Robert J. Sawyer is my favorite science fiction author, hands down. He delivers a kind of science fiction I've always enjoyed - one that breaks past the science in to psychology, sociology or morality, but is still grounded in excellent characters with whom the reader can easily connect.
In WAKE, we meet Caitlin, a young woman with a congenital blindness and a gift for mathematics. Her voice rings true, and when she is given a chance at sight via a new technology, she finds herself capable of "seeing" the internet. At the same time, other events conspire to bring a glimmer of consciousness to the net itself, and the two stories - Caitlin's sight, and the nascent entity's growth - parallel in a marvelously paced story that kept me going.
As the first book in a trilogy, there's ground work being built, and I was definitely left satisfied with the individual novel, but looking forward to where the story will head in the next installment, WATCH.
If you do enjoy listening to books, this one just bumped "Memoirs of a Geisha" from my #1 Listening Experience position. The multiple reading voices really added a performance depth to the reading that took something already great and made it all the more enjoyable. Bravo to the whole cast!
Any joy that might have been found in the knowledge of this audiobook was completely removed by the performance. My husband and I enjoy listening to nonfiction while we take long car rides, and we had a five hour trip to New York State coming up, and nabbed this title. We barely made it an hour before he asked me to pick something else to play, since the dull monotonous performance was actually making him tired at the wheel.
It's unfortunate. The information is interesting, and though the author is perhaps a bit dry and academic in his delivery, it could have been presented much better by someone with a more engaging range of voice. It took a very long time to struggle our way through this one, in tiny bites, and I often found myself drifting away from it, completely disengaged from the uninspiring performance.
I listened to this coming and going from work, but unlike most audiobooks it took me almost four months.
So here's the thing about this book - I did enjoy it. I did. But the pacing didn't particularly lend itself to pulling me forward through the narrative. I would listen to it for a half hour or so, and then decide to listen to some music or a different book for a while. It's not that I didn't want to know what happened, it's that I felt no urgency about it.
Obviously, the audio performance by Tom Hiddleston was lovely - with one very grating exception. The voice he chose to perform the dwarf with was so scratchy and annoying that a lot of dialog with that character would often be the impetus to swap out for music for a while.
The story itself, which involves gypsy magic, revolutionary France, murder, secrets, betrayal, the theatre, and the plight of a young man and woman who might be fated for each other was well woven. I liked the setting, and it was obvious that Gardner did an excellent job with her research.
All in all, I'm glad I read the Red Necklace. I liked where the tale ended enough that I'm not sure I need to keep going with the series, however. I might physically read the second book, rather than listening, however.
I'm a fan of audiobooks and finding more and more titles from Lethe/Bear Bones and Bold Strokes has been a real joy to add some quality audiobooks to my two-plus hours of commute every day.
"Bear Like Me" works on many levels - on the surface, this is a fun and light story of a guy in way over his head: a gay clone twink type who is unjustly fired from his job at a magazine is left twisting in the wind, and his friend convinces him to go undercover into the bear community and write a book about the experience. Hijinks begin from the first confusion over "husbear" and then a second plot wrinkle enters: he has the opportunity to maybe do some sabotage to the magazine that let him go. Juggling identities, lies, sabotage and a romance that is starting with a burly bear makes life complicated, but the biggest struggle might just be realizing that the only thing better than pretending to be a bear might be actually being one.
On that fun mad-cap level alone, the story works. It's actually mildly a period piece as well, and keeping in mind the tale takes place as the internet age is dawning will also make some of the chuckles all the more amusing - I didn't get his absolute confusion about computers for a moment or two, until I realized that.
On a deeper level, though, there's more here. On his quest to investigate the bear identity, the hero also bumps into the same struggles I remember all too well from my brief foray into the bear world when I first came out: the community can be the most supportive and wonderful culture, but just like anywhere else, there are some who take the rules as permission to be exclusive and cruel. Being new (and fake), the hero of the tale gets a double-dose of that double-edged reality, and there were more than a few moments that made me want to reach in and strangle a character or two on behalf of my younger self, even as I shook my head in amusement at the antics of all involved.
"Bear Like Me" ultimately left me smiling, and I can happily recommend it - especially to anyone who didn't fit any of the molds when they first came out.
I liked this. I listened to it over a few days on the to-and-fro work trek. The narrator felt a bit off sometimes, which was a minor issue, but to judge the story itself, it was light and sweet.
When Howard - who is blind - is left abandoned at the side of the road by his boyfriend after a fight, a stranger pulls up and helps him while he waits for the friends he has called to come pick him up. This stranger - Gordy - has an immediate attraction to Howard, and the two of them have a chance to reconnect a short while later. But dating a blind man is a no easy task, Howard knows, and having just come off a relationship with someone very controlling has been hard - Howard values what independence he has managed to create for himself.
If that had been the sole source of stress in the story - these two men navigating the give-and-take issues made all the more difficult with the inclusion of Howard's blindness, then it would likely have fallen a little short. But Love Comes in Darkness goes further, and throws a massive new event directly into the life of Howard, and shakes everything to the core. Being independent is no longer the primary concern for Howard, and everything else might have to go if he's to do the right thing by those he loves.
Well told, and I have realized since that this is actually book two, and that some of the supporting characters were the main pair in book one. I'll be adding it to my queue.
I have to say - before anything else - that the narrator, Sean Crisden, absolutely nailed this one. Every character has a voice, and those voices built upon the characterization that T.J. Klune gave them, and brought them even more to life.
Not that they needed any help. Bear, the Kid, and the cast of characters that surround them (especially Anna and Otter, of course) are so richly designed that they live and breathe for the reader (or, in my case, listener.)
Without giving anything away, the situation is this: At eighteen, Bear is left with guardianship of his younger brother because his mother takes off with her boyfriend. His entire life narrows down to the realization that he needs to take care of his brother - the wonderfully written Kid from the title, who is barely six or so at the time. That his best friend, his best friend's bother (Otter) and his girlfriend Anna are there to help - not that Bear feels he can trust anyone ever again.
This is the crux of the story, that Bear can't open himself up to accept help without mallet to the head, and that trust for him does not come easily.
Also - there's the way he feels about his best friend's older brother - Otter - not that he wants to think about that at all.
T.J. Klune spins a wonderful story here - it's engaging, it's enraging (seriously, Bear is so incredibly infuriating at times, but in a way that makes you keep going), it's sexy, it's emotionally disarming (the Kid is freaking adorable), and - frankly - it's completely engrossing. I was absolutely hooked on this story from step one.
I'm definitely finding more T.J. Klune.
I'm a lover of audiobooks. Even if I were able to physically read on the bus - I can't, it makes me feel ill - there's still something so incredibly wonderful about the spoken word, and the experience of listening to a great story being told. Usually, I do this to make the time pass by on the long trek to and from work, or when I'm doing something tedious like the laundry or dishes. For "The Affair of the Porcelain Dog" I was instead scurrying around, trying to find any excuse to be able to keep listening, and even wearing my ear-buds while I did routine stuff all the way to the moment I had to open the doors for the day.
I listened on my break. I listened on my lunch. I listened in the bath. I even got up early on the day of my closing shift so I'd have the two full hours of time I needed to finish the book before my work shift started.
In short? Jess Faraday's "The Affair of the Porcelain Dog" was the best audiobook experience I've had in years. There are a few sides to that experience.
One, the writing was so completely engaging that I was happily drawn into the narrative from step one. The setting - a Holmes-era tale in London at it's most coal-caked and financially stratified, "The Affair of the Porcelain Dog" is also Holmes-esque in its execution, pulling you into a mystery from the opening that is as steeped in the time and place and culture as it is in the richly drawn characters. The main voice, Ira Adler, is such a charming character even when he's being selfish or spoiled that I was smitten instantly. An orphan and former rent-boy, Ira is living in luxury now at the beck and call - and bed - of Cain Goddard, who despite his genteel appearance is in fact a crime lord making most of his living off the legal opium trade. Ira, no slouch in the street arts of lock picking, pick pocketing, and capable of thieving with the best of them, is tasked by Goddard to recover the titular piece of artwork, which is both ugly and apparently contains a secret that could ruin Goddard, and bring Ira's comfortable new life to an end. Of course, in a mystery as tightly drawn as this one, there are far more players than that - including the wonderfully written Timothy Lazarus, a giving clinic doctor who is after the same object d'art for his own friend - and Goddard's rival. That Lazarus and Adler have a romantic entanglement in the past just adds to the joy in their interactions.
Two, the performance. Oh how Philip Battley narrated the heck out of this book! He took Jess Faraday's amazing story and put such an incredible performance behind his reading. Every accent and every tone just burst with verisimilitude. It kills me that the search on his name over on audible only showed one other audiobook. I sincerely hope there's more from him.
Third - and last - there weren't compromises in the historical setting including gay characters. I rarely read historical gay fiction because so often the gay stuff sort of slides unnoticed among the rest of the tale. Somehow everyone the characters meet are happy and open-minded folks who understand these guys aren't evil (despite religion, law, and everything about the current culture saying they are). That these men are gay is a huge factor to the story, but not in a way that doesn't ring true.
Okay. I'm moving past reviewing and into gushing. Just trust me on this one. Read it or listen to it - I'm totally going to suggest you listen to it if you're at all an audiobook lover - and rejoice in the fact that there's a sequel, Turnbull House, on its way.
There are different things to take into account with an audio experience. The reader has to perform - often I find the biggest issue is a reader who can't do different voices and who tries to do so. It's usually fine if a reader can't really give different accents or sounds to particular voices and they don't attempt it - after all, if the author has done their job, the different voices will come through. But if a reader tries and fails to do a good job at different characters, that can ruin the effect.
This, happily, wasn't at all the case for "Undead Sublet," by Molly Harper.
I like vampire tales as much as the next person, but what I think Molly Harper did here that was so clever was to take the dark angsty side of the vampire and pretty much completely ignore it in favor of something else: vampire taste buds.
Let me explain. The set-up for this story is this: executive chef Tess Maitland - who has had a bit of a meltdown due to a jerk of a boss (also her ex), an impossible work schedule, and no sleep - is on "sabbatical." She comes to Half Moon Hollow and rents a house near where her former Chef and mentor lives, hoping to sleep, eat, rest, and get back into fighting shape to return to the city and reclaim her kitchen, restaurant, and status as one of the few women to make it in the wretchedly competitive world of gourmet cooking. There's a slight problem - in the basement of the house she's renting, there's a vampire. And he's the soon-to-be ex-husband of the woman who rented the place to Tess - which means he has a right to be there, too.
Thus begins a war between the chef and the vampire to see who cam make life (or unlife) the most uncomfortable. Except somewhere during the pranking and the wonderful characters of Half Moon Hollow she meets, Tess starts to realize something: she hasn't felt this good in ages.
Fun, light, and incredibly funny, "Undead Sublet" is a novella set between books in an ongoing series about Half Moon Hollow. I didn't know that when I listened to it, and while there are some throw-away lines that made me think I was missing a reference to a previous story, this was a fully self-contained tale of its own, and I didn't feel like I'd walked into the book without enough information. That's a big compliment to pay about a book that belongs to a series, as it's hard to pull off.
Not only was the writing enjoyable, the reader was great - Sophie Eastlake had a real knack for comedic timing, and the story itself made me laugh out loud multiple times (especially during the pranking, and while inside Tess's head whilst she is cursing up a storm). I'll definitely seek out more from both of them.
Listening to this trilogy has been like immersing myself in a wonderfully developed myth of old Japan. It's fantastic, and if you've never listened to 'Across the Nightingale Floor,' then that is where you need to start.
In the third volume, things are perched on the precipice. Can Takeo take his destiny into his own hands, and use war to bring peace to the lands? Will Kaede, who has become so much more than a helpless young woman, finally take control and escape the paper and silk prison she has become trapped within?
The supporting cast, the land itself, and the sheer detail and lovely prose of these stories just dazzle. Definitely a worthwhile listening experience.
I listened to most of this on our way to Orangeville to put my father's ashes into a cubby-thing (tm), and most of the ride back. The fact that the gay character has to decide what to do with his father's ashes was a bit of an ironic twist to the selection, but otherwise, this was what I'd call a character study novel, in that the plot itself doesn't really go anywhere.
Basically, you follow the lives of four people, Jonathan (the gay fellow), his mother Alison (a New Orleans girl who married a fairly plain fellow in Jon's father), Jonathan's childhood friend and first love, Bobby (who was voice/narrated by Colin Farrel and mrowr! that was a good thing), and his later friend Claire.
Jonathan, Bobby and Claire form an odd romantic triangle where Jon loves both Bobby and Claire together, Bobby desperately wants a sense of 'family' to replace his tragic family history, and Claire is suddenly feeling older and wants a child. They form a family of their own, a unique one, and really, that's all there is to the plot.
It's the characters that make the story interesting. Jonathan's inability to stop looking toward some sort of "maybe someday," future; Bobby, who seems the prince of acquiescence; Claire, who is so unusual at first sight, but fears that she might just be a regular selfish mother after all; and Alison, who really only comes alive after the death of her husband. Alison often feels like an afterthought, but the other three characters spiral around each other.
Cunningham's metaphors are sometimes a bit odd ("cut like an x-ray") and he has a deft touch with the characters and their own points of view - Bobby through Jonathan or Claire's eyes seems such a flat and quietly boring sort, but internally, Bobby is quite the philosopher, for example - and the internal dialogues are very well put together.
But is it enough? I'm not sure. While I liked it well enough, I'm not sure as a character driven story it had enough to the characters. Nothing felt resolved, the ending was quite sudden and jarring, and Claire's denouement seemed almost forced. The only really likeable fellow is Bobby, and even he tends to be somewhat frustrating in his inability to disagree. It's hard to say, really, if my experience with the book makes me want to try more Cunningham or not.
I do think that as an audiobook (I downloaded this from audible.com) it went better than if I'd've read it on my own. The lack of plot or sense of forward motion really would have made it a dry read, and listening to the four voices read their characters was much more enjoyable, I think.
Quite frankly, this was like listening to a long series of "Nature" programmes on the radio, except - amazingly enough - extremely entertaining. It ranged from completely disparate topics such as vulcanology (did you know that Yellowstone Park, all of it, is a huge volcano overdue for a massive blowout?), atoms and molecules (did you know we know there is mass, but not how?), viruses and bacteria (there was once a plague that gave everyone a kind of terminal apathy), and all the way to evolution and back with every sort of stop between.
If you at all enjoy science and nature shows, then this is a book for you. If you find them remotely boring, or flat, then maybe not. This was certainly some of the most fun I've had with science, but in such a scattershot way as to appeal to my "trivia" nature. If the section on cells had gone on much longer, for example, my iPod would have had a bit of a hard time skipping fast enough for my thumb-pressing.
It was fascinating (the places life manages to form and prosper), terrifying (we'd really not notice an extinction level impact heading our way until it was pretty much here), horrifying (upon being asked what he felt now that he'd just shot the last bird in an entire species, one fellow said, "joy"), and a little bit overwhelming (the names, dates, titles, and repetitious use of "we don't know"). At times, the various intrigues of the science community were by far more fascinating than what the scientists were studying themselves (who knew that Darwin liked to electrocute himself? Or that a 300 pound man who stayed in the same nursery wing of his estate and the same nursery bed his entire life - and never left home - wiped out species all over Hawaii - a place he never went?)
Is it "everything"? Well, of course not. But I daresay that my absolute amateur level of most scientific knowledge bases have improved a smidgeon. And really, how can it not be fun to tell children browsing in my store that the old-style diving suit on the cover of the Lemony Snicket book was originally intended to be used fighting fire? If nothing else, you'll get a real sense of just how much life (and I'm using the big-L life here, not just we homo sapiens) is sort of a grand series of really lucky coincidences. And how much we're mucking it up.
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