofuturist historical fiction version of New Orleans that’s neutral in a Civil War which never ended and populated by airships and avatars of African gods alike — the ratio of exposition to action is too skewed for so few pages. Neither the plot nor the characters make a great impression on me either, other than a passing nod of approval at the representation of marginalized identities including race, sexuality, and disability. I’d come back if author P. Djèlí Clark ever decides to expand this into a series, but as a standalone piece it’s a little underwhelming.

★★★☆☆

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TV Review: Justified, season 4

TV #38 of 2021:

Justified, season 4

As usual, I am torn on how I feel about this show. On the one hand, the fourth season has a more relaxed tone that I personally think is a better fit for its particular strengths than the urgent plotting of previous years. The Drew Thompson case carries the majority of the forward momentum, but outside the finale it avoids the sort of deep existential danger that Raylan’s often found himself enmeshed in. The stakes are basically just that some outlaw types might get rich by killing another (potentially reformed) one, and although our protagonist and his fellow marshals aim to prevent that by finding and protecting their fugitive, the prospect of failure is not a threat with much bite to it. Perhaps paradoxically, that puncturing of tension ends up playing great to the drawling repartee that this series does so well, and leaves me pretty charitable to the less ambitious structure. I’ve complained before about Justified scenes that treat armed standoffs as a regular occurrence everyone can expect to survive, but here the weapons largely stay holstered — and so it means more when they do eventually come out.

Also, credit where credit’s due: the writers have finally decided to cut Boyd’s ties with his problematic past. We’re given almost no dialogue about his white supremacist days or shots of his Nazi tattoos, and his stint as a preacher isn’t even mentioned when he’s confronting the leader of a new revivalist church in town. When these topics do arise, they’re framed as mere poses he’s tried on, which is an idea that prior scripts have never been willing to wholly endorse. Severing this figure from his history to retcon him as merely one of Harlan’s conniving mobsters undercuts the immersiveness of the serialized drama and begs for deeper interrogation, but I’d say it’s the only real option for rehabilitating the character at this point. And it lets him be fun in a way that he really couldn’t with that baggage hanging over him, so since he appears to be sticking around as a warped reflection of the deputy lead — complete with his own veteran sidekick counterpoint to Tim for a while! — this is generally a development that I welcome.

And then… There’s the other hand. There’s the fact that until Limehouse and his crew turn back up near the end of this run, I can count just four black people besides the under-utilized Rachel, each killed gruesomely within an episode of their introduction. There’s the heavy — albeit lowered — casualty rate in general. There’s the fact that Givens and his posse are horribly abusive of their law enforcement power, ignoring all jurisdiction or need for a warrant and resorting to cruel violence to get suspects to talk. There’s the casual mention of rape and pedophilia as though those are punchlines and not bloodcurdling atrocities. In short, Justified still traffics in some truly awful themes and implications, which I object to not simply on principle, but as ongoing flaws that continue to undermine the effectiveness of the work.

(You could build an interesting story around the premise that the cops are just a gang with badges, fundamentally no different than the criminal forces they’re up against! But that’s not what’s happening. Instead Raylan is firmly positioned as hero and not antihero, with audiences encouraged to accept all the police brutality so long as it’s administered by a handsome devil with a ready quip.)

I honestly don’t know how to balance those elements, or whether this string of episodes deserves a 3-star ‘good’ rating or a 4-star ‘very good.’ I suppose I’ll lean towards the latter, since it’s such an improvement upon the past couple outings, but this program seems like it’s perpetually on the verge of losing me as an invested viewer.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex

Book #106 of 2021:

The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex

I have to confess, I don’t really get this novel. It’s a fictionalized version of a real-life mystery, and it seems to have been written to propose a possible answer for why the three tenders of a remote lighthouse in the British Isles once vanished without a trace. But author Emma Stonex changes so many details of what’s already a rather thin historical account, thereby weakening the attraction of her plot by blunting the impact of that connection with actual events.

And I don’t find much of the rest to be terribly compelling, either. There’s a lot of angsty hemming and hawing over dark secrets that turn out to be quite mundane, and a few potentially interesting red herrings that don’t go anywhere important. I like the parts of this narrative where the men’s assumed widows are given space to process the disappearance, but I never feel especially invested in any of the former lives that we see in flashback, nor impressed by the potential solution to the case that the writer finally suggests. It’s overall a bit of a shrug, heavy on atmosphere but light on reasons to care.

[Content warning for violence against animals and death of a child.]

★★☆☆☆

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TV Review: The Americans, season 2

TV #37 of 2021:

The Americans, season 2

A second fantastic run of this spy-drama period piece, this one built largely for considering its central couple as parents — struggling to keep their kids safe and raised with like-minded ideals as any of us would, but with the extra tensions that necessarily stem from their secret life as deep-cover Russian operatives. Henry is still a bit of a nonentity at this point, but Paige is beginning to sense that something doesn’t add up about her folks, and although her exact suspicions are wildly off-base for now, her questioning simultaneously adds complications to the agents’ regular missions and exposes a growing rift in their family, shattering my heart a little in the process.

I often think of this show together with Dexter and Breaking Bad, two series likewise structured around a criminal element with a close associate unwittingly investigating them. This is a tad simplistic, but I’d argue that one of those titles presents its protagonist as moral and the other as immoral, with narratives that encourage audiences to cheer for Dexter Morgan yet revile Walter White respectively. As the third panel of that triptych, The Americans is typically amoral, not casting judgment on the Jennings duo for the worthiness of their larger enterprise one way or another, but content to get us invested more in their personal relationships and frustrations with the distant superiors who lack their on-the-ground expertise / bias. From that studied neutrality, we can root for our heroes without even caring whether the U.S. or the Soviet Union is occupying the superior ideological position and therefore should win the Cold War.

The focus on their daughter — not to mention the surrogate children like Jared and Lucia circling about this season — offsets that dynamic, to some extent. Stan Beeman’s pursuit of the Directorate S. figures under his nose is generally a cold angle in the script; we rarely feel that he’s particularly justified to catch his perps in the same way that Hank Schrader is, but he’s also not the sort of clownish oaf who deserves to be outsmarted by the Miami Metro Police Department’s resident serial killer. That amorality lets us support Stan as a separate hero in his own right, and it lends itself well to the conflicts with Nina that touch on our main characters less directly. But it’s a different story now with Paige, who has a shining authenticity of purpose alongside her stubborn teenage pride. With her aligning with the FBI as a force looking closely at her mother and father’s activity, it’s suddenly not so easy to automatically side with Philip and Elizabeth ourselves.

I love how this program is able to bring out such thematic depths in its storytelling, and while the plot itself can sometimes seem a bit slow-paced and repetitive, it’s fun to both watch the thrilling espionage antics in the moment and ponder the bigger picture as the credits roll. This year is a solid improvement over an already-strong debut, and I can’t wait to see how matters escalate further from here.

[Content warning for gun violence and rape.]

★★★★☆

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Book Review: A Universe of Wishes: A We Need Diverse Books Anthology edited by Dhonielle Clayton

Book #105 of 2021:

A Universe of Wishes: A We Need Diverse Books Anthology edited by Dhonielle Clayton

I love how works like this aim to spotlight authors and characters of under-represented backgrounds in literature, but for me as a reader, the YA sci-fi and fantasy stories in this collection are generally more good than great. As refreshing as it is to see so many protagonists who are queer and/or POC taking center-stage, largely from #ownvoices writers of the same identities, I don’t know that this ends up being the finest showcase for them overall.

It’s less uneven than most genre anthologies, at least! In fact, there’s just one real dud among the lot, which is also the lone entry that seems to star a straight white cis person: The Scarlet Woman by Libba Bray. I understand that the Gemma Doyle trilogy does have some diversity in it — I only ever read the first novel, and that was a while ago — but there’s little on display in this odd tie-in tale, and I’m frankly quite flummoxed as to its inclusion here.

On the brighter end of the scale, I’d highlight Tochi Onyebuchi’s Habibi, a magical realist piece about two prisoners in solitary confinement on opposite sides of the world who discover they can somehow pass messages back and forth, Anna-Marie McLemore’s Cristal y Ceniza, a Cinderella retelling with a Latina heroine and a transgender prince, and Zoraida Córdova’s Longer Than the Threads of Time, a dark romance (and loose Rapunzel riff) featuring an all-new cast within the bounds of her existing Brooklyn Brujas series. These titles wholly live up to the promise of the book, but there’s a bit too much of the solid-yet-unremarkable packed in around them.

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Slaughterman’s Daughter by Yaniv Iczkovits

Book #104 of 2021:

The Slaughterman’s Daughter by Yaniv Iczkovits

If the Coen Brothers were to produce an updated version of Fiddler on the Roof, it might look a lot like this 2015 novel by Israeli author Yaniv Iczkovits, his first work to be translated into English. Set in the Pale of Settlement, the region of Imperial Russia where Jews were permitted to live but still subjected to economic precarity and regular outbursts of pogrom violence, it’s a loose picaresque that follows a handful of surprising miscreants as they push against their assigned societal roles, acting out in ways they barely know how to express.

The inciting incident in the plot is one woman’s choice to track down her brother-in-law, who left to find employment in the big city and never returned, but events spiral out from there, especially once the knife skills she learned from her father the kosher butcher prove bloodily useful on the road. Throughout the ensuing action, the narrative often wanders back to fill in extended character histories, and although audiobook reader Tovah Feldshuh gives a phenomenal performance, accents and all, I think it probably would have been easier to grasp everyone’s connections in print (or if I had taken notes while listening).

Iczkovits nails the atmosphere of the historical setting and the subtle #ownvoices Jewish touches, and I’ve laughed aloud at how his stubborn protagonists ride the line between exasperating and endearing. This mode of storytelling is prone to a certain deal of shagginess, and I can spot plenty of areas here that seem a bit extraneous to the heart of the tale, but it’s overall a great change of pace to the sort of books I normally pick up. To some degree, it reads almost like a lost Russian classic — only one where the antisemitic element is purposeful on the writer’s part, rather than reflective of an open outside bias.

[Content warning for sexual assault, gore, and racial slurs.]

★★★★☆

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TV Review: Dawson’s Creek, season 2

TV #36 of 2021:

Dawson’s Creek, season 2

Sophomore year on this soapy 90s teen drama offers a fantastic character arc for sidekick Pacey Witter (and an acting tour-de-force for Joshua Jackson, growing into the mix of heartfelt emotion and snarky charm that he’d later use to good effect on Fringe). Seriously, I love nearly everything about his corner of the narrative here, from the prickly sniping that blossoms into tender romance to the ways in which his new girlfriend challenges him to be a better student and person to how he finally stands up against his abusive father. Jealous best friend Dawson has it exactly wrong when he complains that Pacey is a boring saint now — the sheriff’s son is practically the only thing worth watching in Creekside this season.

It’s certainly not our title figure himself, who is even worse of an insufferably pretentious Nice Guy than ever, passive-aggressively lashing out at anyone who doesn’t reciprocate his feelings or recognize his self-identified talents in filmmaking. I’m not saying that Joey is particularly well-defined as a protagonist at this point — in fact, she seems exceptionally jerked around by the demands of the plot, as though the writers are panicking to rush her from lover to ex before that new relationship from the previous finale can even begin to define itself — but her choice to dump the nominal hero proves wise many times over amid the ensuing angst.

It’s a shame that her subsequent rebound with a coworker and then short-lived decision to get back with Dawson are so poorly motivated, as the series needs more people who see the Leery boy with clear eyes just as it needs to work on agentive roles for its female leads. But Jen spends much of this run floundering away from the group, and Joey shows little of those fun sparks of anger that used to drive her. Andie at least gets a stronger throughline with her overachieving and mental health struggles, although her status as a special guest star is a blinking reminder to viewers each episode that her time among us will likely be limited. But for the most part, while it’s great that the program has figured out how to use one of its core cast members so effectively, the rest of the ensemble is in dire want of retooling.

[Content warning for drowning, ableism, suicide, and homophobia including slurs.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Truth by Terry Pratchett

Book #103 of 2021:

The Truth by Terry Pratchett (Discworld #25)

Overall this is a fine comic romp through the fantasy city-state of Ankh-Morpork as it’s introduced to the concept of print journalism, and the novel comes late enough in author Terry Pratchett’s career that it largely avoids the needless sexism and classism that sometimes populate his older works. The plot and the jokes are each pretty loose, however, with little of that special shine to make this particular volume stand out from the wider Discworld crowd. (I also think I just don’t find the character of Gaspode the talking / gaslighting dog to be as funny as the writer clearly does, even or especially when he’s acting as a shadowy informant called Deep Bone.) This sort of title is tough to review, because it’s not doing anything egregiously wrong with its various elements, but they never really cohere together in the compelling way that this series can accomplish at its best.

★★★☆☆

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TV Review: Lovecraft Country, season 1

TV #35 of 2021:

Lovecraft Country, season 1

This series requires a major content warning for everything from domestic abuse to jump scares to homophobia to gore, but first and foremost for racism in practically all of its vile and violent forms. As I noted in my 2017 review of the title it’s loosely adapting, “Jim Crow was a time of horror for black Americans, which makes it a natural fit for this novel about an extended black family coming up against the sorts of cosmic nightmares written about by H.P. Lovecraft… [who] was also an infamous racist, so there’s an element of reclaiming his narratives here” as well. That parallel remains inspired and fruitful for dramatic impact, but it is so much more visceral an experience to see the lynch mobs and other acts of mid-century bigotry play out on-screen. Tread carefully if you think you might be at all sensitive to that sort of subject matter.

The TV writers have done a fine job of tightening up this narrative, but they maintain the key insight of the original text, which is that a sundown town would be just as scary as a vampire, and just as serious a threat for someone encountering them both together. All manner of Lovecraftian weirdness goes on in this tale, from arcane rituals to unknowably monstrous beings outside the universe, but it generally sounds an accompanying tempo to the everyday terror facing our protagonists, rather than standing out as the prime focus. Or really, it’s all meshed into one omnipresent danger, where a warlock is as deadly for his twisted powers as for his white skin in our society.

It’s a powerfully thought-provoking piece of storytelling, and although it sometimes falters in terms of legible plot and character motivations beyond pure survival — and often succumbs to that variety of nihilism endemic to the horror genre, which can seem to glorify a body count for its own sake without any real hope for agentive heroism to defy it — the ideas and the visuals alike are striking. Whether due to COVID considerations or because they’ve already used most of the material from the book in this debut year, HBO has still neither officially renewed or canceled the program. But the network has made something special here, and it would be great to see where they could take the concept next.

★★★★☆

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