remote control

As an English teacher now, and a book blogger of longer standing, I am asked quite often for book recommendations. If someone wants science fiction, I nearly always steer them towards Nnedi Okorafor. Her stories are inventive and deeply interesting, and novella Remote Control is no exception. It is a concise, layered, and wondrous mystery.

 

"She’s the adopted daughter of the Angel of Death. Beware of her. Mind her. Death guards her like one of its own."

The day Fatima forgot her name, Death paid a visit. From hereon in she would be known as Sankofa­­--a name that meant nothing to anyone but her, the only tie to her family and her past.

Her touch is death, and with a glance a town can fall. And she walks--alone, except for her fox companion--searching for the object that came from the sky and gave itself to her when the meteors fell and when she was yet unchanged; searching for answers.

But is there a greater purpose for Sankofa, now that Death is her constant companion?

 

A young girl mysteriously glows with a green, killing light, can stop a bullet, and is widely feared – this is how Remote Control begins. Author Okorafor spends the rest of the story unraveling just how Sankofa became this creature of legend. How can she emit and evade death all at once? What about the uncanny red fox Movenpick who follows her everywhere? Does the ever-present and ominous corporation LifeGen have something to do with her powers? Or the mysterious glowing green that came from the sky when she was small?

 

Remote Control is a masterful, open-ended tale, rich in imagery and allusions, history and the future, natural world and the human-constructed one – and it is also a science fiction puzzle. Sankofa knows little about why and how she came to be who she is, and this guides the storytelling structure. Also unavoidable are tragedy, sorrow, and close encounters with fear and violence – some of the byproducts and antecedents of death. As she wanders Ghana on foot, first in a chase and then in avoidance, Sankofa studies human nature, even as she is held apart from it. Sankofa’s musings are perhaps best represented by this quote, from pages 112-113:

 

“…people were complicated. They wore masks and guises to protect or hide their real selves. They re-invented themselves. They destroyed themselves. They built on themselves.”

 

Okorafor’s tale is not especially kind to humanity, nor to those who find themselves with money and power – it is interested in how we treat those on the margins, and perhaps those who choose to unplug from the digital detritus of modern life. It also feels – in a very distant way – like a riff on the Superman mythos, if the only thing you knew about it was that the mysterious object that emits green light kills him.

 

In all, Remote Control imagines a weird, haunting, and visceral future where perhaps alien contact has mingled with the mythos of the harbinger of death, and a young girl has been caught in the crosshairs.

 

Recommended for: fans of Okorafor’s Binti, those on the lookout for original science fiction, and anyone looking for adult sci-fi and fantasy with YA crossover appeal.

a prayer for the crown-shy

I am happy to report that Becky Chambers’ latest novella in the Monk & Robot series – A Prayer for the Crown-Shy – is just as affirming, emotionally complex, and thought-provoking as its predecessor, A Psalm for the Wild-Built. There’s more musing on the place of humans in community, as well as the essential nature of ecosystems, and the human place in them, but just as much love and belief. It’s a gem.

After touring the rural areas of Panga, Sibling Dex (a Tea Monk of some renown) and Mosscap (a robot sent on a quest to determine what humanity really needs) turn their attention to the villages and cities of the little moon they call home.

They hope to find the answers they seek, while making new friends, learning new concepts, and experiencing the entropic nature of the universe.

Becky Chambers's new series continues to ask: in a world where people have what they want, does having more even matter?

I called the first novella in this series a post-apocalyptic utopia, and I stand by that description. This is the story of two beings (one a tea monk, the other a robot, a remnant of an older, crueler time) wandering a world where humans have figured out their needs, how to meet them, and how to live sustainably within their natural habitat in the meantime. It’s a lovely place to escape into and imagine. Of course, as with any place (even a fictional universe!) where there are humans, there are a few more complexities. Sibling Dex, the tea monk, describes how their society functions without capitalism, and what they see as their individual role in the world – and how they are not fitting into it now. This internal unrest contrasts with visits to various people groups as Dex and Mosscap traverse Panga’s inhabited areas.

 

In this second volume in the series, Chambers spends less time describing small human comforts and wonders. Crown-Shy’s focus is instead more philosophical, as the robot half of the duo asks its essential question (What do humans need?) to the people they meet on the road. When not meeting people, Mosscap is obsessed with new trees, reading, and learning about the variety of ways that humans live in and interact with the world. As befits a creature who has existed only in the wild to this point, Mosscap focuses on mundanities and mysteries that most (including Dex) would bypass, or consider scenery, or leave unknown. The result is a volume that feels deeply rooted in nature, in harmony, and in a very human puzzling about purpose, loneliness, and unpacking our feelings.

 

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy is, quite simply, a joy. I hope for more in the series, but am grateful for these two slim volumes if that is all there is. Chambers has managed to create a feeling of contentment in book form – both titles in the series are lovely and heart-warming reads, especially for these restless times.

 

Recommended for: fans of Martha Wells’ Murderbot series and first-class science fiction and fantasy, and anyone who likes quiet, thoughtful, character-driven reading.

a psalm for the wild-built

One of the most soothing reads I picked up in recent months? Becky Chambers’ novella A Psalm for the Wild-Built, the first in the Monk and Robot series. I almost didn’t read it myself (I bought it to gift to my Dad for Christmas, as he liked the first Murderbot book, and is a big gardener), but the siren song of knowing what a book is about before I gift it was too strong to resist. Plus Tor novellas are notoriously readable, and Psalm was no exception. It’s an affirming, emotional cup of tea, and may be just the balm you need in these chaotic times. 

It's been centuries since the robots of Panga gained self-awareness and laid down their tools; centuries since they wandered, en masse, into the wilderness, never to be seen again; centuries since they faded into myth and urban legend.

One day, the life of a tea monk is upended by the arrival of a robot, there to honor the old promise of checking in. The robot cannot go back until the question of "what do people need?" is answered.

But the answer to that question depends on who you ask, and how.

They're going to need to ask it a lot.

Becky Chambers's new series asks: in a world where people have what they want, does having more matter?

A Psalm for the Wild-Built is the story of Dex, a non-binary devotee of the god of small comforts, who retrains as a tea monk (doesn’t that sound like a lovely vocation?). In doing so, they learn a lot about themselves (and humanity) – but still have a deep yearning to leave behind the expectations and responsibilities of society. They live in a post-apocalyptic utopia on Panga, where humans have mostly figured themselves out and live in harmony with the natural world. However, the echoes of a different era – a machine- and robot-centric era, where humans were NOT kind to the planet or each other, linger on in the margins. When Dex meets the first robot anyone has had contact with in hundreds of years, a different kind of communion begins. 

I hadn’t read Becky Chambers’ work before picking up this novella, but in truth, you don’t need to. It’s the start of a new series and an excellent introduction to her character-driven sci-fi sensibility and subtle emotion-filled writing style. I loved this novella quite a lot (for reasons I’ll get into in just a bit), and afterward I picked up The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, her sci-fi debut from several years ago, and finished it almost in one gulp. Chambers has a talent for writing heart-truths, and this novella is no exception. In Psalm Chambers also plays with and muses on ideas of climate collapse and climate justice, robot/AI intelligence, and the value and definitions of vocation and personhood. 

I don’t want to share too much of what happens in this book, because it IS so short, but just to give you a sense of the vibes: I was reading it, thinking to myself, “this is soothing, I feel like planning a camping trip and preparing a big thermos of tea.” I was enjoying a novel, optimistic world and an interesting new pantheon of gods. Then all of a sudden I was sobbing and I had to put the book DOWN immediately, and even now, writing this at a remove, thinking of the little bits of wonder and raw feeling it evoked, my eyes are wet and my heart is clenching and I’m thinking: “My god, yes, I needed that. I am undone.” 

PHEW. Yeah so it’s an unassuming emotion-bomb ready to go off (and I mean that in the best possible way). Beware, good luck, I think you’ll adore it. 

“It is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.”

Recommended for: fans of quiet sci-fi and fantasy (think: All Systems Red and The House in the Cerulean Sea), anyone who likes their reading with a dose of empathy, and for gardeners, tinkerers, and tea drinkers.

the black god's drums

I’ve been meaning to read P. Djèlí Clark's novella The Black God's Drums for a long time. I’m proud to say I finally finished it (and that the long wait had nothing to do with the book itself, which was fast-paced, satisfying, and a romp and a half!). A couple of years ago I borrowed this novella from the library and racked up a $13 late fee – before returning it unread. *sigh* And then I bought a hardcover copy sometime in the past year… but teaching (and grading!) burned through all of my personal reading time. And THEN I finally bought a digital copy as well – to read whenever. And whenever happened to be over the last few days, sitting with my Kindle in the sunshine at my uncles’ place. It was extremely satisfying to check this one off my to-read list!

Creeper, a scrappy young teen, is done living on the streets of New Orleans. Instead, she wants to soar, and her sights are set on securing passage aboard the smuggler airship Midnight Robber. Her ticket: earning Captain Ann-Marie’s trust using a secret about a kidnapped Haitian scientist and a mysterious weapon he calls the Black God’s Drums.

But Creeper keeps another secret close to heart—Oya, the African orisha of the wind and storms, who speaks inside her head and grants her divine powers. And Oya has her own priorities…

Young orphan Creeper sleeps rough and knows the ins and outs of a steampunk version of New Orleans from her life as a pickpocket. Her dreams are bigger than the streets she loves, though – she wants to get away, to join an airship crew and fly the world. When she stumbles upon valuable information about a weapon of mass destruction called the Black God’s Drums, she thinks that selling it to the right source may be her ticket out of town on a Haitian pirate airship. The goddess Oya, who haunts Creeper’s thoughts with visions, may have a different plan – and so the intrigue and adventure begin.

The Black God’s Drums is primarily young Creeper’s story, but it is firmly moored in an alternate history and place: a steampunk version of New Orleans full of airships and mechanical marvels, where the North and South signed a treaty to end a much longer Civil War and Free New Orleans rebelled and lives in its own bubble. In this version of reality, Creeper is on her own and a master at avoiding the risk and danger of her world, and at the same time trying to escape to live in the skies. She’s dropped into intrigue by accident (is it really an accident or Oya’s will?), and thus follows an adventure that crisscrosses New Orleans and brings her up against sinister enemies.

One of the story’s great strengths is the crazy steampunk and cultural mashup in its pages (and that’s also one of the possible weaknesses, if you can’t untangle the threads). It’s speculative fiction, which you always take a bit on faith, but it imagines a mostly hopeful past: one where Haiti thrived and prospered after its slave uprising and revolution (even at terrible cost), the rest of the Caribbean followed it to freedom, and Free New Orleans is a diverse melting pot full of a Blacks, Creoles, and more. Also there are airships! And unlikely information gatherers, and queer characters, and a rollicking pace that catapult the reader through adventures one after another.

The one thing I wish we got more of in the story is MORE of the story – I’d love to see this become a series like the Murderbot novellas by Martha Wells did. Clark has woven a history and a cultural milieu that are rich with detail, and characters you want to know more about. I think there’s more to Creeper’s story, and I’d love to read it.

In all, The Black God’s Drums is an inventive, electric steampunk short story filled with Haitian airship privateers, the unique flavor of New Orleans, and a young heroine who will steal into your heart.

Recommended for: those looking to read more fiction by Black authors, fans of short stories and YA steampunk/alternate histories (e.g. Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan series), and anyone on the hunt for a fast-paced read.

binti

I am not super conversant in the wider science fiction universe, but I read Tor.com regularly because they 1) have great (free) original short-form SFF content, 2) a lot of it is by diverse authors, and 3) they do a good job of reminding me to read their articles via Twitter. I saw the cover art for Nnedi Okorafor's Binti there when it was first released, and I put it on my to read list straightaway. I mean, LOOK AT THAT ART! It’s so beautiful and haunting and distinctive. I didn’t finish the novella until recently (one of my lovely secret sisters gifted me with the Kindle version, and it was the kick I needed), but guys, I can’t believe I waited to read this little book. It’s A+ feminist sci-fi entertainment.

Her name is Binti, and she is the first of the Himba people ever to be offered a place at Oomza University, the finest institution of higher learning in the galaxy. But to accept the offer will mean giving up her place in her family to travel between the stars among strangers who do not share her ways or respect her customs.

Knowledge comes at a cost, one that Binti is willing to pay, but her journey will not be easy. The world she seeks to enter has long warred with the Meduse, an alien race that has become the stuff of nightmares. Oomza University has wronged the Meduse, and Binti's stellar travel will bring her within their deadly reach.

If Binti hopes to survive the legacy of a war not of her making, she will need both the gifts of her people and the wisdom enshrined within the University, itself - but first she has to make it there, alive.

Binti is a young woman from an insular and mathematically talented desert people. The Himba are known for wearing clay on their skin and in their hair, and they cherish this part of their identity, even as it marks them as different. As the heir to her family’s astrolabe-making legacy, no one expects Binti to leave home – it just isn’t done. But Binti has surprised herself by getting into the most prestigious university in the galaxy, and she longs break taboo, leave, and to meet like-minded fellow students. What Binti cannot know is that her fateful decision to step into the unknown will change her, and the course of history, forever.

This compact story (under 100 pages) packs a punch. The plot isn’t overly complex (how could it be in so few pages? especially with any attention to world-building), and neither are the descriptions of tech or mathematics (no matter that the main character is a math and tech prodigy). However, Binti has one of the best senses of place that I've read in a long while - maybe ever! Okorafor also engages the reader with visceral, immediate and vivid descriptions of her heroine and her standing in her culture, along with her sometimes-dark inner thoughts and feelings.

I’ve made an honest effort recently to note the themes in books I like, rather than just enjoy them (in hopes of refining my book taste, I suppose). What I noticed in Binti: transformation, cross-cultural understanding, racism/othering, isolation/loneliness, and bucking tradition. Okorafor also played with some standard SFF tropes: a school for the gifted in space (on another planet in this case), and reimagining "the chosen one."

While Binti is a quick read, the pace is a bit slow at the very start as the reader settles into the setting and Binti's head (there’s some repetition as she focuses/convinces herself to do something). Then it’s danger, action, and suspense to the very end. 

I loved this book to bits, and I thought it had just enough worldbuilding and character development, but I guess I’m used to over-exposition common in most science fiction and fantasy. Basically, I came away with questions about the world: What is an astrolabe? Why the Khoush are so dominant? Why did Binti’s people have to learn the history of the Meduse, even though it is not their fight? What is going on with the Meduse and how did their contact with the Khoush start? How did math become central to everything Binti's people do? With all of these unanswered questions, you can imagine how excited I was to find that there’s a whole series of Binti novellas in the works. I can’t wait to read more Nnedi Okorafor!

In all, a satisfying sci-fi novella with world class description, a healthy dose of originality, and first person characterization.

Recommended for: fans of character-driven sci-fi, anyone looking for a book with a smart, strong heroine, and fans of Sarah Beth Durst's Vessel. 

gilded ashes

Fairy tale (and myth) retellings are a particular weakness of mine.  The last time I met up with my DC FYA book club, someone joked that if they named any story, I could come up with a young adult or middle grade retelling of it.  I laughed with everyone else, but when they tested the hypothesis with two stories, I snapped right back with several titles of retellings.  I guess I read predictably?  *grin*  Earlier this year I picked up Rosamund Hodge’s debut novel Cruel Beauty, which was a fascinating mash-up of several legends, myths and tales.  Then recently I borrowed a library ebook of Hodge’s Gilded Ashes, a Cinderella retelling/companion novella set in the same world as Cruel Beauty.  It was just as good as (or possibly better than!) Hodge’s first story, which is saying something.

A romantic reimagining of the classic Cinderella fairy tale, Gilded Ashes is a novella by Rosamund Hodge set in the same world as her debut novel, Cruel Beauty.

Maia doesn't see the point of love when it only brings people pain: her dead mother haunts anyone who hurts Maia, and her stepsisters are desperate for their mother's approval, even though she despises them. Meanwhile, Anax, heir to the Duke of Sardis, doesn't believe in love either—not since he discovered that his childhood sweetheart was only using him for his noble title. But when Maia's and Anax's paths cross before the royal ball, they discover that love might not be the curse they once thought. And it might even be the one thing that can save them both.

What if Cinderella was complicit in her own abuse so as not to stir up even darker horrors?  Maia lives a precarious half-life: she serves her stepmother and stepsisters not because she is unloved (though that is true in her stepmother and stepsister’s case), but because she is too much loved by her mother’s ghost.  Maia’s mother made a devil’s bargain with The Gentle Lord before she died, and Maia has been navigating a truly horrible existence ever since.  When the Duke’s son Lord Anax decides to take a wife at an upcoming ball, Maia believes it may be a chance to find a way out of her father’s house.  The trouble is that Lord Anax is a wildcard, and Maia has been well-trained never to act on the longings of her own heart.

Well!  This may be one of the most twisted Cinderella retellings I’ve ever encountered.  The ghost of Maia’s mother is just one of the ‘villains’ of the piece.  All of the antagonists (and there are several) are of the complex, gray-area variety, though that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.  Meanwhile, protagonist Maia is a self-sacrificing liar.  If that didn’t spark your interest, I give up.  Really, though, this is a quite a story.  And even though there are dark elements, I would say that Gilded Ashes is an examination of what love truly is: caring enough to sacrifice yourself, being able to tell someone not only the Truth, but your own truths, and making the kinds of decisions that ensure another’s happiness.

The tone is grim and desperate (rather like Maia’s life), but there’s also an unquenchable hope at the center of it all.  That is the thing that keeps this tale in YA territory (and turns horror into something romantic).  As you can guess from that last sentence, there is a budding relationship that grows in the thorny soil of Maia’s life.  However, I would not call it the central focus.  The main bulk of the story revolves around the effects of individuals’ choices in a world that is built upon the magic of demons. Final verdict? Hodge uses the novella form to tell a deliciously dark fairy tale of Faustian bargains, danger, and love.

Recommended for: fans of fairy tale retellings and young adult fantasy, and Cinderella stories in particular (examples: Lili St. Crow’s Wayfarer and Mercedes Lackey’s Phoenix and Ashes).