Machine Man, Max Barry

Max Barry released a video trailer for his latest novel, Machine Man, which completely and utterly sums up the tone of the entire novel. It's bitterly comedic, which is something I've come to expect from the writer.

Machine Man is easy to sum up in a single sentence: it's about a man who cuts off his own limbs to replace them with parts he makes himself. It's one of the few examples of cybernetics in fiction that I can think of readily (Robocop also comes to mind), and it's a fun, easy look at some of the problems associated with identity and of making one's self better.

Charles Neumann is a scientist for a major company that has its fingers everywhere, and after locating his missing cell phone, he accidentally looses his leg. After working on recovering, he builds his own prosthesis, and finds that he'd like a matching pair. The company is more than willing to accomodate him: he's able to build some incredible technology, and the team that he's assembled goes through breakthrough after breakthough, building all types of things to make people *better*.

The story is somewhat predictable, and Neumann begins to lose some of his humanity as he replaces more and more parts, putting his relationship with Lola in risk as he circles the drain.

I liked this book: it's a quick, fairly easy and immersive read, and I found myself going through a hundred pages a sitting before finishing it. Written as an online serial to complete the first draft, the book feels remarkably consistant, although there are points towards the end where it begins to drag and slow down a bit.

Machine Man is also very funny, something I remembered enjoying from the other book I have from Barry, Jennifer Government. It's a blistering satire at times, jumping right out of the gate with the problems associated with a missing smartphone that sets Charles down the path of becoming more machine than man. Anyone who's owned an iPhone knows exactly what I'm talking about, and Barry brings up some good points between the two characters: Lola has mechanical parts in order to survive from day to day (an artificial heart), while Charles simply feels like he's a robot anyway, and wants the convinience and advances that robotics would bring him.

While it's funny, pithy and sarcastic, it feels like there's a good point to be made here: with everything that technology allows us, how much is too much, but more importantly, would we be able to recognize our overdependance on technology if we even realized that we were depending on it too much? This isn't a case of Barry standing on the front porch yelling for kids to get off his lawn, but one of rationing and realizing that there can be too much of a good thing, and the book balances a fine line between cyberntic fight scenes and morality, telling a straightup tale of human nature.

It's a little frustrating at points for me personally, especially running up to the end, when it's clear that most of the characters, despite their tendencies to make clear and rational decisions, to continue making the same choices, despite what it's cost them. It's pointed out to Lola that she has had problems recognizing a person's character and getting too involved with their struggle, even to her detriment, something that largely happens again when she meets Charlie. The same is true for Charlie, who keeps building pieces of himself, no matter what it costs. It's a relevant message, one that bears paying close attention to.

At the end of the day, Barry's put together a solid, fun science fiction thriller that doesn't feel like a science fiction story: it feels contemporary (and, much to my annoyance, it's shelved as such, which made it difficult to find in Barnes and Noble), and highly realistic, as if it's a future that we're living in right now.

Always Wash Your Hands: Contagion

When I was in high school, I wanted to study viruses. I'd picked up a book about the Ebola virus by Richard Preston, The Hot Zone, sometime in middle school, and reread it a dozen times over the years, along with several of Preston's other biological terror books: Demon in the Freezer, about the possibility that smallpox was still around, The Cobra Event, a fictional account of a terrorist attack using a biological weapon, as well as several other books about the state of the country's biological readiness against a potential terror attack. It's a subject that I never quite followed up on (Biology was a consideration after high school, but I opted for History), but it's one that's nonetheless kept me interested, especially as the Anthrax attack against Washington DC demonstrated the threat was a real one, but also as SARS and N1H1 have arisen over the past couple of years.

Where its predecessor films Traffic (also directed by Steven Soderbergh), and Syriana (directed by Traffic writer Stephen Gaghan), Soderbergh's Contagion takes on a complicated issue and splits its attention against a variety of interlocking characters. Where Traffic handled the drug war in the United States, and Syriana the war on terror, Contagion looks at the state of global health, from every angle of the problem. The result is a frantic, thoughtful and downright terrifying look at something that could very well happen to all of us.

In 1995, The Hot Zone inspired a movie called Outbreak, which saw the release of an Ebola-like virus in the United States, an overly dramatic outbreak scenario, with mutations, blood, military intervention and so forth. What makes Contagion really stand out is it's reluctance to go overboard while accomplishing much of the same. Rather than being an action thriller, it's more of a geopolitical one, processing a much larger story.

The film opens with Beth Emhoff coughing in an airport. She's headed home from Hong Kong, where she was overseeing a factory opening. Upon returning home, she has a seizure, and dies in the hospital, taking her son with her a couple of hours later, leaving her husband, Mitch Emhoff, to pick up the pieces and make sense of it all.

This piece is a tip of the iceburg, which seems fitting for this loose trilogy of films: there's more to the story than that, as the film cycles through a Hong Kong waiter back in China, and members of the World Health Organization and US Center for Disease Control, as they work to figure out how these various pockets of people have all gotten sick around the world. The disease, MEV-1, has already begun to spread, and it's moving faster than anyone can take measures to stop it. It's a plausible event, one that we've seen a bit of already: the outbreaks of SARS a couple of years ago, and last year's N1H1 Flu varient, demonstrated how quickly one a virus could get out in the world and affect people all over the place. Contagion presents a scenario where the stakes get raised far higher than they've ever been. At one point in the film, it's noted that the Spanish Influenza outbreak killed 1% of the human population at the time: anywhere from fifty to a hundred million people. At the current population, an outbreak of that size would be around 70 million people. By comparison, the 17,000 people killed by N1H1 is a very small figure indeed.

The film is terrifying, but not in ways that one would expect from an outbreak movie. There's no gushing blood from a hemorrhagic fever, just a seizure and some frothing at the mouth from the victums. The scary stuff comes in two parts: the absolute ease at which the MEV-1 virus is transmitted from person to person, in a cough, from a touch, or close proximety, and the absolute breakdown in civil society as the death toll mounts.

Traffic and Syriana came away with a certain amount of political sense and preachiness to them: they're stories that have a relevant and pertenant issues: Contagion comes off in much the same way, but has a much wider focus to everything, covering the cleanliness and regulation of the food that we consume, the lax ways in which we approach our own health, and to how we approach authority, even when they're trying to help. The film has a lot to say as Mitch breaks into a neighbor's abandoned home to steal a gun as he sees looters acting with impunity, and as a rogue blogger spreads distrust against the CDC even as he's enrichening himself for it. This film has all of the lessons of a zombie film, in the days before the fall, and it's scary at how plausible and realistic it feels.

Unlike Traffic and Syriana, Contagion feels a bit more scattered: where those two films had tight plots that self-reinforced each other, this one feels like there's just too much material, with some things explored and never quite picked up: the health administrator demanding to know who's going to pay for CDC efforts as the disease spreads, the role of the media (very underplayed), and the response of the Chinese Government to large world events, among others, while more attention is paid towards a blogger in a very overt bit of contempt for bloggers (Alan Krumwiede is sleazy and annoying, right down to his bad teeth), in a storyline that doesn't do much for the film as a whole.

Still, with more to work with than the runtime allows, Contagion does a good job with the major storylines: a father protecting his daughter on the front lines, isolated as the world falls down around him, the CDC officials who work to coordinate the local and international responses, and the WHO analyst, who's kidnapped as they discover where the virus comes from in the first place. These storylines are handled excellently, with stark, brilliant camera work, coupled with Cliff Martinez's fantastic, intense score.

Contagion is just as good, at points, as its precessessor films, not only for the entertainment factor, but for the political ideas that it handles. Like the others, it doesn't really spell out a cure for the problems, but it demonstrates the complexity of the issues at hand, a careful fiction demonstrating the realities of the world around us. In the meantime, it's good to see a film get things right: if anything, my reading on Ebola, Smallpox or other biological threats have demonstrated that it's a major problem. Contagion shows just what the worst case scenario would be, and that it's not just the diseases that you have to worry about.

In the meantime, the lesson is simple: wash your hands, and don't cough on people.

Limitless

We all want to be smarter, faster, improvements upon ourselves, the 2.0 version of our percieved out of date opeating systems. Like the best science fiction stories, Neil Burger's 2011 film Limitless is a film that looks to the very basics of human life, and watches where people inevitably mess it up with our own flaws. Based off of a 2001 book, The Dark Fields, by Alan Glynn, the film looks at what people do if they can operate with nothing holding them back.

Eddie Morra is a struggling person. He's got a novel that he's been trying to work on, a girlfriend who's left him (not to mention an ex-wife who wasn't around for very long), and an apartment that he can barely afford. Down on his luck, he takes a pill from a dubious character (his ex-brother in law), who tells him that it's FDA approved, and that it'll be the next big thing. He takes the pill, and ceases to be a struggling person: he's focused, smarter, faster. He makes connections from things that he learned years ago, observes things that he would normally overlook, and finishes the book that he struggled to finish for so long. He's a changed man, and NZT48 is his ticket to success. Think super Ritalin that solves everyone's hangups.

However, when other people who were on the drug start to wind up in the hospital, or dead (including his ex-brother in law), things get serious. No longer content with writing, he takes up finance, having dreamt up a plan to take him to bigger and greater things, and soon, he's rolling in the cash, working with big shot financiers, and is being followed by ill-intentioned characters.

Limitless was a total surprise for me: it wasn't a film that really popped up on my radar when it was released earlier this year. It got some good reviews, and appeared in a local Redbox. It's a pleasant surprise, a film that's got a lot to say, and has the perfect intersection of good acting, fantastic camerawork and a great story.

The film was never really sold as a science fiction thriller, but its roots in the genre are clear as day: it feels very much like a modern William Gibson novel, with equal parts Pattern Recognition and Flowers for Algernon. Moreover, the film shows us that with great intelligence or skill, we're still at the mercy of our own, human faults. Eddie gets smarter, but as he does so, he gets paranoid, overconfident, inflicted with hubris.

The film makes a good point about overreaching, one that's highly relevant in this day and age. The connections to the financial markets is likely no accident: if ever there was a time when fiction points to the flaws in modern day society, the financial meltdown of 2008 is a good example. There's a perfect connection between the abstract news and times elements here and that of a character doing the same exact thing. Here, the movie succeeds brilliantly.

Coupled with the story is Burger's fantastic approach to the film. Rarely does a film come along where the medium and everything that goes with it helps to support the story. Slacker-Eddie sees the world through grays and drab colors. Super-Eddie sees everything in vibrant shades. There's a series of great, endless zoom shots that go along with this, a limitless, never ending perspective that helps us see the world through Eddie's eyes.

The third big part of the film rests with Bradley Cooper, who played Eddie. I've been a fan of him since his short stint in Alias a while back, and while he's never really done a lot that I've seen - mostly comedies - Limitless demonstrates that he really can carry a picture along nicely. Even where I'm usually annoyed by voice overs or excessive narration, he makes it work quite well. For the most part, he's the star of the show, but I have to say that he's overshadowed a bit by Andrew Howard, who played Gennady, the loan shark who Eddie inadvertantly advances. He utters some of the best lines of the movie, and while it's a little uneven at first, his presence grows nicely.

If there's any fault with the picture, it's that it's almost overreaching itself: small bits of the film are never quite compounded on: Eddie's ex-wife, who provides a vital piece of information before vanishing; Eddie's novel, which appears and vanishes without a trace by the end of the film; little things that could have been snipped and woven into the film to help reinforce parts of the plot and story. The film isn't wanting for more material, but the extra pieces feel like they're almost added on, and turn what could have been an elegant story into something even better. As it stands, it wanders a little bit, hitting good pieces, but pieces that feel somewhat disconnected. Still, it's far better than what most of Hollywood churns out.

Limitless works well for what it is: it's easily one of the best science fiction films of 2011, in the same line of films as Source Code (and from appearances, In Time, coming out later this year.) It's slick, relevant, but above all, never strays too far from the main focus of the story: the central character, and all of his flaws.

Cowboys and Aliens

Last week, I caught an early screening of Cowboys & Aliens, at the Majestic Ten in Williston. One of the film's screenwriters, Hawk Otsby, is a resident of South Burlington, and just prior to the screening, he was introduced, talked briefly about the film and his involvement, and sat down to applause as the film started up.

Cowboys & Aliens is a film about film: two of the richest genres are mashed together into a surprisingly coherent, exciting film. Set in New Mexico, a mysterious man (Daniel Craig) wakes up suddenly in the desert, with a strange device on his wrist. What happens next is a flood of clichés mainly from westerns, but some science fiction flicks as well. The result is the perfect recipe for a summer blockbuster: light, entertaining, with plenty of action and a surprisingly good story to boot.

Craig's character has lost his memory, and discovers that he's quick to action and fairly ruthless when confronted by four men who aim to bring him in for a bounty. Ending up in a small town, he quickly becomes embroiled in a local conflict at a bar, running him against the local cattle man, Woodrow Dolarhyde. It's only then that he learns that he's Jake Lonergan, a wanted man, and is prepped to be sent off to the federal marshals. As that happens, bright lights appear in the sky, complete with explosions, abductions and shooting. The town gathers together to track down their kidnapped friends and family, and the rag tag group of townspeople, ranchers and criminals set off into the desert, coming across outlaws, Native Americans and ultimately, gold-hunting aliens. It's a silly, but fun plot.

The really good points to this film isn't the actual story itself, but the characters. Broadly speaking, there's a lot of archetypes here: the mysterious stranger who doesn't remember his past, the soft bartender, the gruff, but ultimately wise fatherly figure and so forth: ultimately, none of these roles would have really worked with different people in the cast. Daniel Craig does a fine job as an American cowboy, strong, silent, and reserved. Sam Rockwell is fantastic with his regular wit (still one of my favorite actors), and Olivia Wilde does well with her surprise twist.

But the real props go to Harrison Ford: 69 years old, and still a fantastic actor. He steals the show in every scene he shows up in, with a fantastic blend of dark and angry, but at other times, fatherly, caring. He pulls off the role convincingly, and it's quite possibly one of my favorite roles in which I've seen him. He's no Han Solo or Indiana Jones here, and it's nice to see him succeed so well in a role that's quite possibly as memorable or at least as much fun to watch.

Coupled with this summer's other nostalgic blockbuster about aliens, Super 8, Cowboys & Aliens makes a good balance when it comes to looking to the past for inspiration. Super 8 looked to the 1970s films of Stephen Spielberg, and this one clearly has some influence from him as well, but expands out to other influences within the Western or Science Fiction genres. Moreover, the film could have easily taken the parody route, but stays true to being a western with science fiction mixed in. It's nothing new or groundbreaking in films (There's others, such as Outland and Firefly that go similar routes), but this one feels more rooted in the wild west than in outer space.

At the end of this summer, Cowboys & Aliens is one of the stronger summer films, and while it didn't amaze me like Super 8 did, it was a hell of a ride: exciting, nostalgic and fun all at the same time.

Spellbound, Blake Charlton

A disclaimer: a copy of this book was provided by Blake, who had consulted me at one point about the military elements of the story.

Blake Charlton’s second novel has remained one of my more anticipated books of the year, ever since I set aside his first, Spellwright. Set ten years after the events of his first novel, Spellbound picks up the action and world nicely, proving to be an entertaining and enthralling read, while avoiding the pitfalls of the dreaded sophomore slump.

When we last left Nicodemus Weal, he’d been through hell, discovering some of the reasons behind his disability and coming up with some stunning revelations about the world around him. Ten years on, we’re introduced to Francesca DeVega, a healer who stumbles into the middle of a grand conspiracy when a patient that she accidentally kills awakens, sending her into a world of trouble, colliding with Nicodemus as he prepares to meet agents of a larger agenda, working to change the world for the worse, bringing about the Disjunction, where the world’s language prime is re-written, eliminating life as they all know it.

Spellbound was a fun read: Charlton brings out a great tale, one that moves swiftly from point to point without letting up on the urgency. Like Spellwright, Spellbound is a great story within a story: like some of the great fantasy worlds, the focus is on the characters, operating within a much larger story. While there are points where I would have liked to have strayed and explored the story’s rich world a bit more, Charlton clamps down a bit and keeps the story moving forward. The result is a fairly focused narrative, with points that I had wished been fleshed out or explained a little more. Spellbound is going to be a bit of a harder book for an introductory reader (Spellwright should certainly be read first), but for readers aching for more after Spellwright, it’s a welcomed addition to the world. It fits perfectly, taking much of the same tone and pace, and it’s as if one never left.

Where Spellwright focused extensively on the disabilities and triumph on the part of Nicodemus, Spellbound takes a bit of a different turn by focusing almost extensively on Francesca, a healer. Charlton has drawn from his own life experiences when it comes to his dyslexia, and while that’s certainly an element of the story here, he’s moved past the problems and focused on things: medicine. One of the sheer joys of reading a new novel is seeing what the author does to a genre differently, and here, we see a neat blend of magic and medical science. Fantastic literature tends to gloss over some of the details of how the systems actually work: Charlton has taken a much different approach with his own magical system, and where it was a delight in Spellwright, it’s an absolute joy to see it fleshed out here. The world building is once again top notch, and where the first book had a bit of a narrow view of the world, the second rips it open, and we see quite a bit more: the politics, environment, lives of the people, and so forth, all in far more detail.

The medical element adds a nice touch too: presumably, people in any fantastic world have issues with their health, and rather than a bunch of vague understandings, we’re presented with a deep understanding of the human body, and how not only magic would affect someone, but how a person wielding magic would be able to treat and address wounds and illnesses. This element alone gives the book a good edge over other, similar reads out there, and it’s certainly one of my favorites for the year so far.

Spellbound isn’t a perfect read, however. Like the first book, there’s some pacing issues: where book one was strongest to begin with, this one feels like it’s spinning its wheels a bit in the beginning, explaining, connecting and setting the stage before carrying everything over into the conclusion. Coupled with an overly rich world, I kept feeling as if I’d missed something, going back a couple of pages to catch up. Given that it’s also been about a year since I picked up Spellwright, I’m looking forward to the day when I can pick up all three books and read them consecutively: I suspect that a lot of things will fall into place when that happens. There’s points where the dialogue, while pithy and appropriate at points, feels forced and out of place.

Spellbound is a fun, exciting read, one that deserves the attention and more of its predecessor. Rather than retread over old ground, Charlton has paved his way forward based on the lessons learned (presumably from his own experiences) in the prior book, building and expanding them aggressively in the second. The story is loaded with interesting characters, a story that works well and that comes unexpectedly at points, and a world that is worth returning to often. The result is a rich, textured read, one that shows what fantasy should be when it encounters a creative and curious mind, a second novel that doesn’t disappoint. I’m already waiting for Disjunction, the final book in the trilogy.

Captain America & World War II

The best part of the latest Marvel film, Captain America, is the end credits. Bold propaganda posters with bright, 1940s colors, jumping out of the screen in the best display of three dimensions in the entire film, the credits capture everything that’s to know about the entire film. Fun, splashy, with more than a little propaganda splashed in there somewhere, it’s everything that America remembers broadly about the Second World War: a classic fight against unmentionable evil, where the good guys win in the end.

Captain America as a superhero film felt like a mixed product for me. One part advance marketing for the 2012 Avengers film, helmed by Joss Whedon, another part superhero origin story and the last bit war film. On the whole, it’s a fun ride: Chris Evans is spectacular as the titular character in Red, White and Blue, with one of the better origin stories set to celluloid (or gigabyte as it were), up there with the original Spiderman and Iron Man films. Yet despite that, the film is torn between missions, and fell pretty far from my expectations, which surprised me, given the praise that the film has garnered from a lot of outlets that I generally trust.

One of the film’s strongest and weakest points was its setting of the Second World War. It’s a fantastic place to place a superhero origin, given the near supernatural nature of the war itself, not to mention accurate to the character’s origins. World War II has taken on a mythological status within the United States, as it’s arguably the one point where the country displayed its absolute best, and absolute worst (necessarily – I’m not being revisionist!).

The movie is good – great even – when we’re introduced to a scrawny Steve Rodgers getting booted from his physical, and given the opportunity to prove himself with some medical experimentation that turns him into the only super soldier that the United States is able to create. Johnson sets up a good arc for Rogers as he’s selected not for his physical strength, but for his purely American character of being a well rounded individual: good of heart, smart, resourceful, all traits that live up to a supposed ideal American that the modern right wing would point to. It’s an admirable goal, to be sure: Steve’s a nice guy, and he saves the entire Eastern seaboard, but it’s a simple vision for how the United States and her allies collided with the Axis powers in Europe. (Japan is barely referenced.) The film builds as Rogers is put onto promotional detail, and it’s not until he reaches the front that he realizes his full potential as a soldier. Once there, he gets one awesome costume / uniform that I love.

It’s the wartime action part of the film that drags the film down. Full of tired action scenes with the all-token American team, the film never really materializes as any type of war film: it’s a collection of sequences against a faceless (literally!) enemy who serves as a stand-in for the Nazi and German soldiers on the front lines of the war. Part of this is from the fact that this is a comic book film in a bizzaro Marvel universe, but I can’t think that the reasons for why we didn’t see Nazis in the films: The Hydra soldiers could have hardly beat out the SS troops as ridiculously cartoonish in and of themselves, and there’s an incredible opportunity missed here when looking to set up a story of American good vs. evil. The action scenes feel as if they’re there for their own sake, penciled in by the screenwriters because they couldn’t be bothered to pick up a Stephen Ambrose story, or any one of the other millions of tomes released in the last decade about the Second World War. As a whole? It’s also pretty boring: Cap hits people with his shield, bounces around Europe to take out the Hydra baddies, and jumps over things on his motorcycle.

In a way, this feels very much as how the United States sees and views the Second World War: we know the basics: the US was attacked, went overseas to far-off battlefields against an enemy who displayed a real disregard for any type of human dignity (not that there’s much in war to begin with, but there’s certainly a line drawn at human experimentation and outright murder), where we won by the strength of our soldiers with a moral imperative to win the war. Rogers / Captain America certainly fit this bill to a T.

My argument here is that it’s just too simple, much as Captain America is, and that the film is basically a reflection of our own understanding and our collective desire to understand the war. The United States faced an enemy that really outgunned and out trained our soldiers for years on the battlefield, bound by a strong nationalistic sense of duty that bordered on fanatical in some instances. The United States largely won the war by outsupplying their armies, slowly improving the training and equipment of our GIs and keeping to a strategy that outmaneuvered the Axis powers, rather than simply outfighting them at every turn by our own prowess, strength and will to fight. This in and of itself is a bit of a simplification, but the study of World War II is akin to a complicated onion, with layers upon layers: it was truly a global war, with innumerable facets.

The Superhero archetype that Captain America displays is something that we commonly believe as a country: it’s a nice narrative, and in a way, Captain America is us, or at least, the parts that we really want to see. The conflict set up between him and Red Skull is horribly underplayed: all things equal, the only differences between the two men are their inner natures: Captain America is good, Red Skull is evil, and it’s a fight that’s set up with some real promise, but ultimately never goes anywhere meaningful, beyond action sequences. Not that the film needed much more than that: it’s designed as a fun action film, so this works, but other Marvel films such as Iron Man really demonstrated that a strong character film is possible: Iron Man succeeded wildly as a story of a self-examination and role within the nation’s character. Captain America never quite does this, although it does a far better job at it than Superman, another type of national hero, does.

Finally, I’m personally tired of the Avengers crossover that seems to be bleeding into every film. Before, we just had to content with the trailers as the beginning of the film: now, they’re in the movies themselves, and while I’m just as excited to see everything next year, I hate the amount of pandering that Marvel is displaying for the film: there’s connections to Iron Man and Thor here in this film, and for someone who hasn’t seen every film, it doesn’t feel so much like connecting stories as trying to bleed the audience dry. The film also hints rather overtly that the next main storyline will be the Winter Soldier run, with the (spoiler!) off-stage death of Bucky.

Captain America is a fun film, but it’s no Iron Man. Well acted (Chris Evans is a superb Captain America and Tommy Lee Jones has some fantastic comedic moments throughout, as well as some of the supporting cast) at points, but the film’s unable to really capitalize on the 2nd World War beyond turning it into one giant series of action sequences that does little to move the characters forward, or even make the audience care about them. The real shame is that I’ve seen people point to this as the ultimate sort of patriotic film, which annoys me because it’s not much more than a regular run of the mill summer blockbuster, just wrapped up in the flag.

Like the end credits, it's propaganda, a self-fulfilling mythos that we perpetuate ourselves to remind us of how great we are. That bothers me, a great deal. Still, it’s fun to see quasi-Nazis get hit in the face with a red, white and blue shield. That never gets old.

Lissie - Catching a Tiger

The song 'Everywhere I Go' was my first introduction to Lissie's music, during an episode of the television show Dollhouse. It's a fantastic song, one that's quiet, stripped down to guitar, lyrics and an incredible vocal performance from Lissie: it's a heart aching song, one that soars during the chorus with an impressive range from the singer. Tracking down her EP, 'Why You Runnin'', I was introduced to more of her music, but it didn't really stick with me.

Lissie's first album Catching A Tiger is a work that caught me completely off guard. Initially, I wasn't sure what to think of it: her music still didn't catch me: my introduction of a quiet, thoughtful song initially didn't prepare me for the sheer range of style that Lissie exhibits over the course of the album.

Record Collector, the first track off of the album, is a good example of what the album feels like as a whole. There's an eclectic sound, with an infectious, steady beat that slows to a crawl before an infusion of energy that blasts away: its an extraordinary track, and one that represents the album as a whole.

What impresses me the most, I think, is the range at which Lissie seems to operate: she's sentimental without wallowing in grief (When I'm Alone), pointed but not angry (Bully), nostalgic (Cuckoo), and wistful (In Sleep). Catching A Tiger is an album that has a lot to give to a lot of people: there's something for everyone here, and I'm sure that given any number of periods in my life, I'd see the album in a lot of different ways.

Also impressive is the raw energy that Lissie is able to bring to the table for tracks like In Sleep, Loosen the Knot, Cuckoo, but can turn around for tracks like Oh Mississippi or Everywhere I Go, naturally. She feels like she's right at home rocking out on stage (and it's worth checking out videos of her performances online), or singing solo in front of a crowd. It's something that I've heard other artists attempt, but I'm not sure that I've really heard anyone pull it off as convincingly as she seems to be able to, at least on the record.

Catching A Tiger is a fun, exciting album, one that I've been playing the car: much of the album is perfect for blasting around the highways of Vermont during the middle of summer: vibrant, rich and surprising, all at once.

The Big Roads: The Untold Story of the Engineers, Visionaries, and Trailblazers Who Created the American Superhighways

This morning, I pulled out of my driveway and angled down U.S. Route 2, shifting onto VT Route 12 and through the hills of Berlin and Northfield to work. Tonight, I’ll likely make my way back on the same route, but I very well might take I-89N up from Northfield to Berlin. Never once, in any of the hundreds of trips that I’ve made along that route, have I ever seriously wondered where the roads came from. They’ve always been there, for better or for worse, and they make up the foundation upon which our modern lives exist. Earl Swift’s latest book, The Big Roads: The Untold Story of the Engineers, Visionaries, and Trailblazers Who Created the American Superhighways, is a grand story that I’ve long wanted to read about: the development of the American highway and interstate system.

Despite the title about this being a history of the superhighway system, Swift’s book looks to the development of the entire vehicular road system in the United States, deftly weaving together a story that looks at the rise of the automobile, its influence on urban development and the growth of commerce in the United States over the last century. This is a book that could easily be a dry tome, mired in the tiny details at the weed level. The focus is on the personalities, however, where unassuming men shaped the character of the country: Thomas “The Chief” MacDonald, Herbert Sinclair Fairbank, and Frank Turner, all people you've likely never heard of. Swift balances neatly the personal lives of each man (and from all accounts, he really did his homework, going the extra mile, so to speak, to look into how the men were motivated) with how they each influenced the way we drive around.

At the turn of the 20^th century, driving was a nightmare for urban areas. Horses and bicycles were widely used within cities, and the first cars were primitive, dangerous contraptions that were hard to use at the best of road conditions. However, due to several motivated salesmen, cars became popular: the early days of racing sprang up, cars with wheels, a seat, steering, an engine, and not much else. As the demand for cars rose, so did the political pressure for a better road network, something that many notable politicians (including President Harry Truman), built their careers on.

The development of the United State’s infrastructure seems to have come in a couple of stages: the commonly agreed upon problem of poor roads in the country and the city brought about an interesting case for the influence of federal vs. state government interaction: a massive, national project such as the first highway system (the two lane roads that criss-cross the nation) is enormously expensive, and something largely outside of what the states could afford. The process in which the money came around, but also the construction and standardization of the roadways largely follows MacDonald, who’s vision carried the country forward by eventually linking the East and West coasts by a single, uniform road network. Once a dangerous endeavor that took weeks, it soon took just days, with little danger other than from one’s fellow drivers.

The development of the US Highway system shaped just how we drive as well: the development of headlights, improved safety features and the types of vehicles that were built all came as a result of just how the American public itself changed as a result of the new freedom of mobility that the new roads offered them. At the same time, the changes in cars allowed for continued changes in just how the roads were designed: new methods for building, as well as the best colors to paint signs, and an entirely new standard design for the signs and features along the highway system.

The monumental and extraordinary growth in car ownership from the turn of the century to the mid-1950s meant that the roads designed to link together the nation were overtaxed, overcrowded and clogged with traffic jams. Swift notes that the infrastructure simply wasn’t designed to hold the volume, which led to practical problems within cities. The traffic jams of today apparently can’t compare to what it was like at that time, with too many cars flooding too few (or too small streets), partially due to missed assumptions on the growth of the automobile industry, but also some fundamental basics to how roads attract drivers and how people themselves drive.

Where MacDonald took over for the first major phase of the highway system, his retirement lead to the rise of one of his associates, Frank Turner, who got his start under MacDonald. Turner helped to shepherd a newly designed style of highway into the country to help ease the numerous traffic problems throughout the country. The superhighway system is radically different from the regular highway system: seperated from other roads, with limited access, higher speeds and designed to bring people in and out of cities and across the country. As Swift recounts the development and political wrangling that occurred, we’re introduced to a new element of highway development: land use and the necessity to destroy thousands of homes and businesses in cities in place of roadway. Protests, political stalling and civic activism arises, further changing the system. Ever wonder why Baltimore doesn’t have a highway running through it?

If there’s any flaw with the book, it’s the treatment of President Dwight Eisenhower, for whom the entire network is named for. Swift goes out of his way to denigrate the President, pointing out almost every instance of where he was on vacation or away while vital decisions were made. While I've no issue with the critical element here, I do have to wonder if the careful research present in all of the other elements of the book are present on the highest level: I can’t fathom that Eisenhower was completely in the dark for all of the elements, as he alleges. That being said, it’s a good historical example how how enormously complicated things work: the groundwork is often laid far in advance of when things get going: this is certainly the case for the roads, with all of the right people, research and motivation moving along and ramping up in the first half of the 20^th century, before coming into fruition under the Eisenhower Administration, and finally completed by 1992.

Swift closes the book with a warning: the highway system, as monumental and fundamental as it is, isn’t designed forever, and with further increases in traffic volume around the country, we’re quickly running up to the point in time where large-scale problems will start to arise. Hundreds of bridges are dangerous, damaged or out of date, and road surfaces are in continual need for improvement. While this is the case, the entire system will need a large influx of investment in the coming decades, numbering in the hundreds of billions of dollars, while decreasing revenue is bringing in insufficient money to keep up with the demand. The golden age of roads may be coming to an end, but the system will last far into the future.

The Big Roads is a fantastic book that delves into American’s history and its character. Swift has done an impressive job in telling stories within stories, shedding an interesting light on the nature of the mid-20^th century. It’s exciting, exhilarating, and interesting throughout, with a bright cast of characters doing what very well might have been impossible, while building something that has made the country what it is today.

The Gravity Pilot, M.M. Buckner

This year has seen several novels that I've come to with high expectations, only to be let down by a poor story, characters and writing. M.M. Buckner's latest novel, The Gravity Pilot, falls into this trend. Despite a strong premise and interesting world, the book is a lack-luster read, one that left me frustrated and awaiting for the final chapters.

Set in the decades ahead of us, global climate change has drastically affected the planet: the atmosphere is almost unbreathable, and ocean heights have forced drastic changes for cities around the world. In the midst of this world, Orr Sitka and his long-time girlfriend, Dyce, work to live amongst hard times: Orr turns to extreme sky diving, flying amongst the clouds, while Dyce looks to the internet and the abilities of wiki-libraries for her interests. On the day that Orr performs a particularly death-defying jump, breaking world-records while doing so, Dyce finds the job of her dreams. Unfortunately, the two events pull the two apart, with Dyce moving out to Seattle, now submerged and underground after the oceans rose, while Orr finds that he's in the international spotlight when a media mogul latches onto Orr with the intent of saving her and her father's failing company. At the same time, Dyce finds herself in a new world, becoming hopelessly addicted to gaming simulations (sims). When Orr finds out about her problems, he does everything in his power to help her.

There's points where this book excels: The first half of the novel does a terrific job setting up Buckner's future version of our planet, weaving together elements of climate change, technological innovation and inserting mass-media and consumption into the mix. Orr and Dyce fit well as a couple on opposite ends of temperament and interests: Orr feels rooted in the past, with his dismissal of the web and what it can offer, while Dyce is a complete believer in the system. Despite their differences, it's clear from the first couple of chapters that they're a pair that's comfortable with one another, and it's genuinely heartbreaking to see their separation.

However, problems begin outside of the setup and introductions, and the book, with all of its promise, trainwrecks. Orr, for all of his reclusiveness, is sucked into a highly public and controlling world, while Dyce is isolated with her work, but neither storyline ever restores my suspension of disbelief at the events. For one, the book feels too zany and ridiculous with its characters to really take seriously.

The main issues center around Rolf and Vera, father and daughter media moguls who are working to expand their company's bottom line with a new media hit: the Gravity Pilot, Orr's death-defying alter-ego. Complications arise between father and daughter (in what appears to be a somewhat incestuous relationship), not only by the actions of the characters, but of either the character or author's inability to understand how a major media enterprise would actually work in real life. The driving force appears to be working to find funds to maintain a biosphere put together by Rolf: the idea that Cyto, their company (and by all appearances, a major force for media in the nation or even the world), runs on some single form of revenue is patently ridiculous. The lengths and offhanded references to Vera getting loans from singular individuals leaves the book feeling very unthought-out, with no rhyme or reason as to the company's actions, and for the most part, losing sight of why they're fielding their Gravity Pilot (seemingly at great expense).

Furthermore, the plot gets muddled within itself: Orr trains and becomes a bigger star on the internet, before learning from a freelance journalist that she's in trouble, and hatches a plan to escape from Vera's clutches, journeys to Seattle to help her, ultimately leaving without her, before hatching a second plan to escape and help her again, which feels like a lot of unnecessary duplication, but also makes the plot and character's actions far more complicated than they really need to be. Furthermore, the entire storyline with Dyce feels off to me: it comes off as though it's a maiden in distress story, the girl who didn't listen or heed her partner's wishes / advice and falls as a result. In this day and age, her helplessness bothers me greatly, because she's written as an exceedingly strong character to start off with, but ultimately never goes anywhere.

This, I think, is at the heart of my issues with the book: the four central characters all have one main issue. Dyce wants to be in Seattle, bu then wants to escape her addiction and to be with her lover. Orr is miserable without her, and ultimately can't decide what to do about it, while Vera sees that Orr is miserable, and works to push him harder, while Rolf is working to control his daughter and the company. All of these problems would have been easily solved by any of the characters realizing what they really want (and it's clear that they already realize this, rather than the book being about some form of self-discovery, which would have made it much better). In Vera's instance, it's clear very early on that there were ways to make her situation better, either by helping Orr and Dyce talk (which was in her power to do), and in Rolf's case, it would have likely been to exert some form of business control over what he daughter was doing, and avoid bankrupting his company. The fact that all of the characters seem to take deliberate steps to make themselves more miserable further makes me wonder about the attention that went into the plot.

It's clear that there's some points that the author is trying to make from the book: this is where The Gravity Pilot is at its best, in a way, with a cautionary tale about the addictions of internet / toys / social media and its general affect on society (not good), without advocating that people should be a complete luddite in the process. Indeed, there's some interesting background parts to the book where it appears that there's a lot of thought put into how some basic things would be solved: climate change and bio-engineering, the societal effect of living underground, heel-spike stairs to capture energy, all woven into this book fairly seamlessly. Ultimately, however, the themes and the characters are disconnected somewhere, and we're left with a book with some very good things going for it, but with the other half almost completely ruining any good efforts that it had.

At the end of the day, The Gravity Pilot is a book that has potential, but fails to live up to what it sets out to do: it's a disappointing, frustrating read, but notable for its excellent world-building and vision of the future.

Embassytown by China Miéville

China Miéville has been on a bit of a tear to explore every genre through his books. With Embassytown, he turns from his earthbound adventures of late (The City and The City and Kraken), and goes into deep space, for a truly alien world.

Opening on the planet Areika, the story follows Avice, the girl who was hurt in the dark and ate what was given to her. Areika is home to an alien race (Areikans, also known as the Hosts) that is one of the very few examples of a credible alien, a race that is truly different from us, rather than an approximation of what people are like. Here, people trade for bioengineered technology, communicating through sophisticated ambassadors, two people who speak different parts of the Host's complicated language. Departing Arekia, Avice goes into deep space, to the Immer, before returning to her home world, where she witnesses huge changes in the world.

The Arekian's way of life completely change when a new ambassador arrives: EzRa, a paired, rather than cloned, ambassador. Their words act as if a drug on the Arekians, who are captivated by his words. As a result of his influence, the world is torn apart by a near-devolution of the planet's inhabitants.

Embassytown shines, as does most of Miéville 's other books, when it comes to world building, with a stunning, visual and brilliant world put together, particularly when it comes to the Hosts and their Language. Unable to understand of conceive of the concept of symbolism, the Hosts perceive language as an absolute truth, rather than a representative of imagination, of what might be. Lies are unheard of, an inconceivable notion that exhilarates the Hosts at 'Festivals of Lies', where they hear these lies, and attempt them themselves. Avice herself is a simile, a literal figure of speech that allows the Hosts to comprehend a particular situation.

There's a real religious element here, one that reminded me in part of Frank Herbert's Dune, touching on religious extremism. Avice's husband, Scile, a linguist (and who's understandably interested in Language), is particularly distressed over the influence of humans and the very nature of how we perceive the world around us. There's a divide between those who look to prevent the influence of humans, and those wishing to explore the differences, regardless of the consequences. The consequences become dire as the Host's society begin to tear itself apart. In a large way, the book is as close to unveiling the roots of conflict in societies: differences between individuals and groups as a whole. Without giving too much away, the conflict here is even more terrifying than one might find amongst any human conflicts: we can choose our actions and reasons for fighting and believing in some side or another. Here, it's another motivation altogether.

In another related aspect, there’s more to the religious element here, particularly with the words of EzRa, and eventually, EzCal. As the Hosts begin to flow to Embassytown to hear the words of the new ambassador, there’s an element of the introduction of sin to the planet and the race of aliens, culminating in an almost apocalyptic fall when the concept of lying is introduced to them. Not being someone who’s terribly religious, this comes from a layman’s perspective, but it works well with the overall story.

Along with the story of extremism over ideas and philosophies, there's an interesting argument over colonialism that dovetails into the concerns of Scile. Language is a key element in how the Host's society is formed and the introduction of humanity to the mix acts to subvert how things run on the world. It's subversive, game changing and fascinating all at the same time. There are greater political elements at play hinted throughout the story, and the question that comes up amidst the story is the ethical one: should we, as invaders, effect such change in a world? Should we do it for our own good, our own interests? Here, Embassytown is at its best, a first contact novel of the first degree, with vast implications drawn from our own history, and the state of the world now, where the Middle East and the West simply aren't speaking the same language.

I came away from the novel with a clear message: understanding, and in that, comprehending one another is essential in how we deal with others, whether alien or familiar.

For all of the extremely good ideas presented in Embassytown, the book fails to deliver when it comes to characters. While we have the opportunity to really get into Avice's head as she narrates, the reader is essentially just along for the ride, seeing the actions, but not getting much more beyond that. Frequently, I felt disembodied from the characters, held at arms length. It's a shame, because this is a book that's incredibly smart, well plotted and allows for a lot of reflection. The problems in the characters undermines the entire effort, turning what could have been a great novel into a good one. It’s a little disappointing, especially after the excellence that is The City and The City.

Still, it's not a bad book, nor is it worth avoiding: Miéville creates a truly spectacular world and novel, one that's memorable in it's own right, and one that puts its ideas and story first and foremost. The flaws here may even be deliberate: I have a feeling that an author as talented as Miéville couldn't let something like this past, and given the book's central themes around understanding, I can't help but wonder if there's more within that I'm simply missing after mulling over the book for a couple of weeks.

If anything, Embassytown is worth every page for its rich, spectacular world, its depth and prose. It's easily one of the best books of the year, and while not my favorite Miéville book (The City and The City remains my top pick), it certainly blew me away, and has left me thinking about it for weeks.

Super 8

I’ve got a lot of love for some of the science fiction films from the 1970s, particularly because they were some of the earliest ones that I can remember. We had a VHS of E.T. that I remember watching periodically, and after my obsession with Star Wars, someone got me a copy of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a film that’s slowly grown on me over the years, to the point where it’s one of my absolute favorites. J.J. Abram’s latest film, Super 8, helps to recall some of the best points of those films, and go right to the center of what makes a film truly great, rather than mere visual spectacle that’s designed to bring people in for the initial theater run. This film feels like the type that is designed to run the distance, and to become a film that will last for years to come, and serves as a great counter-film to another project that Abrams was involved with, Cloverfield.

Set in 1979, the film opens in the aftermath of a disaster that takes the live of Joe Lamb’s mother, setting his, and his father (one of the town’s deputies), into a bit of a flux, as they try to regain some stability and clarity in their lives. Joe escapes into work on a zombie film with his large and somewhat controlling friend Charles, along with the rest of their small clique of friends, hoping to submit their film to a film festival at the end of the summer. Bringing along the town drunk’s daughter, the lovely and standoffish Alice, they begin to film a scene at the train station when a train is deliberately derailed by their science teacher. Spectacle ensues, and the boys see something strange, before escaping as armed soldiers rush on scene. Chaos ensures in the town as town’s dogs and people go missing, strange things happen to electronics and cars, while the military moves in to clean up the mess, but refuse to answer any questions. All the while, the boys are trying to use the background as the perfect setting for their film.

Super 8 does a really good job splitting their duties between looking at the kid’s perspective and looking at how their parents see what’s going on, and Abrams excels here by putting together a great cast of new actors, with a lot of people pointing out the similarities between this and films such as E.T. and Stand By Me. I found some similarities between this and Freaks and Geeks as well. This group of kids really makes the movie: the story is character-driven, and the result is a great film that sees kids steering their own destinies. Ultimately, the kids are also believable, unlike in one of the trailers for an upcoming film, where a child sounds like an adult for their entire appearance. These kids feel just like I remember when I was 12, 13 or 14ish. It feels honest, and that gets major points.

Other cues from older films also help: Abrams ops for a slow buildup, and there’s some good camera work that supports that: the camera lingers, capturing some key moments throughout the film, while not abandoning the excitement when the train derails and the tanks roll through town. The creature that’s driving the main story here is also fleetingly seen until the last couple of moments, and feels far more Cloverfield than ET. It’s a great mechanism, with some great, geeky tension for the audience.

Still, there’s parts that don’t quite fit as well in the modern day and age, and the events in the film help to anchor the film nicely in the later days of the Cold War. At one point, a lady stands up in a crowd and declares that all of these problems must be a result of Soviet actions. A couple of people in the theater laughed at that, but looking at the state of the public during that era, it’s not far off the mark: Abrams captures the moment of the 1970s, but not in a way that’s readily relatable to the modern audience, at least when it comes to the big themes or historical relations. In a way, this is one of the bigger strengths of the film, because when it comes up against the films that it’s been compared to, it’s in good company, and it’s something that I could easily see being created forty years ago.

In one way, this is a bit of a bother to me when it comes to Abrams: for all that he is as a rising star with the science fiction / fantasy genres, he doesn’t do well at wholly original ideas – as original as one can get in fiction or entertainment. Looking at his track record, Star Trek, Mission Impossible, and now this film, there’s a great modern look at older franchises, television shows such as LOST or Fringe non-withstanding. It fits with our culture, one that looks to remixed albums, comic book characters that run back decades and movie and television franchises that have repeated themselves ad nauseum. Nostalgia is one component here, but another is familiarity.

Super 8 manages to really pull itself out of this lurch by being not only an original story, independent of franchise, while taking familiar tropes and moving them around on their own, but it doesn’t rely completely on them: the story is driven by its own architecture: the characters working with their environment as it sends fastballs their way.

This is also a whole different from from other efforts like Cloverfield, where the film is simply a group of people buffered by events around them, with no or little control of their actions and the world around them: this film is the diametric opposite, and I think for that reason, it's a story that will last far longer, and it honestly a better story for people get some type of message from.

I loved Super 8: I rarely want to see something more than one in theaters, and while it has its flaws here and there, it’s a film that excels on its many merits. Plus, it’s a film that has a bit of meta narrative, one that nods to the origins of the current crop of filmmakers , while giving something to everyone else in the theater. And? It’s a whole lot of fun. It’s hard to argue with that.

X-Men: First Class

On the airplane over to Europe, I was a bit puzzled by the screening of X-Men 3: The Last Stand, but because I couldn't sleep, I watched it, and remembered just how bad it was. Where the first two X-Men films were fun, and fairly well done, the third felt rushed, overcooked, with no cohesive storyline, characters and action that didn't make sense, but with some definite promise to it. It's unfortunate that it was such a train wreck, and it put me off from the follow-up Wolverine film, which I've still not seen. Thus, the news that there was another X-Men film coming out simply didn't register, until it became fairly clear that this was going to be a film that was somewhat different.

Set in 1962, X:Men First Class turns to a certain amount of nostalgia. There's the old cars, the Cold War, and the origins of the X-Men, looking quite a bit like I remembered from the reprinted versions of the comics that I read as a kid. Then, one of my favorite directors, Matthew Vaughn, came on board to direct. I've almost universally liked his films: Layer Cake is one of my all time favorites, and I got a real kick out of Stardust and Kickass. His attention and film style makes X-Men: First Class stand out, turning it into a film that's notable in the franchise, as well as the superhero genre.

Starting off in the 1940s, we revisit the origins of Erik Lehnsherr, and get a glimpse into the early days of Charles Xavier, as they grow up. Erik is a holocaust survivor, forced to watch his mother's death in an move to unlock his powers at the hands of Sebastian Shaw. Xavier goes to Oxford, studying genetics and mutations. All the while, Shaw becomes a globetrotting super villain, moving back and forth between the United States and the Soviet Union in an attempt to trigger all out war between the two superpowers, eventually leading Xavier and Lehnsherr together, all the while exploring several themes that become central to the X-Men franchise: identity and human nature.

X-Men: First Class succeeds because it's extensively focused on the two main characters, and it sets up, but doesn't quite deliver the epic nature of their friendship. Two opposites with incredible power: one angry, the other calm, one reckless where the other is deliberate. The two men complete each other in a number of ways, while the excellent cast of supporting characters, including Mystique (played by the fantastic Jennifer Lawrence - I can't wait to see her as Katniss in The Hunger Games), Beast, Banshee, and Darwin, who all face challenges of their own: how do they reconcile their abilities with their identity. More importantly, how they are seen by the public. Mystique spends most of the film in human form, torn between hiding and understanding herself. It's a powerful message that'll undoubtedly be relatable to any teenager who watches the film. Watching the film, I was a little annoyed that the filmmakers didn't simply use some of the characters from the original comics, such as Iceman and Angel, which would have made the movie that much better, before being reminded that they've already been used. With that in mind, the film slips into the original film's continuity nicely.

The film does falter at points: it feels rushed, overstuffed, with so much material that we blow past major scenes, some of which feel a bit abridged, rather than taking a bit of time to support the characters a bit. The relationship between Magneto and Professor X has enormous amounts of potential, and is pulled off rather well because of James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, but it doesn't feel as true as it could have. Events likewise move very quickly, and it's hard to imagine the US and Soviet Union being manipulated as easily as they appear to be.

That being said, setting the film in the midst of the Cold War is an interesting choice, and it works well. One could make the argument that there's a cautionary tale when it comes to nuclear technology, but I think the bigger point to be made comes from the escalation of forces when you have superpowers at work against one another, and it helps to demonstrate, in a couple of ways how respective militaries can become pawns to larger forces at work. In the final act of the film, we essentially see US and USSR Navy personnel completely constrained by their orders, where they can see the absurdity of the situation, but are largely helpless to do anything about it. In similar forms, there's plenty to be said that can take such lessons and apply them to the modern day, with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

X-Men: First Class renewed my interest and 10 year old self in the X-Men, making me want to find my old comics and trading cards from elementary school. It's very well filmed, very well thought out, and is just enough to make one forget about the poor-quality entries in the franchise thus far. But, the filmmakers have understood what really makes the X-Men special, and that's the characters, not the action or the drama, and where it comes to that, the film gets solid marks, and praise, for focusing more on the characters than the explosions. It makes the film something that will last far longer than X3 ever will.

Out with a Whimper: Soft Apocalypse

In Will McIntosh's debut novel, Soft Apocalypse, the world as we know it ends with a whimper, not a bang. The end of America and the rest of the world comes out of our over indulgence, use of resources and all of the problems in society reaching a dull roar that tears down the world as we know it. This story takes a small cast of characters and looks at them over a much longer point of time than more novels, providing a unique perspective on what the future might hold.

Unlike most post-apocalyptic fiction, there's no dividing line between what was then, and everything afterwards, where stalwart survivors push on to rebuild a broken landscape the day after the world ends. In this future, everything is far more subtle: there's one instance that changes everything forever: no nuclear attack, change in the climate, overbearing governmental officials driving society into the ground, but a multitude of small factors (including the ones just listed) that drags society down into the depths, and takes the main characters, Jasper, Colin, Sophia, Phoebe, Cortez, and Ange, (and the various others that come and go) along with it.

Starting in 2023, Soft Apocalypse stands out because it takes its time to tell the story over a much longer period of time: chapters jump ahead days, weeks, months, hours and years at a time, pulling the characters along as they work to continue living in this new world as the world falls down around them. There are a lot of speculative fiction elements here: science, dystopian and post-apocalyptic parts are all here, as well as some intensely personal stories from the vibrant cast of characters that rotate in and out of sight. This is a story that takes a lot of the big events and science and shoves it into the background in favor of a strong character story.

McIntosh's story here is frightening because it feels like it could very well be one of the more realistic end of society (not necessarily the world) stories that I've come across. Barring major political screw-up, we're no longer likely going to be blown into dust by nuclear annihilation, and climate change is more likely going to have more of a gradual impact on society, rather than something sudden and jarring. People will survive, adapt and work to rebuild. What McIntosh demonstrates here is the biggest change that people will need to readjust to: finding a new set of realistic expectations for their standard of living. As the United States faces ecological and criminal elements, everything changes.

Amongst this new world, we follow Jasper, a sociology major, and some of his friends. He isn't an influential figure in the world, or even someone who's prepared for the new world, but is caught up with the events, capturing energy from alongside highways and the sun and trading charged batteries for food. We follow him and his friends over the course of a decade, as they take comfort in themselves and with others that they come across, falling in and out of relationships, gangs, and ecoterrorists along the way. Genetically engineered viruses decimate the human population as corrupt governments attempt to control populations, crazy social scenes open up, crime runs rampant, and a bunch of rogue scientists engineer a strain of bamboo designed to overtake infrastructure to slow down the government and its practices.

From this perspective, we get an interesting story, especially over the time that this post-apocalypse takes place - a decade. The book starts off a bit mixed, and if you’d asked me after the first chapter, I would have described it as a story about a hipster at the end of the world trying to continue some form of shallow existence, but after moving through the book, it’s clear that that’s a vital starting point, and by the end of the book, the changes that all of the characters go through is very clear: most of the trappings that they (and by extension, we) have become accustomed to, are superficial and won’t help us in the basics of life. There’s some rather pointed commentary here throughout the story, which makes the book all the more relevant. Considering this year, we’ve seen things like a nuclear disaster, a distrust of executive authority and other natural disasters: this book could very well be underway.

Soft Apocalypse also tracks an interesting progression in society that also helps it stand out: not everything collapses equally: throughout the novel, we see the activities (often corrupt) of police, fire, military, civil defense and gangs, and there’s certainly a shift in how these organizations interact with the public. Once again, the slow death of America here turns this style of story on its head, and by doing so, it tells some stories that might not have otherwise surfaced.

Particularly interesting throughout the book is the way that people adapt and rebuild, even as everything comes down. Jasper and all of the other characters continue to run into each other over the years, not just out of coincidence and for story convenience, I think, but because they need some level of normalcy: Jasper likewise seeks some sort of romantic interactions with various people over the years, not because of the sex, but because it’s normal, something to distract him from everything that’s going on. At the end of the book, we see people adapting to a new life: there’s new political and social structures, pushed because of the onslaught of bamboo outbreaks and genetically engineered viruses that change people’s minds. Rebuilding and society occurs because it’s natural, just as it seems particularly natural for a collapse to wipe away some of the darker things that we’ve done as a society.

By the end, Soft Apocalypse is certainly one of the better books that I’ve read all year, which surprised me quite a bit for an impulse buy, one that’s given me quite a bit to think about, fitting in with a lot of things that have been on my, and the general public’s mind, for a while, especially when it comes to consumerism and waste in society. The book is a triumph in linking together the story and themes into a cohesive, strong character driven narrative.

John Scalzi's Fuzzy Nation

John Scalzi's latest novel Fuzzy Nation opens with a bang: Holloway, a disbarred lawyer turned prospector has his dog blow up a cliff while in search of precious stones on Zara XXIII, only to be fired when he overdoes it. So begins an entertaining and smart novel, one that feels highly relevant to the modern day.

It's a novel that has no right to be as fun as it was. Holloway, an irritating man to all around him (think Sawyer from the show LOST - if this is ever made into a film, he's the perfect actor. Even better, they share names), is let go from his mining contract when he potentially costs the Zarathustra Corporation a considerable amount of embarrassment and money, only to reneigotiate his contract when it turns out that he's hit the mother load when it comes to Sunstones leading him to potentially become one of the richest men on the planet, and yielding the company trillions of credits. That is, before a small creature breaks into his cabin, one that turns out to be deceptively intelligent.

Many of the plot points in the story won't come as a surprise: anyone who has watched the news in the last couple of years will recognize the motives of an enormous company and the lengths that they'll go to to ensure their profits in the short term. Fuzzy Nation comes along like clockwork as Holloway's 'Fuzzies' are looked at as a major threat if intelligent, as conspiracies emerge and the lawyers are trucked out to protect the company.

Fuzzy Nation is a remake of H. Beam Piper's novel Little Fuzzy, but both books, while sharing plot points and characters, feel like entirely different novels. Largely gone is Piper's musings on intelligence and alien life forms, replaced with a far more straightforward and somewhat abbreviated version in Scalziverse. Where Piper was a bit more deliberative, Scalzi has amped up the story and sent it running on its own. Both work really well, and both stand on their own.

However, this novel brings out an excellent example in how remakes and reboots function. Fiction and art is created and informed by events around it's time of creation, and the context for Piper's Little Fuzzy and Scalzi's Fuzzy Nation are from very different times. Where Piper's book comes off as a story on intelligence, Scalzi goes to corporate responsibilities and the regulations that restrain them, although elements of the intelligence storyline are still there, just as there are elements in Little Fuzzy about corporate interactions with the environment.

The result seems to be as Scalzi intended: take an old story that doesn't really fit with how we now see the future, and update in his own vision. This new Fuzzy story feels more relevant to the modern day, extending beyond the window dressing of objects (touch screens, computers, space ships etc) and to the dominant themes that deal with environmentalism, free market economies and the role of government in those two things. And more importantly, where there's plenty of material there to absolutely kill a story, Scalzi makes it excel.

This is a story that I found agreeable, not only for the themes (which have been popping up in other science fiction stories, from Avatar to Moon) but for the characters. Scalzi's Holloway finds himself in problem after problem, but a driving component of the story's plot is his ability to think fast and solve problems, not through force or a whole lot of action (although there's some there), but with his knowledge of the legal system and logic that helps him gain the upper hand. It's a story of a small man against a large company and it's a gratifying thing to watch as the story unfolds. There’s a whole host of supporting characters, but Holloway (and Chad), really steal the show.

This is also probably the most fun that I've had reading a book in a long while. Readers of Scalzi's blog, Whatever, will recognize his prose, and it feels very much like this was a book that he had a blast writing. It's funny - I found myself laughing to myself every couple of pages as some familiar references: Holloway screening Return of the Jedi for the Fuzzies, and later, frying up bacon for them. Carl, Holloway's dog, is also a character in and of himself, stealing the show with his own imagined dialogue whenever he's in the scene. Think Dug, from Pixar's movie Up.

I read Fuzzy Nation nearly in a single sitting - on a bus, in the airport and on the plane as I flew down to DC for a conference, and I was a little disappointed at how quickly I blew through the book. I don't know if that's because I've also read Little Fuzzy, or because I read Whatever frequently, but this was a book with a world and characters that I was able to slip into with absolutely no problems. (In fact, it got so immersive that I missed my terminal on Logan's airport bus, much to the surprise of the bus driver.)

Fuzzy Nation is a fun, quick book, but one that's a good exercise in writing and in looking at the genre, especially when looking at a larger context for what helps to frame a story in the first place. Scalzi's long been on the record for just wanting to tell and sell a good story, and this one certainly meets that description, telling a fun story but with greater themes and plot elements that makes this book a strong, smart and thoughtful one.

Welcome to the Greenhouse

Climate change is here to stay. It’s a bit of a foregone conclusion at this point, given the rise of human industrialized society and the scientific evidence that is increasingly supporting the idea that we’ve influenced how we have changed our climate to the point where it’ll cause problems for life as we know it. As such, it’s a little surprising that there isn’t more of an impact in the science fiction realm. I think that’s about to change, as that reality sinks in a little more, and it seems that there are a growing number of books that are starting to come out about the topic, which I’m rather happy about. In 2009, Paolo Bacigalupi’s novel The Windup Girl was released to great acclaim, set in a post-oil world, and is something of a novel that demonstrated what type of story really works.

Welcome to the Greenhouse: New Science Fiction on Climate Change, edited by Gordon Van Gelder, feels very much like the type of anthology that is perfect for this time and place. Published by O/R books, which has published a number of more politically minded non-fiction and political works, this anthology pulls together original sixteen stories by a number of well known and respected authors, including Alan Dean Foster, Bruce Sterling, Paul Di Filippo and Brian Aldiss, all revolving around the topic of climate change.

The anthology is a bit of a mixed bag, which feels like a missed opportunity with a field that’s likely to grow, or a good first step in what’ll likely become a good sub-genre, much like Cyber or Steampunk (Biopunk maybe?). While there are some good stories here about the threats to humanity because of global warming, the stories that really stand out here are ones that aren’t actually about the changing climate, but the ways that people are adapting to a new lifestyle because of the impact of rising sea levels, warmer temperatures or any number of other issues. As a whole, the anthology gets its strength with the stories that are heavily grounded in some form of reality, and goes astray when things get a little strange.

Stories such as ‘The Middle of Nowhere’ by Judith Moffett, ‘Eagle’, by Gregory Benford, ‘Turtle Love’ by Joseph Green, ‘The Bridge’, by Gregory Guthridge, and ‘True North’ by M.J. Locke really demonstrate the story potential that exists for stories that involve climate change: the stories that people identify with the themes that involve the characters, and these stories do so marvelously: with the change in climate comes changes for the people and their ways of life, and that’s where the stories come out.

While the anthology succeeds here, there’s a chunk of stories that just didn’t do it for me: . Some of them just didn’t have the stories that I was all that interested in, but there were a couple, like ‘That Creeping Sensation’, by Alan Dean Foster, about giant bugs that come about as the result of higher oxygen levels, and FarmEarth, by Paul Di Fillippo, about people gaming to save the climate, directing nature (and feels far too referential to things like FarmVille), and ‘Men of Summer’ by David Prill, about a woman dating a number of guys during a particularly hot point in our future, that just fell flat, and either looked at climate change as a dominant point of the story, while sacrificing the overall picture / and morals that other stories had. The anthology, as a result, isn’t stuffy or pretentiously serious, but it doesn’t quite get the balance between serious and entertaining as much as I’d like.

That being said, I think that Welcome to the Greenhouse as a whole is a solid one: it gets the idea that climate change is a serious threat to the way of life that we’ve become accustomed to, but also that there is an incredible potential for stories here. Furthermore, it’s a field that’s ripe for speculative fiction, as Bacigalupi demonstrated with his three books, as well as a growing number of other stories that are starting to come out. It’s a book that stands out in a very small field. At the same time, the absence of one of Paolo’s stories (even a reprint), is striking, and any one of his stories in his collection would have fit in well here, along with Carrie Vaughn’s Amaryllis is another story that would have fit in well here. Doubtlessly, there are a number of other stories that would work for this type of anthology, but as it stands right now, it works well, and I hope that it’ll encourage further stories in the genre: it's an important theme to explore, along the same lines that the importance of the impact that nuclear destruction had during the golden age of science fiction, either implicitly or in passing.

Source Code

Duncan Jones's latest film, Source Code, is an interesting film that avoids any major sophomore slump, and demonstrates that Jones is a competent, story-driven director. His first major film, Moon, won me over with its story and characters, and while this latest foray has its flaws, they are merely superficial.

Source Code opens with a train, where a man, Captain Coulter Stevens (Jake Gyllenhaal), abruptly awakens and is faced with unfamiliar surroundings as a woman (he only learns later that her name is Christina Warren, played by Michelle Monaghan) says that she took his advice. His confusion mounts as he realizes that he’s in a different body altogether, before being blown apart by a bomb planted on the train. He abruptly wakes up again, this time in a small capsule, with a video of an Air Force captain, Colleen Goodwin (Vera Farmiga), who tells him that he’s on a mission to find out where the bomber is, and to stop another bombing in Chicago. So begins a Groundhog’s Day-esque series of events where Stevens enters another man’s last 8 minutes (Sean Fentress, who died in the bombing earlier that day) and works to find the bomber and the bomb.

The science fiction element here comes with the Source Code, which uses quantum entanglement to access the last eight minutes of a person’s life (described as an afterglow, akin to a light bulb), and essentially places the subject into a parallel version sidestep of the world, where he’s able to uncover information about the world around him as he seeks out the bomber. The story, much like the idea of separate worlds and time-paths, splits off in its focus, and to Jones’ credit, he juggles the themes (I’d hesitate to say stories, because they’re all part of the story) fairly well together.

The execution isn’t perfect – there’s points where the film feels a little forced, such as when we’re shown Stevens coming and going from the worlds multiple times, but the overall effect works – there’s plenty of tension, and several twists as the story changes in the last act. Looking back, the story isn’t so much a terrorist hunt as it is a man struggling for his mission when all of the choices available to him have been limited. Stevens finds himself in an impossible situation, one where he has to struggle for context when he has none. As science fiction author William Gibson noted: “The people who complain about Source Code not getting quantum whatsit right probably thought Moon was about cloning”. The same thing holds true for the counterterrorism element to the story here: this isn’t a film about an action hero tracking down the back guy: it’s the story of how someone accomplishes his mission, and the stakes that that mission might hold. Execution issues aside, this is a film that is really as thoughtful as Moon was.

In a lot of ways, this film is one of the best examples of real world events seeping into the public consciousness and expression: 9-11 and subsequent war on terror has undoubtedly had an impact on popular culture, but this is the one of the few examples of where a subtle theme of retrocontinuity has come into play: what if we could go back and do things over again? Given that between the political scene and a general yearning for the rosy pastures of the past, this film feels like it works on just about every level.

Doubly so, there's some excellent points to be made about the lengths to which people will go in the event of a crisis: here, Stevens uncovers some rather nasty surprises about his existence in the Source Code, and there are some fairly unpleasant consequences and moral quandaries for all involved: the life of one man or the lives of millions? This is a oft-tread story in the genre, and Jones handles it incredibly well.

At the end of the day, the Source Code reminded me the most of a 2005 movie, The Jacket, which features some similar concepts: working to change the past by righting a couple of wrongs, and it joins a growing roster of films, such as last year’s Inception, or Jones’ prior film, Moon, that focus on characters and story, rather than spectacle and action, as the genre is wont to do. It’s smart, and thought provoking, and I’m happy to see that with the number of science fiction films coming out this year (while I’ve liked some of them, like Battle: Los Angeles), there’s some genuine effort for something that’s not just for visual appreciation. The marketing for Source Code had me worried that I wouldn’t enjoy this film as much as I did, and I’m happy to report that it well exceeded my expectations. I'm not sure that it's as good as Moon is, but it's certainly better than a lot of what hits theaters.

There’s a closing moment towards the end when Stevens gets everything right, and I hoped that the film would end right then, as time stops and the camera pans across a still image, where the film is genuinely beautiful; sublime. It’s a powerful moment, one that shows all the stakes, and what we really take for granted. It’s the almost perfect end to the film (before a short coda), and an excellent addition to Moon for what Jones has created. I’m very pleased with what we’ve seen from him, and I already can’t wait to see what he’s got up his sleeve next.

Leviathan Wakes by James A. Corey

If you like Space Opera, this will be the book for you: Leviathan Wakes, by author James A. Corey (a collaboration between Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck). Spanning much of our solar system, it's an epic story in a reasonably near future, with an excellently conceived of environment and a fun story that is both action packed and thoughtful. Leviathan Wakes is the embodiment of what good space opera should be: there's a bit of a scientific background that helps to inform the plot, but the focus of this story is on the characters and major events that blast the story forward.

As such, Leviathan Wakes works on a number of levels. Throughout the story, the influence of two authors who have been identified strongly with the fantasy genre is clear in the text: there is a wide, sweeping and epic sense to the world that's been constructed here, and the fingerprints feel very much like there's experience with fantasy here. This ranges from the somewhat tired: some of the characters feel almost a little too forced with the world-weary or tough guy things that some modern fantasy novels seem to be saddled with, to the good: the world building and scale of the storyline, which seems to grow and grow.

In a large sense, a space opera story has far more in common with a fantasy novel, as opposed to a straight up science fiction novel, although Leviathan Wakes feels at times like it's caught between the two, for better and worse: for most of the story, it's evenly balanced between the two, and it works very well from that standpoint: the science helps to inform the rules of The Expanse, while the fantastic elements get taken over by the story and its own momentum. In a recent blog post somewhere, someone made the comment that Orbit was betting that a recent offer of a free ebook copy of Leviathan Wakes paired with a copy of Abraham's book The Dragon's Path would pull in a crossover audience from the fantasy fans, and after reading through this, I can easily believe it.

Leviathan Wakes stands out amongst a lot of books for the world-building efforts that have been put together for this story. In this far future, humanity hasn't quite made it out to the stars, but they've made it out into the neighborhood: Earth's Moon, Mars, (Venus had abortive attempts), the asteroid belt, the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and as far out as some of the moons of Neptune, all have some element of human habitation, with a wonderfully rich human society living and working within our solar system. Self-sustaining governments have grown up with their own cultures, and the book really shines by adding in an enormous depth to the environment in which the story is placed: it helps turn what would be a fairly average novel into something that really stuck in my head, and makes me biting at the bit for the next installments in the projected three book series.

The story that's settled in the world is one that works well: the destruction of a ship travelling through the solar system on a transit run, when they come across an abandoned ship, The Scopuli. When their ship is destroyed, a wave of outrage runs across the solar system, angering two sides of a brewing conflict, and pitting the Belters, Earthers and Martians against one another. At the same time, a cop is tasked with tracking down a girl for a family, bringing him on another track towards The Scopuli, and soon, the main characters are caught between revolution and corporate interests. The story really surprised me at points as the authors angled things in unexpected ways, and they manage to pack quite a bit into the pages. The book falls roughly into three parts (and I thought that it could have transitioned a bit better between each of the acts), that bring the story higher and higher to the end, and the entire thing is really a rush from beginning to end.

If there's any fault with the book, it's in the execution, where it felt like some of the book could have been trimmed down from its lengthily page count (almost 600 pages in my copy), and at some points, it feels as if there's parts that are just far too wordy, with excess exposition and explanation that didn't necessarily need to be present.

This book is one that I'll predict will divide audiences along a science fiction / space opera divide. The science here exists mainly in the background: there's some plausible elements here, as well as the usual grain of salt, as ships careen back and forth between the Belt and various planets, with some token explanations, but it's not the central focus of the story. People will fall on either side, either advocating for a stronger or more realistic setting for the stories, and people who might argue that it's not necessarily all that important to the story and that it should be enjoyed on its own merits. Coming to the end, I think that the latter argument holds up a bit better, but I'm happy to see that the authors have given a bit to support it in some measure of reality.

At the end of the day, Leviathan Wakes was a book that I really enjoyed: there wasn't a moment that I found myself really bored, and few occasions wondering why the book was drifting aimlessly: we've got a fun space opera story that's created one hell of a world to play in, with this story thundering out the gates, all guns ablaze, while touching on everything from military science fiction to romantic entanglements, and I'm already awaiting to see what happens next in The Expanse.

Echo Echo

St. Patrick’s day is a good day to listen to one of my absolute favorite albums, Carbon Leaf’s Echo Echo. Released in 2001, this was one of my early introductions to the band, alongside their first major record label album, Indian Summer (also quite good). Amazon.com had released the album as a free download while I was in college, and the album became a regular on my rotation of songs on my iPod and computer playlists. Interestingly, it’s remained there since, and one of the few albums that I return to again and again.

Echo Echo is a perfect balance between sound and lyrics. There’s a certain comfort that the band seems to have across the board here, listening to the album from start to finish. ‘The Boxer’ opens up with a quick start, with a rich blend of instrumentation and vocals from both Barry Privett and the rest of the background group. The rest of the album falls into place nicely after that, through to the end, with songs like ‘Wanderin' Around’, ‘Shine’, ‘Mary Mac’ and ‘Desperation Song’ injecting energy to the thing, while ‘On Any Given Day’, ‘Torn To Tattered’, and ‘Toy Soldiers’ balance it out with something a little slower. The album ends up with ‘Maybe Today’ and a hidden track ‘My Dear’, to close out the album softly.

It’s difficult to explain some of the hows and whys of how the sound works for me. I don’t have a background in music, but I suspect that there’s something to do with the chords, but to my untrained ear, the album feels fresh, full of air and very spring like – it conjures up images of bombing along some of Vermont’s back state routes with the windows down, the music high up on the speakers. Particularly, ‘The Boxer’, ‘Toy Soldiers’, and ‘Lonesome Pine’ all help there, evenly spaced along the album.

Lyrically, the album holds up well though out, particularly ‘Toy Soldiers’, as I keep coming back to it year after year with reaffirmed meaning and understanding of the lyrics:

We find the people of our dreams We find that they're not what they seem I've learned that people come and go I've learned that families break and grow Toy soldiers brave away those tears Toy soldiers hope for better years Today I strike out on my own The dog is dead. We kids have grown.

Other songs hit me in much the same way, with the same weight. 'Wandrin’ Away' speaks to me as someone who’s travelled a bit, while 'Torn To Tattered' has comforted me when I’ve been down more than once. The lyrics are stories, complicated ones, and their meaning still comes out and speaks to me years on.

I seem to always find myself listening to this album around St. Patrick’s day. While the album doesn’t have any particular ‘Irish’ theme, there are subtle influences throughout, especially in ‘The Boxer’ and ‘Mary Mac’ (although Mary Mac is really a Scottish song). The band has been known to play covers of Irish songs at their concerts (including a recent one known as ‘Irish Song’), and amongst their instrumentation, their use of the Tin whistle also helps add in the flavor to a number of songs.

At the end of the day, Echo Echo just works. Balanced between an excellent sound and lyrics, Carbon Leaf’s never quite managed to top the album, for which I’m thankful. Their growing collection of songs is impressive, and they’ve put together some great albums, but none quite feel as consistent and click in quite the same way.

Battle: Los Angeles

There are very few movies that I'll actually fanboy before their release: following the trailers, rumors pictures, soundtrack, etc, but Battle: Los Angeles was one that I've kept my eyes on ever since I first heard about it. It looked and sounded a lot like the type of film that District 9 was: a somewhat different take on an alien invasion, and that style of originality is a good thing in the genre. Battle: Los Angeles doesn't necessarily rise to the level of District 9, but it does know what it is: a movie about Marines shooting at aliens, and when the film stays on target, it really keeps to it, coming out the other side a fun, exciting war film that completely lived up to my expectations.

Reading the reviews of Battle: Los Angeles, I can't help but think that a lot of reviewers missed the point of the movie. I've begun to realize that some films need to be watched as they are intended, and this one isn't designed to be anything more than a science fiction war flick, stripped of context to play out a very small picture within a much larger one. Coming out of a Master's degree in Military History, this approach really appeals to me, trying to make sense of a larger issue from a smaller one.

As an action film, this is a good environment to be in: the Marines get to do what they do best, and we don't have a whole lot of extraneous clutter such as the last minute solution that saves the day. There's some information delivered via television at points (although it's strange that given the attack, networks are still broadcasting, and there's power), and apparently the alien invasion force is after our water. There's also some obligatory sub-plots about Aaron Eckhart's character Staff Sgt. Michael Nantz, and something about his history with the Marines in Iraq. Beyond that, the film is simple: get out to a police station, rescue the civilians, and get out. The film, armed with this goal, hops from street to street as the squad navigates the streets of Los Angeles, shooting their way through when needed.

The action is well done, and director Jonathan Liebesman does a good job taking up the tension a bit, revealing the aliens little by little in quick bursts, which combined with some shaky-camera work, lends itself well to a chaotic environment and situation for the team. While the film doesn't have a whole lot going for it in terms of overall story, it does have some very good points when it comes to leadership and leading through a difficult situation. A key part of this story, while clichéd, is the story between SSgt Nantz and 2nd Lt. William Martinez (Ramon Rodriguez), with an inexperienced officer learning exactly how to lead his soldiers.

The lesson isn't a perfect one: it's ridden with some clichés and overdone dialogue, but it gets the point across over the course of the film: you have a mission, and you have someone to lead, with people to follow. As Nantz notes at a couple of points, he'll follow left or right, but the leader needs to pick a direction. This strikes me as a good lesson in the military field, and I'd be interested to see what the military community feels about this film (aside from the nitpicking on the technical level). The marines in the film are essentially told to go to a location, and to come back. They're not told how to go about their work, it's just expected to be done in a timely fashion. (In this case, before the bombs start falling out of the sky). If there's any central theme to this film, it's this.

I was hoping, distantly, that there would be a bit more to tie in this film to the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, as District 9 did with immigration and Moon did with our energy crisis: that small theme that sits in the back of the film, helping to inform how things go along. That doesn't quite happen with Battle: Los Angeles, as it very well could have, but it's clear that this film is inspired by the experiences that we've had in the Middle East since 2001. There are a number of points where this very well could have been part of that conflict, and I suspect that there were a number of military advisors and veterans to help tweak the look and feel here and there.

But the absence here didn't really hamper the film: indeed, it was nice to see something that was largely unencumbered by a moralistic writer, decrying whether or not war was good or bad. Here, it doesn't matter, as much as the intentions of the invading aliens don’t matter for this picture. They're there, and the characters have to deal with this major problem, with little guidance or instruction. From all appearances, there’s no magic bullet in the form of a computer virus, or that water will make them disintegrate, just lots of regular bullets and explosives to hold off their advance.

What I was most happy about was that the film took a fun concept and took it seriously. One of my main complaints about other alien invasions was that they come off as a joke: aliens land, shoot up some monuments or do something really dumb, and humanity wins the day. Here, we see that there’s an organized military effort attacking the city and planet. Ignoring for a moment the logistics of interstellar travel and landing an invading army on another planet, their approach makes the most sense to me: you want to take a planet, you’ll need a military to do so, and an organized ground force, if you’re going that way, works well. I’m also going with the line of thought that as these are aliens, their logic when it comes to attacking will similarly be somewhat alien.

The aliens are particularly well done. They’re not the usual weird ears or human actor stuffed in a suit: it looks like the designers took a leaf from District 9’s book and decided to make them into something that really felt out of this world: there’s a great (messy!) scene where the soldiers try to find out how to kill one of the invaders, stabbing various organs before finding the sweet spot. The aliens themselves seem to be organized and are particularly brutal, shooting anything that moves and are equipped for their jobs: guns, packs, etc. At one point, it’s outstanding to see them pull one of their wounded comrades away from danger: it’s an approach to an invasion film that I haven’t seen, and it’s great to see someone thinking through some of the environment.

The film’s real faltering point is its reliance on the clichés and poor script throughout the film. The dialogue sounds very much like how I’ve heard Marines talk, and there’s only a couple of people who really get a lot of face time in the film, with a small cast of rotating Marines to fill in where needed. I wish that there was a bit more to some of the guys, but there’s an element of tongue-in-cheek when the real corny parts come through (such as right at the end), and it’s something that I’m willing to forgive the film for.

For all of its flaws, Battle: Los Angeles is a fun film, and it came exactly as expected: aliens vs. marines, with plenty of action, and just enough story to carry it all forward.

Kraken, by China Miéville

Last year, finally picked up my first China Miéville book, The City and The City, and was blown away by the story and world building that set the story in such an interesting location. At the same time, I’d picked up his latest book, Kraken, which had promptly been picked up by my girlfriend, who’s urged me to read it since. Kraken turns out to have been a very different book from Miéville’s prior work, and was one that sucked me in with his elegant prose and fascinating take on an alternate, hidden London.

Kraken opens with the theft of a museum specimen, a Giant Squid, from London’s Natural History Museum, pulling Billy Harrow into a hidden and dangerous world of magic, cults, special police units and evil, all the while he’s chased down by several groups, all with different intentions towards him. Approached by a police force that specializes in the paranormal and cults, Harrow goes on the run, sees his best friend eaten by a creepy pair of characters known as Goss and Stubby, before rescued by Dane, one of the museum’s security guards, and a member of a Kraken cult. And that’s just in the first 50 pages. The story continues onwards, and we dive deeper down the rabbit’s hole into a brilliant, wonderful London that is both vibrant and menacing.

Kraken is a rich, dense read, and finishing it left me wondering what I might have missed as I read through it, and I suspect that it’s one of the novels that I’ll have to reread somewhere down the line to take it all in again. In a very strange way, the book reminded me most of Neil Gaiman’s fantastic novel, American Gods, dealing with some very similar issues, but with a similar environment surrounding the characters throughout the story.

This book is all about faith: faith in wonderfully fractured world, where belief in the unbelievable brings out some interesting things. Throughout the story, the center plot point is the stolen Kraken, sought by a number of people: the Krakenists who want to keep their sacred object safe, or properly destroyed, a magician seeking to hold onto his own immortality and power, with various story lines weaving in and out in a complicated manner. The story lags through the middle, but it’s not until the end that the really interesting stuff happens: magic and faith in this setting are essentially products of people’s actions: understanding the significance of what you’ve done is just as important as what you’re trying to do. It’s difficult to explain without ruining several plot points, but the ending left me rather breathless.

In addition to the dense core story that Miéville has set up, he’s put together a spectacular London that pulls in elements from all types of mythology , the fantastic and even things like Star Trek. Several perspectives follow the action, taking a number of characters through a number of locations throughout the city: hidden streets and pubs, places erased from London’s memory, all the while coming across a series of weirder and more fascinating characters. Frequently, I thought that Miéville just unleashed his imagination on the page, and there’s parts where the book could be slimmed down, straightened out a bit, but I also can’t help but think that that would take out some of the fun in the story and the journey that we’re taken through. Kraken, while it has its flaws, is a fantastic book, in every sense of the word.