Movie Review: Werewolf by Night (2022)

Movie #17 of 2022:

Werewolf by Night (2022)

This is a weird one! Marvel Studios dropped the hour-long “special presentation” on Disney+ today with very little fanfare, but it is apparently an official Marvel Cinematic Universe release. I say apparently because, like the Moon Knight miniseries earlier this year, there are exactly zero explicit canonical ties that I can see here to anything else in the sprawling superhero continuity — or to Moon Knight either, even though that comic book character originally launched in a 1975 Werewolf by Night issue and their shared history was presumably part of the inspiration for making this adaptation now.

I learned that on Wikipedia. I don’t actually know much about this corner of comics lore, beyond the sheer fact that the improbably-named Elsa Bloodstone, Man-Thing, and (sigh) Jack Russell are all established protagonists there. And this standalone mini-film seems like a pretty clear labor of love towards them, so I’m happy that we live in a time when even such obscure figures are getting their moment of glory. I just don’t know that the result needed to be labeled and marketed as belonging to the MCU, you know? It doesn’t seem to set up the Mahershala Ali Blade movie, or tie in with anything horror-adjacent already in the canon. It’s just some random side adventure with an all-new cast.

On its own terms, then: a group of monster hunters gather together after a prominent colleague’s death, to earn the right to claim his namesake talisman (and household, I guess?) by stalking a beast that’s been let loose on the manor grounds. It’s Hammer Horror meets The Hunger Games, since the participants are encouraged to attack one another as well, and that plays out about as bloodily as you might expect. We don’t even get to learn most of their names, underscoring who we’re supposed to be rooting for but also weakening the element of interpersonal drama. It’s filmed mostly in an old-timey black and white with everyone adopting a somewhat stylized manner of clothing and speech, although the ending suggests we might be in a more contemporary period after all.

And it’s… largely fine? Probably more fun if you like creature features and/or slasher thrillers a bit better than I do, but my brain couldn’t stop niggling over the franchise thing or find enough to take away from this exercise in its absence. The MCU’s “Phase Four” has been incredibly scattered in its plot momentum anyway, so I suppose it’s both fitting and puzzling for one of its final chapters to be this self-contained throwback romp.

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Book #151 of 2022:

Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (The Locked Tomb #3)

I am starting to feel about this no-longer-a-trilogy the way I do towards HBO’s Westworld program, where I continue to enjoy the premise and the general vibe — in this case, snarky queer interstellar necromancers — but am often too frustrated by needlessly convoluted and obfuscating narrative choices to especially care for the story at hand. Both series also now feature body-swapping as a regular plot device, so that it’s not always clear whether a given character is actually the same individual from scene to scene — or book to book, as our newest protagonist has different names for certain people than we’ve heard before. I quit that TV show after the first two seasons when it showed no signs of ever planning to answer its big mysteries rather than spinning endlessly contradictory new ones. Author Tamsyn Muir in contrast seems to have a tight enough grasp on where everything is going that I’m willing to stick it out for the fourth and hopefully final volume. But I can’t say that I’m loving the execution here (pun very much intended).

The second novel was already pretty daring by switching to a narrator with perceptual gaps and a compromised memory of prior events, which we then witnessed through the filter of her distortions. In this third installment, which reportedly grew out of the writer’s outline for the conclusion until it needed to become its own distinct title, we are again situated with a newcomer: quite literally a person who woke up six months ago in the body of a teenage girl. She knows someone else wore this face before her and sometimes has flashes of recall, but isn’t sure whether she herself came from elsewhere or is simply amnesiac. And of course, she has her own particular way of seeing and understanding the world, with the childlike wonder and confusion of something like Piranesi or The Slow Regard of Silent Things, leaving us to read between the lines to see the wartime climate beyond her happy domesticity.

Like its immediate predecessor, this turns out to be a gamble that doesn’t entirely work for me as a reader. I like Nona a lot! She has a deep love for her family and friends that is both charming and an interesting change from the barbed and jaded dynamics that have been our only previous impression for the inhabitants of this setting. But I find I’m unable to focus on any of that when I’m spending so much time fumbling to unlock the puzzle of what should be plain plot logistics. The flashbacks explaining how our universe originally transformed into that of the Ninth aren’t even remotely necessary for my engagement with the worldbuilding as it’s been presented throughout, but they’re so relatively straightforward that they’re easily my favorite part of this book. I hope we finally have enough pieces in place that the next one isn’t nearly so taxing to parse and gets back to the core strengths of foul-mouthed skeleton magic that initially drew me into Gideon. But at this point, I have my doubts.

[Content warning for gun violence and gore.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Book #150 of 2022:

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

A powerful and soul-baring memoir that completely earns its provocative title. I’m not familiar with Jennette McCurdy as an actress — her Nickelodeon hit iCarly launched when I was already a sophomore in college — but as a writer, she is immensely talented at conveying scenes from her early life with an unsettling immediacy. The primary subject in these recollections is the author’s mother: an abusive and controlling bully who wouldn’t let her wipe herself or bathe alone, who forced her into a child acting career she wasn’t comfortable with, and who encouraged an unhealthy relationship with food that eventually turned into full-blown anorexia and bulimia. The recurring issues of guilting, gaslighting, and ignoring stated boundary preferences are thoroughly awful in their details, as are McCurdy’s descriptions of how she typically reacted by dissociating from her body, developing obsessive-compulsive tics, and giving in utterly to the parental pressure. This book contains horrifying red flag after red flag in her mother’s behavior, and while it’s great that Jennette has finally been able to recognize and reject these in hindsight, it’s chilling to observe how long past the woman’s death from cancer in 2013 her daughter continued to reflexively defend her and the thought patterns she’d instilled.

Even outside of that toxic household environment, the performer relates how she encountered workplace abusers like a tyrannical producer (unnamed in the text but clearly now-ousted executive Dan Schneider) or a succession of inappropriately-interested older men, who collectively left her with anxiety attacks and an alcohol addiction, in addition to the poor coping habits she’d picked up at home. McCurdy makes no claims that hers is a typical Hollywood experience and regularly highlights her close friendship with costar Miranda Cosgrove, but the overall account is pretty damning of the child star industry, especially in light of the $300,000 she says she was offered as a preemptive non-disclosure agreement when her shows went off the air. Simply put, there were not enough safety mechanisms in any area of her life to protect the young actress, and she was hurt in profound ways that she’s still recovering from today. Although she’s emerged as an insightful and caustically funny memoirist and found the strength to quit the field she never wanted to enter in the first place, no amount of success is worth what she was put through by the adults who should have nurtured her. Ultimately, hearing her story has made me glad her mom died too.

[Content warning for stalking, rape, and graphic descriptions of disordered eating.]

★★★★★

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Book Review: The Night Fire by Michael Connelly

Book #149 of 2022:

The Night Fire by Michael Connelly (Ballard and Bosch #2)

Another solid but unspectacular detective thriller, as so many volumes in this franchise have turned out to be. (At this point, I am almost reading less for the actual mysteries and more for the minor updates on Harry Bosch’s personal life, like the fact that his daughter is nearing the end of college and considering law school now, or that the old cop has been diagnosed with leukemia stemming from the radioactive materials he was exposed to all the way back in The Overlook twelve years earlier.) This second team-up between author Michael Connelly’s long-standing protagonist and his relative newcomer Renée Ballard finds the pair investigating three separate cases, but the similarities among them feel more frustrating than productive for me as a reader.

At the risk of light spoilers: the murder she’s assigned and the one he’s looking into turn out to have connections to the same legal firm and ultimately the same suspect — a device that could have been fine as the incitement to bring the two detectives together again, but seems pretty coincidental when discovered later, after each is already aware of what the other is working on. The third storyline involves an unrelated cold case of gang violence, but plays out along similar beats to the others, with a criminal conspiracy killing off the members seen as liabilities in response to police questioning.

A few neat flourishes are worth commenting upon, however, like the fact that the oldest investigation comes from a mysterious file that a colleague’s recent widow gives to Bosch, explaining that he must have snuck it out of the department decades ago without telling anyone. Or the fact that another crosses Harry’s path during a trial involving his half-brother Mickey Haller, whose client he helps exonerate. Since the police are convinced they arrested the right person even after charges are dismissed, Bosch is left as the only one still trying to find the real killer and get justice for the deceased. These are good plot generators to keep the guy in the game now that he’s fully retired from the force, and are easier to swallow than when Renée risks her own career on some bizarre stunt like faking a supervisor’s signature for a judge to approve a wiretap. But this all seems a bit like treading water for Connelly by this stage, and I am ready for the writer and his heroes to really wow me again.

[Content warning for gun violence, gore, homophobia, suicide, and rape.]

★★★☆☆

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TV Review: The Shield, season 3

TV #47 of 2022:

The Shield, season 3

On some level, this season feels like it’s walking back many of the show’s recent plot developments, which is never a welcome sign. Aceveda has decided he’s not stepping down as precinct captain yet after all, Danny gets rehired and repartnered with Julien, Tavon is incapacitated and out of the rest of the strike team’s hair for much of the year, and so on. Even some complications that are now introduced, like the team having to report to Claudette and share their private office with an undercover decoy squad, are eventually undone again, leaving an overall feeling of regression to the status quo. As a fan attracted to TV dramas like this due to their inherent serialization, I’m mildly frustrated to see such thorough backsliding.

On the other hand, some fresh elements seem to be sticking around, like Shane’s new love interest Mara and the steadily weakening trust among our gang of outlaw officers. And I suppose that thematically, this Sisyphean inertia is somewhat apt. After all, the emerging ethos of the series is basically that no amount of traditional policing — or of the illegal variation embodied by Vic — can ever significantly curb the urban crime rate. We’ve also now got a whole season-long plot about how hard it is for the antihero and his crew to actually spend those millions of dollars that they robbed from the Armenian mafia in the previous finale. This should be their moment of triumph, but the suspicions of coworkers, the foresight of the US Treasury Department to inject marked bills into the money laundering operation, and the gangsters butchering their way across the city for answers cut against them at every turn. It’s enough to give Lem an ulcer, and it’s the sort of logistical headache that would make Breaking Bad such a hit a few years later on. You can’t just nab a fortune and ride off into the sunset, and there are great stories to be told in the frantic machinations of criminals trying to protect their ill-gotten gains.

Plus, even with the characters (and The Shield at large) chasing their tails a bit, this continues to be riveting television on an episode-by-episode basis. The humor is consistently dark and twisted, and the grimy storylines put everyone through the wringer. There are children raped and murdered, and there are elders raped and murdered, and in one horrifyingly memorable hour, there’s a main character who gets overpowered by a suspect and forced to fellate him at gunpoint. As an institution, the cops are as ineffectual as ever at stemming any of this; at best they can only clean up a situation after too many people have already been hurt, and their interventions generally make matters worse instead. Even the nominal good guys are murderers and enablers, and there are no effective safeguards in place to prevent abuses of the badge. I’ve said it before and I imagine I’ll say it again, but this is anti-copaganda through and through. It’s often uncomfortable as a viewing experience, but it’s in many ways a more honest look at law enforcement than nearly any other story out there.

So I remain hooked on seeing how the Farmington saga plays out, despite feeling that structurally, this is probably the weakest run of it yet.

[Content warning for domestic abuse, animal abuse, police brutality, gun violence, gore, racism including lynching, homophobia, ableism, drug abuse, suicide, and torture.]

★★★★☆

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Movie Review: What We Left Behind: Looking Back at Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (2018)

Movie #16 of 2022:

What We Left Behind: Looking Back at Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (2018)

An interesting but somewhat scattered retrospective of Star Trek’s DS9 series, almost two decades after it went off the air. The actors are older (and for some, out of their familiar alien makeup), but they and the writers and producers interviewed for this documentary plainly have a lot of lingering affection for the title. They praise its darker themes and serialized plots, which seemed out-of-place on network TV during the original run from 1993 to 1999, but have continued to attract new viewers like me in the years since, as the media landscape has shifted more towards that sort of vision. On the other hand, it sometimes seems like everyone involved has too big a chip on their shoulders about the show’s early critical reputation — contemporary fans may have complained that it wasn’t proper Star Trek, but the program still aired 176 episodes over seven seasons. It’s hardly an obscure cult classic!

This film raises some compelling points about how Deep Space Nine provided groundbreaking representations of its African American characters, but also acknowledges that it could have done better on LGBTQ issues. Although there’s no discussion of the transphobia and rape culture on display in the episode “Profit and Lace” — just a comment that the humor is “too broad” — both Garak actor Andrew Robinson and showrunner Ira Steven Behr express the regret that his recurring Cardassian ally with a fondness for Julian Bashir was never made explicitly gay in the scripts. But it’s generally a pleasant sequence of interviews, other than when actress Terry Farrell angrily disputes the circumstances under which she left the role of Jadzia Dax.

The strangest thing about this movie is that it’s not only a look backwards at the show. Several new (and bad) musical numbers are debuted for some reason, and there’s a lengthy running segment involving the writers figuring out what they would do to continue the story in a hypothetical eighth season that picked back up now, twenty years after the finale. It’s charming but weird to see them discussing, say, Ensign Molly O’Brien serving under Captain Nog, and it adds up to a feeling of looseness about this overall endeavor. It’s all fun enough, but I wouldn’t say it’s a must-watch for fans.

[Content warning for graphic footage of white nationalist rallies and some of the killings that sparked the Black Lives Matter movement.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Beginning by K. A. Applegate

Book #148 of 2022:

The Beginning by K. A. Applegate (Animorphs #54)

Well… Here we are. Sixteen months later, I have finally finished my full reread of the complete Animorphs saga, and am ready to review its final volume. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

Thematically as a series, Animorphs has always been focused on the deep trauma of war. On the bloody reality of combat, and the lingering stress that follows in its wake. On gray morality with no easy answers, and living with yourself after making the tough calls; on the loss of innocence, and child soldiers as a metaphor for anyone forced to shoulder adult responsibilities too early. It’s no wonder, then, that this last title wraps up its big battle against the Yeerks, the resolution to the cliffhanger of the adrenaline-laced previous installment and basically the plot of the entire franchise, by about 15% of the way through the text. What came before was the winding story of a group of human teens thrust into the role of resisting and defeating those alien invaders. What follows here is the somber fallout.

Some of this is purely logistical: how will the surviving protagonists strike agreeable terms with the Andalite fleet that had been coming to scour the earth, and how will humanity adjust to the knowledge of extraterrestrial life and the existence of new interplanetary trade and tourism partners? What future is there for the Yeerks, Taxxons, and Hork-Bajir left behind on the planet? What will life look like for the Animorphs, now that the whole world knows their names, faces, and accomplishments? What can they possibly do next, given the sheer impracticality of ever resuming the quiet existence they’d had before the war?

The answers to that last question are fun for readers to learn, at least as far as Marco is concerned. He embraces the celebrity of it all, earning millions in brand endorsements, book sales, and movie rights. (His autobiography is called The Gorilla Speaks. I love it.) He dates models, drives sports cars, and lives in a mansion with a butler he calls Wetherbee. Cassie too is energized by the new opportunities available to an Animorph, although in true Cassie fashion she pivots into a quieter government job as Undersecretary of the Interior for Resident Aliens. And back home on the Andalite planet, Ax has been promoted to prince, given a hero’s welcome, and made captain of his very own starship! It could all be seen as hokey wish fulfillment and an overly-rosy ending, were it not for how the humans clearly remain haunted by their experiences and worried about their friends who have recovered even less. As Cassie notes a year after the ceasefire, she and Marco are “in some way the only two real survivors.”

And that brings us to Rachel. Are we deep enough into the review yet not to accidentally spoil anyone? Rachel’s death aboard the stolen Blade ship at the beginning of this novel is absolutely gutting, even on a reread where I knew the entire time through the series where her story was headed. The worst part is that it’s a perfect endpoint for her personal arc of discovering within herself a ruthlessness, a passion for bloodshed, and an utter lack of caution that works for her right up until the moment it doesn’t. At several points in the previous volumes, she and the others have uneasily wondered how she’d ever adjust to civilian life after the war. It’s fitting that we’ll never know, and that her execution functions as one last great consequence for the team — and specifically for their leader Jake, who ordered his cousin onto that ship in private to kill the Yeerk controlling his brother Tom, knowing she was unlikely to survive. It’s a terrifically cruel writing choice that she succeeds in her mission — with the help of Tobias, guiding her from helplessly afar when she’s blinded by snake venom — but is forced to demorph to escape her injuries, and so faces her fate as a human surrounded on all sides by Yeerks in battle morph. So too is her killer’s salutation of “You fight well, human” and her short exchange with the Ellimist as already previewed in his Chronicles (without her name attached). I hate this chapter. It’s probably one of the strongest and most effective in the entire series.

In the aftermath of losing Rachel, Jake and Tobias are devastated in two very different ways. Tobias retreats into life as a hawk, cutting off all contact with the rest of humanity and trying to forget himself as a simple creature of the woods. Rachel was his primary link to his old identity, and without her or the ability to forgive Jake, he has no wish to function as even remotely human again. Meanwhile Jake carries on in his own depressive funk, making public appearances when he needs to, but feeling empty and shattered by his actions. He never does get back together with Cassie romantically, presumably due to those feelings of guilt and depression, and she eventually moves on to date someone else while he spends his nights in disguise at Rachel’s grave. “That’s how I felt now, pretty much all the time,” the young former general reflects. “Dark. Dull. Slow and stupid. Distracted, but not by anything in particular. Just like there was something else I should be thinking about but I couldn’t recall what it was.” I don’t know if author K. A. Applegate — aka the married team of Katherine Applegate and Michael Grant, which I guess I should mention for one last time — has firsthand experience with such mental health struggles, but it’s certainly a description that rings true to my own.

Jake is preoccupied with the deaths he orchestrated of Rachel and Tom, but also with his impulsive command to flush seventeen-thousand helpless Yeerks out into the vacuum of space in the penultimate novel. In my previous review, I was blunt in calling that act a mass murder and a war crime. That’s an accusation that becomes textual here, and although it comes from the legal team for Visser One, captured and on trial in the Hague for his own foul deeds, it’s not one that the teenager can easily shake. His friends may protest that the charge is too harsh, and the series ultimately doesn’t come down one way or another on the question, but I appreciate that it’s raised and considered at all, and that Jake is troubled by the event and his xenophobic motivations for it regardless. One last ethical conundrum for the group, with perhaps no clear right answer.

Plotwise, all of this is a little thin and oddly structured. We’re hopping around from character to character like a Megamorphs in all but name, and there are three big time jumps in the novel — first one year, then two years, then six months — meaning that this single book alone spans more time than the previous 53 in the main series combined. Unfortunately, the rush to cover such a long period results in a lack of immersive depth, and the impression that we are just checking in on the Animorphs periodically rather than truly following their adventures anymore. There’s not even much morphing of note that goes on after the Yeerk Empire is shattered, although the effort to snap Jake out of his depression by forcing him to morph into a dolphin is nice.

Near the end of the span covered by this story, Prince Aximili is still hunting through space for the lost Blade ship when he encounters a new hostile threat and is taken captive. And our human heroes, now 19 years old and settling into their post-Animorph lives one way or another, must rejoin to stage a rescue attempt (except for Cassie, whom Jake asks to stay behind in recognition of the good she’s doing and the reality that she doesn’t need a new cause as much as the rest of them). That involves some sharing of feelings and unloading of trauma, but all the getting-the-band-back-together sequence really achieves is sending the male Animorphs off into space alongside two new human helpers and an Andalite nothlit, on a ship they name the Rachel (and a mission that’s amusingly and loudly not sanctioned by the Andalite leadership despite plainly having their complete unofficial cooperation). Marco hitting on the sole female crew member is probably the only real sour note in the book for me, but we honestly don’t get to know the three newcomers well enough for any of them to particularly register.

Eventually this iteration of the team finds the unsettling gestalt entity that’s apparently assimilated Ax, leaving us with one last sight of these figures on the brink of yet another battle. In the closing lines, Jake snaps an order to ram the Blade ship and Marco notes how much he looks like his dead cousin right then. Like the finale to the TV show Angel, the tale ends on a cliffhanger just before the fight begins, forever cementing the outnumbered heroes as valiant warriors in our minds.

A lot of this is great and a fitting conclusion to the epic saga that’s preceded it, although everyone’s parents are curiously absent throughout. The visser’s host body Alloran is freed after decades of infestation! The majority of the defeated Yeerks and Taxxons choose to become nothlits and we ignore the genocidal implications of that and the fact that it negates the Iskoort connection that the Ellimist set up in book #26! Wealthy Andalites visit earth solely to morph human mouths and taste our cuisine! The Hork-Bajir move into Yellowstone National Park with Cassie’s assistance! The Chee opt to remain in hiding for some reason! Stephen Spielberg makes an Animorphs movie with Marco as technical advisor!

Still, I’ll confess to wanting more closure, more of a throughline to the extended denouement of this novel, and more thrilling heroics before it, not to mention a lengthier lead-up to the mysterious new villain at the end. (The Angel finale has its detractors, but at least it was building off several long-running plot threads. This business with The One truly comes out of nowhere.) In a closing note, Applegate writes, “I figured the Animorphs should go out the same way they came in: Fighting.” A subsequent follow-up posted to a fansite explains in more depth why the ending needed to be complicated and painful, apparently in response to complaints from her unsatisfied young readers: “So, you don’t like the way our little fictional war came out? You don’t like Rachel dead and Tobias shattered and Jake guilt-ridden? You don’t like that one war simply led to another? Fine. Pretty soon you’ll all be of voting age, and of draft age. So when someone proposes a war, remember that even the most necessary wars, even the rare wars where the lines of good and evil are clear and clean, end with a lot of people dead, a lot of people crippled, and a lot of orphans, widows and grieving parents.” And that’s reasonable enough, but I can’t help but think that the delivery on the page is a little choppy compared to this series at its absolute best.

[Content warning for body horror, gun violence, and gore.]

★★★★☆

Postscript: Thank you so much for joining me in this reread of a series that meant so much to so many of us in the late 90s / early 2000s! I’ve really loved revisiting these books and building out a space here to work critically through what has and hasn’t succeeded for me as an adult reader, both in my reviews and in the engaging comments that people have often left in the replies below. At a minimum, I appreciate your indulgence in putting up with the clog in your social media feeds as these recap-reviews grew steadily longer the deeper I got into the books.

Ordinarily when I finish a series, I like to rank the different individual volumes, but that seems exceedingly difficult with a franchise this massive. So here’s just a recap of my ratings by tier:

★☆☆☆☆
Alternamorphs #1 The First Journey

★★☆☆☆

#28 The Experiment, Alternamorphs #2 The Next Passage, #37 The Weakness, #47 The Resistance

★★★☆☆

#6 The Capture, Megamorphs #1 The Andalite’s Gift, #9 The Secret, #11 The Forgotten, #12 The Reaction, #14 The Unknown, #15 The Escape, #17 The Underground, #20 The Discovery, #23 The Pretender, #27 The Exposed, #32 The Separation, #35 The Proposal, #36 The Mutation, #38 The Arrival, #40 The Other, #41 The Familiar, #42 The Journey, #44 The Unexpected, #46 The Deception, #48 The Return

★★★★☆

#2 The Visitor, #3 The Encounter, #5 The Predator, #10 The Android, #13 The Change, #16 The Warning, #18 The Decision, #21 The Threat, #24 The Suspicion, #25 The Extreme, #26 The Attack, #29 The Sickness, Megamorphs #3 Elfangor’s Secret, #30 The Reunion, #31 The Conspiracy, #33 The Illusion, #34 The Prophecy, #39 The Hidden, #43 The Test, #45 The Revelation, Chronicles #4 The Ellimist Chronicles, #49 The Diversion, #50 The Ultimate, #51 The Absolute, #54 The Beginning

★★★★★

#1 The Invasion, #4 The Message, #7 The Stranger, #8 The Alien, Chronicles #1 The Andalite Chronicles, Megamorphs #2 In the Time of Dinosaurs, #19 The Departure, #22 The Solution, Chronicles #2 The Hork-Bajir Chronicles, Chronicles #3 Visser, Megamorphs #4 Back to Before, #52 The Sacrifice, #53 The Answer

In terms of books with primary narrators, I guess that means I’d rank them Cassie > Tobias > Ax > Jake > Marco > Rachel on average, although they all have their share of greatness.

Overall rating for the Animorphs series: ★★★★☆

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Book Review: Babel: an Arcane History by R. F. Kuang

Book #147 of 2022:

Babel: an Arcane History by R. F. Kuang

An exquisitely slow-burning fuse of a novel, presenting the 1830s education of a young Chinese-born translator and eventual radical at the fictional Royal Institute of Translation at Oxford University. In the alternate fantasy universe of this setting, cognate pairs across languages have magical power, proportional to the semantic distance between the words when etched onto bars of silver. (So for example: the English definition of “agony” has drifted far from the Greek “ἀγωνία” denoting a competition or struggle; setting them in silver and invoking the English can provoke immense suffering in an opponent.) It’s a fascinating concept for a reader like me with a background in linguistics, and the whole book is stuffed full of author R. F. Kuang’s education and clear deep thought on matters of language, as befits a cast made up almost entirely of scholars like herself.

However, the wizardry element is ultimately a mere sideshow, with its mechanisms not even explained to the protagonist and his fellow students until their second year of schooling, about 30% of the way through the text. Before and after then, they are studying their assigned tongues — multilingual fluency being necessary both for casting the spells and for devising new ones — but generally focusing on more immediate practicalities. The overall genre vibe is part boarding-school bildungsroman, part ‘dark academia’ of shadowy societies and unhealthily codependent cliques, and part wholesale critique of empire, colonialism, and capitalism at large. Over the years, Robin and his friends face significant individual racism directed at their respective backgrounds, but they also come to articulate and act upon many key objections to the society around them.

I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever read a story quite like this, even with the growing anticolonialist streak in speculative fiction of the past decade. It blends something like The Traitor Baru Cormorant‘s all-consuming quest to take down an oppressive superpower from the inside with the doomed fatalism of Rogue One‘s understanding that such an uneven mission against institutional might can only end in death, yet still must be assayed. And there are deaths aplenty here, each one cruelly gutting in its own way, despite Kuang pulling back from the horrors of rape and other atrocities seen in her earlier Poppy War trilogy. Because the writer centers her characters throughout, they’re never lost in all the heady political commentary, and readers remain tightly bound to the perspective of a lonely boy dragged to a foreign country, impressed into service on its behalf, and expected to feel grateful for the opportunity. His gradual awakening to that offense and commitment to instead burn everything down is phenomenal to watch unfold, building to a climactic general strike and revolt that could shake the world. (The full title of the work is, apparently, “Babel, or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution.”)

I’m not surprised to see in Kuang’s author bio that she has Masters degrees from Oxford and Cambridge herself, and is currently pursuing a PhD at Yale. This is a tale that could only have come from someone enmeshed within academia, capturing so many authentic details of that lived experience and turning the rigors of its analytical frameworks on the flaws of the university model itself. Her fictional scholars must grapple with their privileges and the harm they cause in a process as painful as it is in real life, and some, heartbreakingly, never do learn to accept marginalized testimony as authoritative. There’s a terrific takedown of white feminism in particular — that focus on opposing sexism solely through a white lens, thereby missing and thus reinforcing the ways in which people of color are hurt by constructions of whiteness and the ways in which women of color experience sexism intersectionally with discrimination on race — and yet in Kuang’s hands, it somehow always feels personally rooted to the well-drawn character personalities and never an artificial or didactic insert.

If I have one small and selfish complaint about this project, it’s that we don’t get to see enough of the linguistic magic on display. The worldbuilding is especially disappointing on that front, since it’s hard to imagine how an alternative history could cleave so closely to our own after millennia of sorcerers practicing their craft. But the implicit criticisms of contemporary society probably do land better this way, and the multitude of genuine quotes included herein speaks to the lengths of scholarship that animate the novel. Comparisons to Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell therefore miss the mark for me despite a shared predilection for footnotes, as Babel cites the actual literature rather than an elaborate invented counterpart, but I’ve enjoyed this read tremendously regardless.

[Content warning for domestic abuse, slavery, drug abuse, suicide, gun violence, torture, and gore.]

★★★★★

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TV Review: Star Trek: Voyager, season 5

TV #46 of 2022:

Star Trek: Voyager, season 5

Another solid serving of 90s science-fiction, still satisfyingly tighter all around than this show’s early years. I’d call it a minor step down from the season before, however, which felt more ambitious with its introduction of Seven of Nine and her personal arc of reintegrating into humanity. This run adds a few recurring elements that I appreciate to the series worldbuilding, like the “Captain Proton” holodeck simulation, but overall there’s not much of a serialized story going on at this stage. I also would have preferred less of a focus on Naomi Wildman, who appears in six different episodes this season and brings back some of my old Wesley Crusher questions about what a child can productively do aboard a military spaceship other than dubiously appeal to a wider network audience.

On an episodic level, my favorite installment of this outing is probably 5×10 “Counterpoint” with its expertly-crafted twists and its theme of resistance to genocidal fascism, but I’ve also enjoyed the time-travel adventures of 5×6 “Timeless” and 5×24 “Relativity” and the quasi-AUs of 5×14 “Bliss” and 5×18 “Course: Oblivion.” That’s more individual hours than I’d ordinarily highlight in a Star Trek review — which speaks to the growing reliability of quality on this program, but also to its lack of much to talk about on the larger plot front.

[Content warning for self-harm.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Bastille vs. the Evil Librarians by Brandon Sanderson and Janci Patterson

Book #146 of 2022:

Bastille vs. the Evil Librarians by Brandon Sanderson and Janci Patterson (Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians #6)

[Disclaimer: I am Facebook friends with the first author.]

Middle-grade book series are odd, in that their release schedule often outpaces the age of their target audience. That’s particularly the case for the Alcatraz Smedry sextet, which published its first four novels annually from 2007 to 2010, then a fifth volume in 2016 and now this final tale after another six years. Yet the main characters are still 13, as readers who have grown up over the past decade-and-a-half may be frustrated to find (especially after being primed for increasing maturity in the progression of certain other children’s fantasy series). The Alcatraz books do get somewhat darker and more mature as they go along, but they never lose the tween zaniness inherent to a premise of evil librarians secretly ruling the world or heroes with special powers like “getting lost,” “breaking things,” and “arriving late.”

Those goofy Smedry talents have always been the primary appeal of these stories to me, and my biggest critique of this finale is that we mostly just see repeats of earlier ones, rather than much in the way of new inventiveness. There’s also not really any noticeable payoff from the switch to a new narrator perspective, or from the contributions of co-writer Janci Patterson following five installments from author Brandon Sanderson alone. This title offers a solid conclusion to the remaining plot concerns, and I’m glad we finally have it in our hands after such a long wait, but I’m not seeing anything on the page that would clearly justify that delay. I suspect the series might work better overall for people who are able to read the story straight through, whatever their age at the time.

[Content warning for gun violence.]

This volume: ★★★☆☆

Overall series: ★★★☆☆

Volumes ranked:

4 > 3 > 2 > 6 > 1 > 5

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