My name is Lianne, and I am an avid reader. When asked what I read, I usually say ‘words on a page’, since I will read just about anything. Fiction, non-fiction, literary, genre, graphic novels. Really, the only things I’m not crazy about (although I will read examples once in a blue moon) are romance, westerns, and hard-boiled detective novels.
Nemo Rising popped up at me on NetGalley, since I’ve seen various versions of Nemo and the Nautilus through the years, and I thought a new version of a sequel focused on the US would be interesting. This one turned out to be a double-dose of Verne, although I didn’t realize it when I was reading that it was a cross-over with another Verne anti-hero. When the villain revealed his real name, I had the feeling that I should know who he was, but it wasn’t until the author’s notes at the end that I figured out who he was. Mind you, he comes from some of Verne’s lesser known works. Seriously, everyone knows 20 Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Around the World in 80 Days, and Journey to the Centre of the Earth. Those three in particular have been adapted for film and television many times over the years.
But Robur the Conqueror? That was one I’d never heard of.
Basic plot of the book is that strange sea creatures are attacking ships in the Atlantic, and the world is blaming the US, recently out of their civil war. President Ulysses S Grant finally decides to go with a dangerous plan to prove that his country is not behind the attacks: Nemo is in a US prison, and his aide’s daughter has been repairing the Nautilus. They release Nemo from prison, and with the daughter, Sarah, as part of the crew, they send Nemo to find out who is behind the attacks, and prove the US innocent.
While Nemo and a possibly not very loyal crew head out to fulfill their side of the bargain, with Sarah tasked with killing Nemo if he strays, Grant and Duncan (Sarah’s father) work the diplomatic side, despite sabotage and assassination attempts.
From the description, you might expect a book full of action and thrills, and I had high hopes, but unfortunately the end product didn’t entirely deliver. There was action, and there was thrills in places, but the events were so muddled that I had trouble figuring out the overall plot. The ideas were great, but the end result was a bit of a muddled mess.
I might recommend this to a Jules Verne enthusiast, but definitely not to the general reader with only a vague knowledge of the man’s writings.
On the other hand, I might take a look at Robur the Conqueror, if I can find a copy.
I’m going to throw something different out here: Instead of reviewing a book, I am going to review an ereader. Specifically, my brand new (since Christmas) Kobo Aura One.
I have a long history with ereaders, since I am an avid reader, and when travelling on vacation, the weight of the books I take with me is ridiculous. For example, when I graduated from University, my father and I went to Jamaica for a week. I took twelve books with me for the week (including one large hardcover), and I was reading the last book on the flight home. So, when the earliest ereaders came along, I was all for it.
My first ereader was the first dedicated ereader: the second generation Rocket eBook. I ordered it by mail from the US shortly before NuvoMedia (the parent company) was bought by Gemstart-TV. A couple of years later, it went out of production. I didn’t buy many books from them, but I did buy from Baen Books (their ebook sales from the beginning could be downloaded in all sorts of formats, which became helpful later). I also loaded lots of fanfiction onto it for reading. That device cost me about $500 dollars. It was a little bulky, due to the battery of the time, and the screen was a glowing green screen with black letters (check online and you’ll find lots of screenshots).
Then, about four years later, I bought a Sony eReader, after the arrival of eInk. I loved it. It was more like reading paper, and the battery lasted more than a week. Plus, I could load library ebooks onto it. And handy enough, I could go back and re-download all my Baen purchases in the new format. At first, Sony had their own format for files, but eventually they moved over to the more standard epub. I bought most of my book from Kobo, though, since the prices were in Canadian dollars, and I could download them and transfer them to my Sony. This device cost me $400, and I was more than happy to pay that.
And about four years after that, I decided to upgrade again. This time I went to the Kobo HD. It had a larger screen, higher resolution, and the battery would generally last about three weeks. And when I configured it, it promptly downloaded all the books I had previously bought. It was fantastic. Okay, I quickly ran out of space, but it also allowed for a memory card to expand the space. This was one of their higher-end ereaders, and cost $175. After that, I also bought a Kobo Mini for my niece (who wanted one, but rarely uses it)
But four years later (notice a trend here?), Kobo tempted me to upgrade again. Last year, they came out with the Kobo Aura One, which is their highest priced ereader ($250), but offered a feature I really appreciated it: a tie-in to the Overdrive account for your library. When you search the Kobo store on the device, you can also check to see if the book is available from your library, right from the results, and check it out or reserve it. And if you check the book out through the library’s web page, all you have to do is sync your Kobo, and it will download to the ereader. This feature is only available on this edition of the Kobo, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see it become standard. It’s the best new feature I could hope for.
It’s also a waterproof ereader (one review I read talked about submerging it in a bowl of water for an hour and a half, and their only problem is that the touch screen didn’t work under water), so I finally have an ereader that I am willing to read in the bathtub, since if I drop it, it’s not going to be destroyed. It still took a lot of convincing myself before I did that the first time.
And with the amount of reading I do, even with periodically connecting to WiFi to download material, one battery charge has lasted almost four weeks for me. Without turning on the WiFi, it would probably last me a full month, and I do a lot of reading. I’ve also reached the point in my life where my back can be a little twitchy, and where once upon a time I would have always had three books in my bag at any time, now I just have the ereader, which weighs less that most trade paperbacks, and it currently has 1459 books on it (yes, it does. Those daily deals are impossible to resist, and I keep telling myself I’ll read them all. Eventually).
I’ve seen lots of articles about how ebook sales are falling, and ereaders are boring. Everyone reads on their phones, they say. Well, I now buy more ebooks than paper (sorry, space and weight requires it). And as for reading on my phone, it makes my eyes ache, staring at a backlit screen for long periods of time. Honestly, if they told me that production of all eInk ereaders would be coming to an end, I would probably run out and spend a thousand dollars to buy a bunch of backups, and keep them in the back of my closet.
In short, I love eInk-based eReaders, and of the dedicated eReaders I have owned over the last decade and more, the Kobo Aura One is as close to perfect as I can imagine.
Until the next time they come up with an improvement I can’t do without.
Dan Brown has been a contentious figure for years. His Robert Langdon series has been a best-seller, if not always well-reviewed. His first novel in the series, Angels & Demons, wasn’t a huge seller, but then came The Da Vinci Code, which was. I read the book shortly before the movie came out, and it was a fast, breezy read. It also felt very familiar when I read it, since I had read Holy Blood, Holy Grail year before it. I certainly wasn’t all that surprised when the authors of that book sued him for not bothering to even acknowledge that he was using their book as a basis (he claimed that he’d done the same sort of research as they did, and he did win the case).
Then came The Last Symbol, which I have to say was a turkey. Seriously, it was bad. Inferno was better, and surprised me by ending on a world-changing note that no one knows about. When I heard that a new book in the series was coming, I wondered if they would address the outcome, but wasn’t surprised that it was ignored. Probably it’s too soon for the results to have been noticed.
Dan Brown’s writing is very formulaic. He’s found a formula that works from him, and he doesn’t really deviate from them. Robert Langdon, accompanied by a younger female companion (at least the one in The Last Symbol was his age), is hunted from symbolic location to location. There’s always good guys who turn out to be bad guys, and bad guys who think he’s committed a crime who become allies. Other than Inferno, there is a fringe religious sect on the opposite side.
Oh yeah, and Langdon swims in a pool at some point, and there are references to his Mickey Mouse watch.
So, in Origin we have: a murdered scientist sends Langdon on the run with his companion, this time a museum curator who is engaged to the next king of Spain. They run from location to location, usually a building designed by Gaudi, while hunted by the assassin and the palace guard. The palace may be involved, and have announced that Langdon kidnapped the future consort. And this time, the religious sect is the Palmarian Church.
I enjoyed listening to the audiobook of this volume, but the ending left me cold. Basically, the whole book was for the purpose of delivering a lecture at the end. And the only reason that there is a mystery is because Kirsch, the dead man, never read Asimov. Seriously, the entire plot boils down to a very smart man doing something stupid. If he hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been a plot.
Still, I spent a lot of time with Google, looking up places, art, and news articles mentioned in the book. If nothing else, it gave me a lot of places that I’d like to visit if I ever get to Spain. After all, the best part of the series is the travelogues.
I have a weakness for monster stories. They are a guilty pleasure of mine. For example, I went (by myself) to see Godzilla in the theatre. Come on, giant monsters stomping cities? Definitely a fun couple of hours, despite the plot holes, because I really like the characters.
So, when I saw Arachnosaur on NetGalley, I thought that would be right up my alley. Unfortunately, some guilty pleasures turn out not to be pleasures, and this was one of those.
Basically, two soldiers are the only survivors in an attempt to take out a terrorist group in the middle east. They are recruited to figure out how the terrorist group became so dangerous, especially since the senior survivor swears he saw another soldier blow up from the inside out.
The answer, of course, is giant primordial spiders found by the terrorists, who are trying to turn the effects of the spider webs (that’s what makes people go boom) into a weapon that they apparently want to sell for reasons never stated.
Along the way, the two soldiers pick up a pilot named ‘Speedy’ Gonzales, a doctor who is both female and Arab (and can whip up a serum that does something pretty ridiculous to save the lead at the end), a prostitute who name keeps changing from Lailani to Leilani and back (sloppy editing there). There’s also a captain who is a good guy but turns into an antagonist later, and a retired general who recruits them in the end for a ‘we fight the monsters no one believes in’ type organization. (preview chapters from the sequel appear at the end of the book)
I could have taken the plot falling apart and the ridiculous science at the end if the characters were likeable, but unfortunately, Daniels made me want to throw my ereader at a wall. He’s crude and sex-obsessed, likes to sleep with lots of prostitutes around the world (not sure why he isn’t in palliative care from all the STIs he must have), and his idea of good sex is being a jackhammer (seriously, no foreplay at all?). He also uses drugged condoms to take out a woman twice in the books (seriously?).
Then there’s the prostitute whose name keeps changing spelling. Supposedly, she finds Daniels’ confidence appealing, and his jackhammer imitation to be good. When the whorehouse is attacked (for no apparent reason), she jumps on his back, and he just runs around with her, and when confronting attackers without a weapon of his own, he plucks her off his back and throws her at the attacker like an angry cat. Sigh. And after that, she comes with them and helps? Oh yeah, and it turns out that one of her jobs is going to Abu Dhabi and working as a dominatrix. I kid you not.
Add all of this to soldiers in the middle east who have never heard of The Empty Quarter (hell, even *I* know what that is, at least in general).
Finally, the climactic scene had me going ‘ew’, and not in a good way.
All in all, I really can’t recommend this book to just about anybody. And yet, the preview chapters for the next book in the series kind of appealed. But only if there’s nothing better to read at the time.
Jim C Hines strikes me as a very funny guy. Even if you haven’t read his books, you might have heard of his game, a few years back, where he reproduced the back-breaking poses from the covers of popular paranormal romances (making the point that men on covers have reasonable poses, while women are put into poses that implies they are contortionists — apparently his chiropractor got a lot of business out of the exercise).
His novels are often just as tongue in cheek. For example, his Princess series take fairy tale princesses, and puts them together as action heroines.
Terminal Alliance, the first book in the Janitors of the Post-Apocalypse trilogy, does a similar thing of taking a ridiculous concept, and then puts it in a serious scenario. It’s hard to take it too serious, and yet the plot gets very much so.
In this world, Earth was infected with a virus that turned humans into feral animals. Not zombies, but maybe a 28 Days Later sort of effect. Amazingly, they still survived until the kindly Krakau came by. They came up with a cure, and start restoring a number of humans at a time. Those humans are strong, near impossible to kill, and have no memories. Of course they go to work for the Krakau.
Marion “Mops” Adamopoulos is the head janitor on the Pufferfish, an Earth Mercenary Corps ship commanded by a bridge crew of Krakau. When coming to the rescue of another ship, a new virus infects the Pufferfish, reverting to the human members of the crew to feral state. The command crew is dead, and the only unaffected humans are Mops and her team, who were in suits at the time for a repair.
Along with Doc, an AI, they get control of the ship and call the Krakau for help. Unfortunately, the Krakau plan to ‘put down’ the affected crew. Not willing to accept that, Mops and her team take the Pufferfish on a hunt to find the aliens who created this new virus, and find a cure for their fellow crew, despite being instantly named as rogues with a price on their head. And along the way, find out the truth of what originally infected their planet.
The universe is an interesting one, populated by relatable aliens, and others that are so alien that they can barely be understood. The various characters are engaging, including the extremely competent Mops, the gleefully violent Wolf, Monroe with his glitchy mechanical eye, the sarcastic AI Doc (who is part of a monocle that Mops wears), the very juvenile alien Azure, the sympathetic Krakau Admiral.
And while the world and the plot are very serious, I giggled my way through large parts of the book. The humour was perfectly balanced for my taste. It will be interesting to see what happens in the second part of the trilogy.
Second novels can be tricky, especially when the first novel was a hit. People who loved the first book expect the second to be just as good, but where the author might have had years to refine their first novel, they often get a contract that gives them a lot less time to finish the second.
When The Martian – Andy Weir’s wildly successful first novel, which was originally self-published – came out, I read it and loved it. I gave my father a copy for his Christmas book (everyone on my Christmas list gets a book as part of their gift), and he loved it. We saw the movie together in the theatres and really enjoyed it (even if they did throw out a good portion of the second half of the novel).
As a result, I approached Artemis with a lot of trepidation. There was no way it was going to measure up to The Martian, but I hoped that it would still be a good read.
Thankfully, it was.
Artemis takes place on the first city on the moon, where the locals live in cramped spaces (for the most part), and tourism is a large part of the economy, as the rich and powerful come to see where Armstrong was the first person to set foot on the moon.
Jazz moved to the moon with her father, a welder, when she was a child. Now estranged, she works as a runner, and as a smuggler. She’s trying to earn a very set amount of money that we don’t find out the reason for that amount until nearly the end of the story. Among other things, she smuggles contraband combustables (ie, cigars) for a businessman who moved to the moon to make things easier for his disabled daughter.
But then her client hires her to sabotage a business rival, offering an insane amount of money. But of course things go wrong, and Jazz finds herself on the run from the organized crime backers of the rival. She feels she has no choice but to to try to follow through on her promise.
The plot moved along nicely, and I enjoyed the planning and the action, but unfortunately the characters didn’t work as well as they could have. It seemed like Weir was checking off the diversity list. The main character is an Arab woman whose father is a devout Muslim. The on-Earth smuggling partner is in Africa, and presumabley black. Jazz has to work with a male former friend who stole her boyfriend. Another ally is the awkward geek. The cop is actually a former Mountie (who should not still be wearing the uniform). The bad guys are Brazilian. The city administrator is Kenyan. The daughter of the employer is in a wheelchair. After all that, you basically have a full Bingo card.
Still, Jazz was likeable, and you definitely get the feel that she had a life before and after the novel.
So, while Artemis is nowhere near as successful as The Martian, I would recommend it to fans of hard sf. I just don’t think it was be as big a breakout as The Martian was, outside of the SF fandom.
Welcome to 2018! Okay, we’re almost at the end of the first week of the year, but still, welcome.
It’s been nearly a year since I started this blog, and I was pretty scattershot with my reading last year. I will read just about anything that is words on a page (hence the blog name), but I didn’t direct my reading in any way.
So, now that it’s a new year, and I’m finishing the books I started over the Christmas holidays soon, I thought I’d set myself a few goals for this year. I’ve read people talking about how they were going to read classics, or only female authors, or only diverse authors. I’m not willing to limit my reading, but I have been trying to expand my reading.
For example, last year, one of my quiet goals was to read more poetry, and I did in fact read more poetry than I have since my school days (and lord, I hated the poetry they made us read then). Did I read a *lot* of poetry? No, but I might not have read any poetry at all otherwise. I even found one poet that made me all fangirly, and I now follow her on Instagram, because she is awsome.
Still, goals for this year. I want to eat better. I want to walk more. I want to sleep more. The usual sort of shit.
But for reading, I’ve settled on a few goals.
First of all, I want to read more short stories. Short fiction has never been one of my interests, although I’ve read some great ones. I did read four anthologies last year, all in the SF/F field, but this year I want to tackle some of the collections I have on my shelves. Helen Oyeyemi, Margaret Atwood, George Saunders, Kelly Link, and Karen Russell are some of the short story writers who I have collections of on my TBR shelves, and I want to try and get through those.
Second, I want to read more books in translation. My reading has been very North American focused (and occasionally a book from the UK). Some of those writers may have been born abroad, but I’d like to try to get more books read that are translated from other languages.
Third, I have a trilogy (The Divine Cities by Robert Jackson Bennett) that I picked up each book as they came out, and now I want to actually read them. These can be my bathtub reads as soon as I finish the four book Lian Hearn series that I am in the middle of book three for.
Fourth, I love history, but I tend to focus on certain eras, certain countries (mainly the Ancient Mediterranean, such as Egypt, Classical Greece, Roman Empire). I want to read a history book about a time and area that I don’t tend to pay much attention to.
Five, I want to tackle Bookriot’s Read Harder challenge for this year. I did the 2016 challenge, but I don’t think I got anywhere with 2017’s list. But the list of categories for 2018 look appealing.
And reading adjacent, I want to publish a blog post every week. I think I can make sure to post at least once a week (not including any ‘what am I reading’ posts).
So, goals. Hopefully I’ll actually succeed with a few of them. Certainly, I’ve got enough goals to keep me busy.
First to come: A review of Artemis, by Andy Weir.
You know that game about who would you like to go to a dinner party with, alive or dead? I think Tom Harpur has just jumped to the top of my list.
Harpur is a very interesting person. A Canadian of Irish descent (although Protestant instead of Catholic), he group up with deeply devout parents. His father had his life planned out for him — religious studies, become a priest, get a doctorate in theology, become a professor. At first, Harpur followed his path, but eventually (primarily after his father’s death), he started to deviate. He lost his belief in the bible as historical fact (while still embracing it as myth with great lessons to teach). His time as a Rhodes Scholar (like other accomplished people, including Bill Clinton) clearly led him to the tools to examine church teachings, rather than just accepting it without questioning.
He eventually moved from ministry to journalism, which let him travel the world and learn about other faiths through his reporting as a religious journalist. His first marriage dissolved, and then he married his second wife. Eventually he was pointed at the writings of Alvin Boyd Kuhn (who I will have to look into), which headed him down the road to writing The Pagan Christ, the controversial best seller that goes into the theory that Christ was a myth, adapted from the myths of other civilisations, and not a historical person that can be verified.
Finally, he covers the a bit of the aftermath of that book. Needless to say, there was a lot of aftermath, since a large part of the Christian faith is invested in the concept of Jesus as an actual person, while he argues that Jesus is a myth, and no less valuable for it.
The progression from devout christian following his father’s plan for him through to religious rebel without ever really losing his faith (it just evolves) was fascinating, and told in a conversational tone that draws you in. I will admit to being well disposed towards his arguments, so I’m not sure what one of those Christ as history people would think of this book, but even if I completely disagreed with him, I think I would still find him a fascinating person.
Unfortunately, Tom Harpur died earlier this year (2017) at the age of 87, so other than that mythical dinner party, I won’t ever get the chance to meet him in person.
When it comes to reading, my tastes run the gamut. Some days I want to settle in for a difficult read that makes me think. Other days I want popcorn. I mentioned this previously with respect to Simon R Green. Here’s another round of popcorn.
I’ve never read anything by Alex Scarrow. From what I can tell, his background has been in young readers, and non-sf thrillers. Plague Land (also called Re-Made elsewhere in the world) is very much SF.
Strange flakes start falling out of the sky. When it touches living creatures (humans or animals), it dissolves them quickly. It also poisons waters supplies. It’s first seen in Africa, and governments conceal who bad things are until it’s too later. Within a few days, there are very few survivors.
Leon, Grace and their mother, who have been living in London since their parents divorced, get a warning from their father, back in New York City. They try to get out of town by train, but get trapped when all travel is shut down. Within a day, the trio are the only survivors from a packed train. Eventually they come into contact with other survivors, who have figured out how to protect themselves.
Only, the virus, if you can call it, has moved on to phase two. It is using the dissolved organic material to create new creatures to go after the survivors in their haven.
On the one hand, the story hits the parts of me that enjoys zombie novels. However, it also falls into lazy plotting at times. Is the virus alien? If so, why try to recreate Earth animals? For that matter, why go after the survivors? There are far too few survivors to be a danger to whatever plans follow.
As well, there is a couple places that fall into the trap of ‘people do stupid things just so that the plot can be advanced’. That always annoys the heck out of me. And yet, at the end of the book, I do look forward to seeing what happens in the next book when it comes. After all, surely there must be a way of fighting back and surviving.
In the last couple of years, I have been trying to expand my reading outwards. NetGalley has been a great way to try out some things that I might not have read otherwise.
One area that I’ve been working on is poetry. I’ve read several collections, some of which did not work for me, and some did to varying degrees.
Wild Embers falls into the category of not just working for me, but blowing me away. In fact, by the time I was a quarter of the way through the collection, I had bought Nikita Gill’s previous collection. By the time I was half-way through, I knew I was going to be buying a copy when the book hit the stores last week. And when it did hit the stores, I bought three copies: one for myself, and two that will be going into Christmas gifts for the two teenaged girls on my list.
The poems were beautiful. They mostly had a feminist bent, but will great imagery. The first section had poems interpreting life through astronomy. There was a section that had different takes on fairy tale characters, done as prose examinations instead of standard poetry. Another section similarly looked at women of Greek mythology.
This was the first poetry collection I’ve read since my first Mary Oliver collection that made me sit back and say ‘yesssss’.
Seriously, though, I want to rave about this collection to every woman I know, and strangers on the bus. I want to buy a stack of copies and give them to everyone who will take one. I can’t wait to see what Nikita Gill does next.
Mermaids. Pretty girls wearing seashell bras, with long flowing hair. Maybe luring seafarers to their deaths, or falling in love with the land and giving up their fish tails for human legs, leaving the sea.
That’s what most people think when they hear ‘mermaid’.
But it’s not what Seanan McGuire (aka Mira Grant) thinks when she hears mermaid. Nope, definitely not her. And definitely not what you’ll find in Into the Drowning Deep.
After scaring us about politics in the world of the zombie apocalypse, and tapeworms taken as medicine only to take over people’s minds, she decided to tackle mermaids as only she can. First she wrote a novella, Rolling in the Deep, which I forked up $40 plus shipping to Subterranean Press for. In it, a specialty tv channel, Imagine, sends a ship looking for mermaids. They made their fortune with mockumentaries, and Lovely Ladies of the Deep will be their masterpiece. Except, the ship turns up, bare of life, splattered with evidence of violence, and will recordings of horror mermaids left behind. Everyone assumed those are hoaxes, but none of the people sent on the ship are ever found.
Now it’s seven years later, and Imagine is sending another ship, with even more scientists, and a lot of security this time, including two crazy big game hunters. This includes Tory, whose sister was Imagine’s on-screen personality in the original expedition. She’s been looking for what happened to her sister ever since. There’s also her work partner, Luis, her bitter ex, Jason, the separated couple Theo, an Imagine executive, and Jillian, an expert on mermaids. There’s the deaf twins and their sister who is also their interpreter. And the new on-screen interviewer who is on the autism spectrum and her former MMA fighter turned camera man.
Oh, and the main security system that would seal the ship in case of attack doesn’t work yet.
Needless to say, they find the mermaids, and people start dying in gruesome ways, while everyone else tries to survive by figuring out the mermaids.
The original novella stood on it’s own. And while this comes out of that novella, it pretty much stands on it own. However, it also cracks open the door just enough that another book is possible.
I’d read it. Actually, I’ll read anything published under the Mira Grant byline. Heck, I read the last 130 pages in a single day because I couldn’t stop reading.
(Wow. Two posts in one day. Not bad for me.)
Robin Sloan’s first novel is currently sitting on my bookcase of books to be read, but I haven’t got to it yet (and yes, I have two bookcases *full* of unread books). I do plan to get to it, based on reviews I read.
Instead, I read his second novel first, in part because I could get the audiobook digitally from my library (although I did buy the trade paperback, the audio book fit my schedule better).
What can I say except that I loved Sourdough. It was quirky, and while I don’t bake, I very much identified with the protagonist, Lois. I’m a software tester for the government, while she’s a software developer in private industry, but I can empathise with the level of stress she’s under, having been under it myself, complete with the stomach issues.
My way of dealing with stress ended up being taking up knitting, while in her case, she is gifted with an unusual sourdough starter from a pair of brothers who make her favorite takeout but who end up having to leave the country because of problems with their work visas.
At first she makes sourdough for herself. Then the chef at the company cafeteria starts buying her sourdough. Then she gets pulled into an underground (figuratively and literally) market. Meanwhile, she’s still trying to figure out how to solve the egg problem at work (ie, teaching a robot arm to crack eggs instead of smashing them).
Along the way, she is trying to solve a number of mysteries. Why does the starter require music? Why do her loaves of bread have faces on them? Who runs the market? Where did the starter originally come from? And why does it seem strangely alive?
I was thoroughly sucked in, both by the narrator and the book itself. The audiobook even has some bonuses, such as actual ‘music of the Mazg’, which the starter needs to thrive, at least at first. As well, one plot point is a company that makes a food substitute called Slurry, which they market to techies with bad stomachs. There are occasional emails and advertisements from the that appear in the audiobook, but not the paperback.
All in all, I loved the book, and I look forward both to reading Mr Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore and whatever he comes up with next.