The Lesser Joke: book reviews and more

Book Review: Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

Book #249 of 2020:

Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

I appreciate the fresh perspective of this YA novel about a Mexican-American girl whose mother was deported and went missing and presumed dead trying to cross back into the country, but the story takes a sudden genre veer midway through into aliens and government conspiracies, and I haven’t found the ensuing action to be nearly as satisfying. I also don’t particularly care for the love interest, who goes from irritating to boring to a liar to forgiven in record time, with little beyond his looks to explain why the heroine even likes him in the first place. Far more interesting is the #ownvoices thread of indigenous folklore and communication with ancestors that winds throughout the tale, but overall I think this book just pulls in too many different directions.

[Content warning for sexual assault, PTSD, domestic abuse, and racism including slurs.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Deficit Myth: Modern Monetary Theory and the Birth of the People’s Economy by Stephanie Kelton

Book #248 of 2020:

The Deficit Myth: Modern Monetary Theory and the Birth of the People’s Economy by Stephanie Kelton

I’ll be honest and admit up-front that I don’t have the economics background that is likely necessary to evaluate all of this book’s claims. But it seems clear that neither do most politicians, and that there is enormous pressure on them to resist such a radically different framework for thinking about the economy. Like Universal Basic Income or defunding the police, Modern Monetary Theory is a provocative idea that could be game-changing, and so deserves to be more widely considered on its merits outside of competing theoretical preconceptions.

As academic Stephanie Kelton explains, the key insight of this model is that a government like the United States that issues its own currency cannot, by definition, actually spend money. It adds to the total amount of dollars in the system — or removes from that total, via taxation — but it does not spend in the way that non-issuing parties do, and thus can never run out of funds. From this it follows that the so-called ‘national debt’ is more of a historical record of how much money the government has created than a bill that ever needs to be repaid, and that the perpetual challenge to new policy proposals of “how will you pay for it?” is basically irrelevant. In practice, the federal government doesn’t collect taxes to fund its initiatives; it acts on those determined priorities and then later utilizes taxation only to reduce the pool of available currency to guard against inflation (and redistribute wealth away from the richest citizens who are not circulating it throughout the economy).

That last part may sound like Senator Elizabeth Warren’s proposed wealth tax — a ‘Robin Hood’ measure that would justify taking a percentage of the largest household wealths to fund ambitious social programs like universal healthcare and pre-K — but it’s actually a striking new paradigm for Democrats and Republicans alike. Under MMT, progressives like Warren who want to expand the social safety net don’t need to defend the affordability of their plans, and conservatives seeking to cut taxes don’t need to find existing budget items to trim. The whole notion of government deficits is turned on its ear, with attention given to forces of unemployment and inflation instead.

Am I wholly convinced by Kelton’s argument? Perhaps not. I have a lot of questions in particular about her call for a Federal Jobs Guarantee, which seems like it would be a logistical nightmare to implement effectively. But I admire her boldness to buck orthodoxy and think in challenging new directions, and I would love to see this theory gain traction among our elected leaders.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: Dune by Frank Herbert

Book #247 of 2020:

Dune by Frank Herbert (Dune #1)

This 1965 sci-fi classic is a triumph of worldbuilding, with an influence on the genre that can be seen everywhere from the desert planets of Star Wars to the feudal intrigue of Red Rising. But it bored me to tears when I tried to read it as a teenager, and even now, the story leaves me cold. Its young hero already has absurd levels of introspective reasoning and combat skill at the start of the novel, and his primary arc involves growing even more overpowered and awing everyone he meets. He’s also one of several white savior / mighty whitey tropes present in the narrative — pale-skinned outsiders with names like Jessica and Paul who take up leadership roles among the dusky natives after quickly mastering their exotic ways. (Equally problematic: how author Frank Herbert uses fat and queer identities as a shorthand for villainy, and how the only gay figure in the text is a pedophilic rapist.)

These characters are a fairly reactive bunch too, experiencing the events of the plot but rarely making deliberate choices towards some larger driving motivation. When they do act with purpose, it’s usually accompanied by some stilted monologue of post-facto explanation, rather than reflecting any previously-expressed goal that a reader could invest in beforehand. The pieces are all here for a gripping tale of betrayal, revolution, and revenge, but as presently assembled, it plays out more like a dry account of settled history, with no particular surprises or suspense.

[Content warning for torture, eugenics, slavery, drug addiction, death of a parent, and death of a child.]

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★★★☆☆

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TV Review: Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6

TV #43 of 2020:

Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6

Perhaps because Star Trek wasn’t a part of my childhood (and because I prefer my television to have more serial plotting), I’ve never quite loved this show, but it’s generally been a solid collection of sci-fi stories in an interesting sort of setting. So I’m not sure that I enjoy this season any less than the ones before, but it does seem to be showing its age in some of the scenarios that the writers resort to. “Starship Mine” is just an awkwardly-justified Die Hard in space, for instance, and even for a program that’s always handed child actors heavier material than they can manage, it’s hard to see the age-regression of Picard and the others in “Rascals” as anything but jumping the shark.

On the other hand, there are a few darker hours like “Frame of Mind,” “Schisms,” and “Chain of Command Part II” that reveal this series hasn’t entirely lost its edge, and the year certainly goes out stronger than it comes in. I’d still put it in the category of most Trek where I maybe like it just barely enough to keep watching, but this deep into the franchise, that’s honestly no small feat.

[Content warning for torture and gaslighting.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Daughter of Regals and Other Tales by Stephen R. Donaldson

Book #246 of 2020:

Daughter of Regals and Other Tales by Stephen R. Donaldson

Stephen R. Donaldson is one of my very favorite authors, and although I don’t remember liking this 1984 collection of fiction as much as his novels or the later Reave the Just and Other Tales, my current reread through his oeuvre seemed like a good time to revisit these eight early stories. And they’re collectively somewhat better than I had recalled, although markedly uneven. Individual reviews below:

Daughter of Regals: Donaldson’s most remarkable talent as a fantasist is his marriage of distinctive worldbuilding with interrogations of moral philosophy and implications of associated intrigue. In this title novella, that plays out almost like a fairy tale, with a seemingly powerless heroine negotiating the dynamics of her rivals against one another and their preconceptions of her in a series of encounters over the course of the evening leading up to her attempted ascension to the throne. I’m deeply skeptical that our protagonist needed to be stripped and threatened with rape in order to tell this story — and of how often this writer uses sexual assault as a plot driver in general — but she’s an engaging presence in an interesting realm, and it’s easy to root for her triumph. ★★★★☆

Gilden-Fire: This was originally part of the second Thomas Covenant book The Illearth War, before being cut for space reasons (and to reduce the amount of narrative told from the perspective of a resident of the Land rather than an outsider like Covenant). It’s a solid ‘deleted scene’ that adds to our understanding of the Bloodguard, but there’s nothing within that’s particularly essential. Excising it from the finished novel was probably the right editorial choice, and I’m not convinced it deserved to be brought back in this format, either. ★★★☆☆

Mythological Beast: Most Donaldson is recognizably his style, even the originally-pseudonymous The Man Who detective novels, but this short sci-fi piece feels way more generic. It’s also just plain weird, with a premise like Fahrenheit 451 meets The Metamorphosis, in which a man comes to realize the sinister nature of his “perfectly safe, perfectly sane” utopia as his body gradually transforms into something nonhuman. I confess I don’t quite get the point of this one. ★★☆☆☆

The Lady in White: This entry is more earthbound than the author’s typical fantasy fare, being set in a medieval village first encountering magic rather than a fully-imagined secondary world. It has the rhythms of an Arthurian quest, but the protagonist is too much of a swaggering Gaston figure for me to care much about his fate. ★★★☆☆

Animal Lover: Goofy biopunk sci-fi that’s somewhere between The Most Dangerous Game and The Island of Doctor Moreau. Now, look — no serious literature is ever going to have a bear with human hands pull a pair of machine guns out of its kangaroo pouch and open fire on a cyborg cop. In fact, I think this is the story I’ve most turned around on, as I remember rolling my eyes at it in the past. But Donaldson doesn’t often let himself indulge in this sort of fun, and the gee-whiz Golden Age throwback (set in the far-future year of 2011) is a charming change of pace. [Content warning for gore and eugenics.] ★★★★☆

Unworthy of the Angel: This entry feels more quintessentially Donaldson, with a protagonist who’s some sort of angelic champion for the downtrodden despite being pretty world-weary and battered himself. It’s one of those short stories that skates by with gesturing towards larger concepts that are never quite elaborated on, but it works just fine in the moment as the nameless hero fights for the soul of a resentful sculptor who’s been using his sister’s sacrifices to fuel his art. It’s a pithy yet complicated look at the creative process and the question of who deserves salvation, which is of course one of this writer’s major themes. ★★★★☆

The Conqueror Worm: By far the shortest tale, as well as the one I have the least patience for. Taking its title from a Poe poem about the inevitable intrusion of death into the performance of humanity’s passions, this story depicts a quarreling couple whose stupid argument — mostly involving the drunk husband baselessly accusing his wife of cheating on him — keeps getting interrupted by a ten-inch centipede that’s invaded their home and scurries around avoiding all efforts to crush it. It’s really too heavy-handed a metaphor by far, and the nominal protagonist is too odious to even enjoy rooting against (as I do think we’re supposed to). Even at just a dozen pages, it’s a waste of the author’s talents and the reader’s time. [Content/spoiler warning for insects crawling inside clothes and implied castration.] ★☆☆☆☆

Ser Visal’s Tale: An engrossing and enchanting trickster fable in the form of a tavern boast, rich with details to summon both the framing scene and the embedded story. Although set in a fantasy world, it’s a strong rebuke to the religious hypocrisy of oppressive institutions like the Spanish Inquisition, and a great illustration of how a character can say one thing — praising the priests for introducing slavery and torture to the realm — while actually (but deniably) conveying the exact opposite stance. There’s a frisson of danger electrifying this final tale, and although I have mixed feelings about the collection as a whole, it definitely goes out on a high note. [Content warning for sexism, mention of rape and child molestation, and use of a racial slur.] ★★★★★

Overall rating for the book: ★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Smallest Lights in the Universe: A Memoir by Sara Seager

Book #245 of 2020:

The Smallest Lights in the Universe: A Memoir by Sara Seager

This title is a firsthand account of author Sara Seager’s experiences with death — primarily that of her young husband to cancer, but also those of her father, a dog, and two cats — as well as a look at her career as an astrophysicist trying to mathematically detect habitable planets in the far reaches of space. At times, these threads echo each other powerfully, with the writer talking about loss and grief in terms of the subtle gravitational effects by things unseen. But too often, it feels as though there are job chapters and there are family chapters, without any particular effort to stitch them together into a cohesive whole.

Seager keeps readers at a bit of a distance too, mentioning people or activities who are important to her personal life but seldom providing enough details to make us understand the appeal. When she does elaborate, it’s sometimes even worse — as when her partner names a dog after his favorite Ayn Rand character, then later renames the pet so that they can bestow the original name on a daughter instead. It sure seems like the author intends that anecdote to endear us to the man, but for me it’s downright horrifying.

(It’s possible my alienation here stems in part from the fact that Seager is autistic, but that’s not an issue I’ve encountered with other writers or friends who are on the spectrum.)

I’ve found myself more interested in her professional sphere, which she presents as disappointingly cutthroat, petty, and sexist rather than the high-minded science one might expect. It’s not altogether inspiring, but the breakthroughs are neat to learn about from an expert, and I probably would have liked the book better had it focused solely on that.

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Red Hood by Elana K. Arnold

Book #244 of 2020:

Red Hood by Elana K. Arnold

A dark and gory feminist tale, perfect for the chilly weather and dimmer evenings we’re getting now at the tail end of the year. It’s a loose retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, where the girl in the woods is a teenager going home to her grandmother’s house after a homecoming dance, and when she manages to kill the wolf that attacks her, its corpse transforms into the naked body of a boy from school. And he’s not the only one out there.

What follows is a brutal look at male violence and entitlement, made stronger by the late reveal that even in a supernatural setting, not all of the villains are werewolves. Some threats stay stubbornly human in form, and so are harder to dispatch. (There are good men here too, just to clarify, but they’re not the focus of the story.)

Although not initially sold on the second-person point-of-view — or the graphic descriptions of sex and menstruation — I’ve ended up drawn in by the immediacy of the text and author Elana K. Arnold’s clear talent for poetical prose. Certain readers may object that the novel is a celebration of vigilante justice, but as the protagonist herself says: “It’s not that we need more wolf hunters. It’s that we need men to stop becoming wolves.” The very fact that I wasn’t sure this book was for me practically demanded that I sit with that discomfort and keep reading, and I’m ultimately quite glad I did.

[Content warning for sexism, domestic abuse, death of a parent, MRA/incel rhetoric, slut-shaming, and sexual assault/rape.]

★★★★☆

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Book Review: Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko

Book #243 of 2020:

Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko (Raybearer #1)

A lovely piece of #ownvoices YA fantasy, with an all-black cast and imaginative worldbuilding loosely inspired by West African mythology. Debut author Jordan Ifueko is clearly breaking from the eurocentric genre norm here, but she also seems to have ventured further afield from the Orisha folklore that’s popped up in recent similar projects like Akata Witch, Children of Blood and Bone, or Kingdom of Souls, giving the novel an even more distinctive feel.

Every magic-user in this setting has their own rare gift, and the heroine’s ability to read and erase other people’s memories by touch allows for some interesting applications throughout the story without ever growing overpowered. Plotwise, she’s been sent to infiltrate a prince’s high council at the command of her cruel and distant mother, a woman whose antagonistic stance is complicated by certain revelations about her backstory that eventually come to light. Joining up in a linked cadre of sorcerers to support the emperor’s heir, the girl must decide her true loyalties and resist the compulsions that friend and foe alike seek to lay on her.

There are a lot of surprises in this book, both in the form of unusual developments and in terms of tired tropes that the writer neatly avoids. (A potential love triangle, for instance, is quickly shut down because one character is actually asexual and the other two only have eyes for one another.) I’ve had a blast reading this, and I’m almost disappointed that I checked it out as a new release and now have to wait so long for the sequel.

★★★★☆

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Book Review: Night Watch by Terry Pratchett

Book #242 of 2020:

Night Watch by Terry Pratchett (Discworld #29)

This wasn’t my first Discworld title, but for a long time, it was the only one I had read in the subseries about the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. It’s the volume I’ve reread the most as well, so I can attest that it works just fine for a reader without any particular background knowledge of the characters or setting. (In fact, returning to it now after having finally checked out the previous Watch books, I’m almost disappointed to find how little they add to my appreciation or understanding of events — other than to marvel at how author Terry Pratchett has improved upon his already-considerable talents and avoided all his usual faults.)

The core of this story is a Back to the Future sort of plot, in which Commander Sam Vimes pursues a serial killer through a magical storm that sends the two of them into Sam’s own past, when he was a rookie officer and the city-state was on the verge of revolt. It’s great for the time-travel shenanigans of our protagonist striving in disguise to keep history on track, but also for the distinctive atmosphere simmering with tensions from a paranoid ruler, his corrupt secret police, and the ensuing social unrest. Pratchett owes a debt to revolutionary tales like Les Miserables, but he makes this version all his own via his trademark wit and clear affection for the soul of his creations.

I think the reason I love this novel so much is that Vimes is fundamentally a hero with clarity of right and wrong in a murky and uncertain moment where many are tempted to descend to their worst impulses. He has the benefit of coming from a later era, but he’s still a beacon for the people around him and a model for what peacekeeping should be. (The scenes of him training up his fellow guards, I now realize, are a lot like Raoden rallying the Elantrians towards good civic leadership in another favorite of mine.) I’m so moved by this effort to improve a small corner of the world, and so caught up in the personal struggle not to despair over the things that nevertheless can’t be saved.

If you’ve never read any Discworld before, or simply haven’t gotten to this one yet, I definitely recommend picking it up.

★★★★★

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TV Review: The Office, season 4

TV #42 of 2020:

The Office, season 4

This is a deceptively light season of the classic workplace sitcom, with few of the plot shake-ups that have marked previous years. But there is still the structure of Ryan’s time at corporate bookending this particular run, and some new romantic developments offer intriguing forward momentum that likewise keeps the status quo from ever growing too stale.

Most importantly — thirteen-year-old spoiler alert — Jim and Pam are finally dating! And although many TV will-they-won’t-they dynamics lose their spark once they solidify into a relationship, these two officemates are honestly just so cute and fun to see together at last. Admittedly we’re given precious little of their actual private life, but the energy they now bring to work is endearingly adorable (as well as simply a nice change from their earlier angst).

On the downside, all these extra-long episodes can tend to drag a bit, and there probably aren’t too many individual series-best outings here besides the wonderfully awful piece of cringe comedy that is “Dinner Party.” Yet it’s nevertheless another great slice of a great program that — for now, at least — shows no sign of slowing down.

★★★★☆

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