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How Samuel Delany increases tension in a scene with little action.

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I recently read Samuel R Delany’s Nova, the first of his stories I’ve experienced. He’s not one of the big names in classic sci-fi, but he’s a fantastic writer. Maybe his more literary style put off many genre readers‌—‌which is a shame, because there’s so much in Nova that impresses.

Cover of Samuel R. Delany's 'Nova' (SF Masterworks edition)

For example, there’s a scene about halfway through that develops into a Tarot reading. On the face of it, not much is happening, but there’s an incredible build in tension. In some ways, it’s a pivotal scene, the moment when the characters realise how their fates are entwined in one another and their captain’s mission. Yet there’s no action, besides the turning of cards.

I was intrigued‌—‌how does Delany build tension in such a seemingly passive scene?

The scene starts relaxed. Tyy (the character doing the reading) is initially using the cards for her own enjoyment. When Lorq (the captain) talks to her about the cards, it feels like a simple, friendly conversation. Katin joins in, spouting information about the cards as if he’s some kind of expert. Another character, Sebastian, sits quietly on the fringes.

And then there’s the Mouse. Despite coming from a social class that uses and believes in the Tarot (as Katin is quick to point out), the Mouse is sceptical.

This is important. Tyy seems to believe in the cards through something like faith, Lorq could be going along with it simply to keep his crew on-side. Katin approaches the whole area with logic and study. And the Mouse doesn’t believe.

Straight away, Delany’s set up uncertainty here. As readers, we’re unsure if there is anything believable or even important in the Tarot reading Tyy gives the captain. Should he trust her impressions, or disregard it? The cards are open to interpretation, which increases the uncertainty. As the reading progresses, Katin tries to show off his knowledge, but is often put in his place by Tyy, who offers alternative meanings. Who is right?

The cards are initially drawn slowly, with much talking (arguing?) between each one. But the pace increases‌—‌and this builds the tension. Any talking is in fragmented sentences now. Even Katin isn’t as verbose as we’re used to. He’s cut off with a look from the others:

“The Tower reversed!” Katin whispered. “Uh-oh. I know what—” and stopped because Tyy and Sebastian looked.

With earlier cards, Delaney gave a description of the images they showed. But as the pace increases, the description disappears. The prose itself becomes sparse.

“Again choose.”
Lorq chose.
“The King of Swords. Here it place.”
The King went to the left of the cross.
“And once more.”
Lorq drew his ninth card.
“The Three of Wands reversed.”
Which went below the King.

Notice how matter-of-fact this is. Also notice how (almost) every sentence is its own paragraph. Gone are the flowing sentences and long paragraphs. This is sharp and punchy, urging us on.
Then we get this exchange:

“Do you see Prince in there?” Lorq asked. “Do you seem me, and the sun I’m after?”
“You I see; and Prince. A woman also, somehow related to Prince, a dark woman—”
“Black hair, but blue eyes?” Lorq said. “Prince’s eyes are blue.”

Notice how Lorq is putting words into Tyy’s mouth. Lorq wants (needs?) this reading to be true. There’s a desperation about his questions that feels out of character, hinting at an urgency beneath his calm exterior.

And then there’s the Mouse’s reactions. Initially, it feels like he’s trying to ignore the whole thing, seeing it as superstitious nonsense. But that changes. Take this exchange, for example [the first speaker is Tyy]:

“The cards mostly swords and pentacles are. Much money I see. Also much struggle about and around it there is.”
“With seven tons of Illyrion?” the Mouse mumbled. “You don’t have to read cards to see—”
“Shhh…” from Katin.

The Mouse is being drawn in. And notice how Katin cuts him off. Interrupted sentences help give a sense of urgency and pace. The Mouse might not place any importance in the cards, but others do‌—‌and Delany uses that to pull the reader along. And near the end of the scene, he gives us this:

“That with material increase you are concerned, this card reveals. But the Page of Swords you crosses.”
“That’s Prince?” [this is Lorq talking.]
Tyy shook her head. “A younger person it is. Someone already close to you now it is. Someone you know. A dark, very young man perhaps—”
Katin was first to look at the Mouse.
“—who somehow between you and your flaming sun will come.”
Now Lorq looked up over his shoulder.
“Hey, now. Look…” The Mouse frowned at the others. “What are you going to do? Fire me at the first stopover because of some stupid cards? You think I want to cross you up?”
“Even if he you fired,” Tyy said, glancing up, “it would nothing change.”
The captain slapped the Mouse’s hip. “Don’t mind it, Mouse.”
“If you don’t believe in them, Captain, why waste your time listening to…?” and stopped because Tyy had replaced the cards.

If the reading meant nothing, the Mouse would’ve dismissed Katin’s accusation offhand. But it gets to him. He struggles to put his indignation into words. Then he turns to his captain for support. Does he get that support, or is Lorq only pacifying him? It’s hard to say.

But there’s tension within the crew now. Even for the sceptic, this Tarot reading has changed things. Notice that the Mouse stops talking when Tyy returns to the cards. The Mouse can’t ignore them now. Even though he doesn’t believe it of himself, could he betray the captain?

The scene has gone from friendly banter to something far more threatening. Delany brought this about through subtle changes in his characters, and backs this up with the way he moulds his words. He shortens sentences, and cuts description.

It’s definitely made me want to check out more of Delany’s writing.

Why is dialogue and inter-character tension so important? A look at Andy Weir’s ‘Project Hail Mary’

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[SPOLIER ALERT: The following might give spoilers to Project Hail Mary.]

Andy Weir made his name on the survival story The Martian. That book was impressive for a number of reasons, not least how Weir holds the reader’s attention when the majority of the time is spent with a single character.

Good stories need tension and conflict. They also need believable, interesting characters. Even in stories with external tension, much of the conflict will be inter-personal. Characters will argue. They’ll say one thing but mean another.

It’s tough to get this kind of tension with an inner monologue, so it’s no surprise that dialogue drives many stories. This is especially true with stories on the screen, despite film and TV being very visual media. A script will be predominantly dialogue.

So coming up with a riveting story when there is no dialogue is very hard. Weir pulled it off in The Martian. For his next book, Artemis, he had a cast of characters interacting, but in his latest book, Project Hail Mary, he’s returned to the lone character struggling to cope with a difficult situation.

So how does Weir keep our interest in this new book? How does he stop the challenges becoming introspective and dull?

First off is the premise. The character/narrator in Project Hail Mary is suffering from amnesia. He emerges from a coma to find himself aboard a spacecraft far from home, his two crewmates dead. He can’t remember their names. He can’t even remember his own name.

Then there’s the narrator’s voice. The action isn’t a simple description of what happens, but is filtered through the character’s personality. Through his struggles (and his internal monologue) we get to know him as he finds out who he is.

His memories return, and Weir gives us these as flashbacks. In these flashbacks we get other characters, and we also get some of that much-needed interaction. The flashbacks provide a welcome respite from the solo scenes.

[Incidentally, Weir’s use of tense is worth nothing here. The flashbacks are all written in past tense, while the space scenes are written in present tense. This could’ve been annoying, but the main character’s voice carries through, and the change of tense almost becomes invisible.]

Still, much of the time is spent alone with the main character (Ryland Grace). While the puzzles he’s forced to solve are interesting on an intellectual level, for me the book started to flag. Watching him solve problem after problem felt too distant. I started looking forward to the flashback scenes because I needed that interaction and dialogue.

And the [spoiler alert] Grace comes across an alien.

At this point, for me, the book really picked up. There’s another entity in the story now, clearly intelligent, and Grace starts to communicate with it. While the intellectual problems remain (and are compounded now, in figuring out how to communicate and then work with a very different being), there’s more interplay. Grace and Rocky (the alien) develop a means to communicate, and start to work together. They develop a rapport, start to anticipate one another. They bicker, and they work together. Now, instead of Grace talking through problems to himself, there’s a dialogue. They bounce ideas back and forth.

They’re both trying to save their respective home planets, but they’re also trying to save each other.

This is worth considering in a little more detail.

We enjoy stories with high stakes, and there’s little that tops saving the whole of humanity. But high stakes like this, while exciting, are so far outside our personal experiences that it’s hard to relate. And if we can’t relate to the problems the character(s) face, we’re outsiders, passive observers. We don’t feel connected.

To help readers connect, there has to be something more personal. This is why so many high-stakes stories also involve the hero saving a loved one. Bond has to save the day, but he also has to save the girl.

Grace, in Project Hail Mary, has little attachment emotionally to anyone back on earth. Yes, he goes on about his kids (the students he teaches), but that’s as much a justification for his existence as a personal attachment to any of them. This detachment might make him suited to the mission, but it doesn’t make him relatable.

But as he and Rocky grow closer, he finds that connection. This isn’t a romance/love story‌—‌it’s more a buddy thing‌—‌but it gives Grace (and the story) an emotional edge that we, the reader, can relate to.
And this development is shown in the interplay between characters‌—‌in the dialogue, both spoken and non-spoken.

This struck home for me when, toward the end, Grace and Rocky go their separate ways. We return to the internal stuff. I found myself alternately trudging through these pages and rushing through them, wanting‌—‌needing?‌—‌to reach a point where Grace was with others, either human or alien.

The ending highlighted this even more. Without spoiling too much, the book ends with Grace finding contentment in others. It’s a decent closing to the book. We might not be able to relate to Grace saving humanity, but we can relate to him coming through his ordeal a changed man.

This book showed me how important inter-personal conflict is in stories. It also highlighted how dialogue can help engage readers, and how tiring description and internal monologues can be, no matter how well-written the character voice.

And on a final note, I love how Weir constantly pushed himself with his books. He could have so easily written a different version of The Martian (same ideas, different planet or something.) But he didn’t. He followed it with a thriller (Artemis, which I enjoyed a lot). And although Project Hail Mary starts with a similar feel to The Martian, it is a very different book. I look forward to the next book Weir puts out. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m sure it will be well worth reading.

Information without info-dumps in Craig A Hart’s short story ‘Loose Ends’

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I’ve read enough free books that I always go into them with low expectations. That way I’m not so disappointed by poor storytelling and writing, and anything half-decent is a bonus. So it’s a pleasant surprise when a freebie makes me sit up and take notice.

This happened recently, with the short story Loose Ends by Craig A. Hart. Not so much for the story itself (which was an enjoyable way to spend half an hour), but for the quality of the writing. One of the things that stood out was how Hart feeds the reader information.

cover image of Loose Ends by Craig A Hart

The story is a noir thriller, with a typical wisecracking protagonist. This is set up perfectly in the opening line:

Nothing ruins the benefit of a good night’s sleep like being awakened by the muzzle of a pistol being jammed into one’s ear.

There’s no panic in this phrase, even though such a situation would be terrifying for most people. So the narrator‌—‌the man with the gun to his head‌—‌is either used to being in scrapes like this or he’s calm under pressure. Or both.

Already, we’re intrigued, and want to read on.

The narrator has been woken up, and it’s only natural that he’s a little disorientated. His thoughts start to wander‌—‌specifically to his ‘lady friend’, who he imagines being

thrust into the role of a modern day Sisera, playing the part of Jael by hammering a nail through my temple.

I’ve no idea who Sisera and Jael are, but I assume they’re characters from old stories, possibly biblical or mythological. And this tells me something about the man in the bed‌—‌he’s well-read. And, again, the way he’s not focusing on the gun at his head says he’s still calm.

But he’s a detective, so he has an analytical nature. Hart reinforces that in a quick summary.

I was lying in my own bed, in my own hotel room on Key West, and a gun was pressed to my ear.

It’s blunt, a stark reminder of the situation. It also drops clues about the setting‌—‌we’re in the man’s hotel room in Key West. His hotel room, so this isn’t a ‘wake up in a stranger’s bed after a wild night’ situation. He hasn’t mentioned anyone else, so we can assume he’s alone‌—‌apart from the person holding the gun.

We’re still missing a lot of information, though. Who is this man? We need to know more, and we get that in the next few lines.

“Not a move, Wolfe,” a deep voice growled.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, quite truthfully.
“You expecting visitors?”
“Yeah. King Jabin’s army. You’d better get out while you have the chance.”
“What the hell you talking about?”
“I take it you’re not a scholar of ancient texts.”

So, we have a name now. We also know that this isn’t a random hit‌—‌the gun-man is targeting Wolfe specifically.

We also get another reminder of Wolfe’s intelligence, with the reference to King Jabin’s army (again, not something I’m familiar with). But we also see more of his character. It’s a stressful situation, but he’s calm enough that he’s wise-cracking. This might be a trope of noir thrillers, but it’s a fun one, and it’s something we expect in a story like this.

Hart’s given us so much information here, without forcing it down our throats, and we’re not even off the first page. He’s also set up an intriguing situation. We’re hooked.

A good thriller won’t give us everything straight away, of course‌—‌there has to be mystery and intrigue. But we’re still missing information that will help ground us. For instance, when is this story set? We might assume it’s mid-twentieth-century simply because that’s the golden age of noir, but we can’t be sure. That is, until Hart again drops a beautifully placed clue in dialogue.

“I’m just joshing you,” I said. “Trying to lighten the mood.”
“Keep your day job,” the little man growled in his paradoxically deep voice. “You’re no Jack Benny.”

The only thing I know off the top of my head about Jack Benny is that he was an entertainer or comedian around the mid-twentieth-century. It’s unlikely that the gun-man would reference someone who wasn’t contemporary to the story’s settings, so our original assumption of time seems to be correct.

But there’s more in this little exchange. The gun-man’s reference of another person mirrors Wolfe’s mention of King Jabin, but also highlights their differences‌—‌one contemporary and popular, the other older and more esoteric. It also hints at cracks in the gun-man’s confidence‌—‌he’s trying to beat Wolfe’s wise-cracks, but it doesn’t quite work. Even though he’s the one with the gun, it already feels like Wolfe is in control of the situation.

It’s a wonderful demonstration of how the craft of writing is as important as story itself. It’s a fantastic lesson in how to give information without resorting to info-dumps. It shows how phrases can do double-duty (providing information and giving insight into character while moving the story forward.)

And it’s definitely encouraged me to read more of Hart’s work.

It’s worth reading these freebies. Every so often, you come across a gem.

Changing my approach to writing a series

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I’ve recently finished reading Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy, and one of the things that impressed me was how, over three separate books, the story changes. The second and third books don’t only move the story on, but also peel back multiple layers from what is already known, leading the reader to continually reassess what they already know. On finishing Acceptance (book 2), I had a strong urge to start the series again, to see how much of the ‘truth’ was already there.

The writer part of me can’t help wondering how VanderMeer wrote these books. Did he have the whole trilogy mapped out, or did the layers of the story reveal themselves as he worked on each book? Did he start Annihilation (book 1) with the idea of writing a single book and maybe seeing how things went after that, or was it a complete trilogy in his mind from the outset?

I’m thinking a lot about series at the moment as I’m currently working on the final three books in a nine-book series.

Normally, I work on books sequentially, only starting a book when the previous one is (almost) complete. I’ll have ideas for the whole series, and as I write one book I’ll be noting more detailed ideas for subsequent ones, but plans don’t always pan out‌—‌problems will become apparent as I write, or characters will do and say things that take the story in unexpected ways. While it’s possible to change a book in the process of writing it, changing previous books to fit in with these new developments is far more awkward.

I’m trying something different with this trilogy. The books need to work as stories on their own, but also be a satisfying close to the whole series story. I need to close all (or most) of the loops already opened, answering hanging question. But I also need to ensure that everything that happens in the concluding scenes has been adequately set up.

So I’m working on these new books simultaneously. I planned then all, and I’ve just had a very intense few months writing the first drafts for all three (385k words, well over 1000 pages). And already, I’ve stumbled on issues that I can now correct.

An example‌—‌I found a solution to a particular problem in the final act of the last book, but it relied on a character using a specific skill. This was something that fitted the character, but not something I’d mentioned in other books. If I used this skill with no set-up, it would feel like a deus-ex-machina, a ‘get out of jail free’ card. But now, I can seed this skill earlier, so its use at the end doesn’t come out of the blue.

Another example‌—‌there was a whole sequence of scenes I wrote in the third book that, on reflection, added too much confusion in that book, and were far more suited to being included in the book before. Not a problem‌—‌drag those scenes into the second book’s file, and insert them wherever appropriate.

Of course, there are problems with this way of working. If I’d concentrated on the first book, it would probably be getting close to completion by now, ready for release by the end of the year. But I won’t be able to release any of these books until well into 2021.

There’s compromise in everything, though, and on balance this new method seems to be working better for me‌—‌I’m crafting better stories, both individually and as a series, which is my primary concern here. It’s allowing me to more fully immerse myself in the overall story too. In fact, I fully intend to work in this way with the next series I start.

Writing’s never static‌—‌there’s always more to learn, different strategies and tactics to explore‌—‌so I’m sure my process will change again.

When is it right to give up on a book?

/ T W Iain / 1 Comment

There are many reasons to put aside a book, either for the time being or permanently. Maybe the style is grating, or there are too many typos and grammatical errors. Possibly you no longer care what happens to the characters, either because they feel artificial or you have no empathy with them. Maybe the story is filled with cliches, or the plot is too complicated to follow, or things are moving too slowly. Maybe the writing is either too simplistic or too dense.

Some people give a book a couple of pages to prove itself, and others carry on to the end regardless. Most people are probably somewhere in between these two, but for myself I tend to persevere, although I have stopped reading books on occasions.

FifthDoll_CharlieNHolmbergI was tempted to put aside a book recently. That book was The Fifth Doll, by Charlie N Holmberg, and I struggled through the first few chapters. There was nothing wrong with the writing, but the story didn’t feel like anything was happening. There were hints that something might be bubbling under the surface, but nothing seemed to develop, and I found myself losing interest fast.

I told myself that the book wasn’t that long (about 250 pages), and wouldn’t take too much time to get through, so I continued.

And, slowly, things started to happen‌—‌those bubbles of possibilities rose to the surface and started to pop. The story became more intriguing, and by the time I was half-way through the book, I was eager to continue reading, to discover how these creepy events played out.

By the time I’d finished the book (I didn’t feel the ending worked too well, but I very much enjoyed the middle build), I realised that it would have been difficult to start this book in a more immediate manner. We needed to become immersed in the normal world so that we understood how the subtle disruptions disturbed the main character so much. This wasn’t a jump-scare horror, but one that needed the slow build. If we’d been introduced to something unsettling too early, the intensity of the developing story would have been diluted.

Did this require perseverance to get through those first few chapters? Yes‌—‌but it then rewarded that perseverance. In a sea of ‘instant attention’ media, where the aim is to hook the reader/viewer as soon as possible, this book stood out in how it didn’t pander to ‘instant gratification’, but instead gave the story the time it needed.

This isn’t always the case, of course‌—‌some books fail to grab me all the way through, or even grow worse as they progress‌—‌but the times when I’m pleasantly surprised make up for the time wasted on stories that I don’t enjoy.

This applies to writing, too. Stories rarely work perfectly in the first draft, and it’s easy to become despondent during this stage of writing, and to believe that a particular story is ‘wrong’ or that time would be better spent working on something ‘better’. It’s easier to see all the glaring faults and miss the potential for something that works.

pen-3301338_640It’s natural to compare that first draft to great books we’ve read, but it’ll always fall short. We need to remember that all those wonderful books started off as messy first drafts, and sometimes the writer struggled for years to craft their story. Often, these great books were written by people with years of experience under their belt, too, with plenty of abandoned projects sitting in desk drawers or on hard drives.

I’ve been working on a story since the start of the year (although I’ve been planning it on and off since the middle of 2018), witht he intention of publishing around June, but that hasn’t happened. The whole process had been a struggle. I’ve written a number of drafts that simply didn’t work, and there have been times I’ve considered abandoning it entirely. At one point I took a break, wrote the first draft of something else entirely, then returned to this awkward project with a fresh mind.

But perseverance has paid off. At the time of writing this, I’m deep in the process of editing a working first draft, and can see how the book will turn out. The story’s better now because I’ve spent so much time on it, and because I’ve been able to try different ideas. Those ‘failed’ first drafts have all built toward the final book, which should be out by the end of the year.

My time might have been better spent abandoning that project (or putting it on long-term hold) and going with something new and exciting, just as giving up on reading a book might give hours more reading time for a great book. But perseverance is important‌—‌it’s something that’s too easy to ignore when so much entertainment is instant, when we’re tempted to become passive consumers rather than active participants in a book or a story. We unrealistically expect writing to be easy, forgetting that the only way to improve in something is to spend time and effort.

Of course, blindly continuing on the wrong path is just as bad as changing path too early. So when is it right to give up on a book?

Unfortunately, there’s no easy answer to that‌—‌but as with so much in life, experience counts for a great deal. The more we read (and write), and the more we develop our perseverance, the better able we are to judge how to best spend our limited time.

Holiday Reading

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Just a short one this week, due to being on holiday recently. A week in the sun, lounging about by a pool‌—‌ideal reading time. Some of what I read wasn’t too impressive, but I thought I’d let you know about the best three.

GreatPack_ChrisFoxThe Great Pack‌—‌Chris Fox

In self-publishing circles, Chris Fox is known for his openness in talking about what he’s doing, as well as his data-driven approach to writing. He produced a book on how to write 5000 words per hour (through planning, then using dictation software), detailed his ‘write to market’ strategy (basically, looking at what kinds of books are popular, and writing to please the audience), and is currently doing a ‘trilogy in thirty days’ thing.

I’ve read a lot of his books, and while his Space Opera stuff is enjoyable (that’s the ‘written to market’ stuff), I much prefer his first Deathless series. Somehow, they combine vampires, werewolves, zombies, sci-fi and Egyptian mythology without being disjointed. They’re fast, fun and inventive.

It seems that Fox likes these books, too, because he’s now brought out the fourth in the series, The Great Pack. It takes off where the original three ended, but includes a ‘previously’ section that is helpful on getting up to speed.

And then we’re off. The book is faster than the others, and without the ‘previously’ section I’d have been lost. It twists Fox’s ideas even further, and I really enjoyed it.

Thankfully, he has toned down the action scenes a fraction (if I have one complaint about the previous books, it’s that the fight scenes started to sound like stage directions, and with practically immortal beings, who can survive limbs being ripped off and so on, they soon became pretty ridiculous).

The book almost moves too fast for its own good, though. I noticed this in Fox’s Void Wraith space opera books‌—‌description and emotion are pushed way down, and plot takes over. Personally, I’d prefer something that eases up on occasions (and it’s not like The Great Pack is a short book).

But that’s a minor point. The story’s fun, and while it’s not quite as good at the previous Deathless books, it’s a good read. If you like the others, you’ll enjoy The Great Pack. And if you haven’t read the series so far, check out the first one, Vampires Don’t Sparkle, and see what you think.

Quiet_SusanCainQuiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can’t Stop Talking‌—‌Susan Cain

I first heard of this book through J Thorn’s Intronaut podcast, where he talks about being an introvert and how that has played out in his life. Quiet appeared as a Kindle Daily Deal recently, so I snapped it up. The more I read and hear about introversion, the more things in my own life make sense. I don’t know if I’m a ‘proper’ introvert (and there are tests to determine this), but I’m definitely towards that end of the introvert-extrovert spectrum.

As the title suggests, it’s about introversion, which is far more than just ‘being shy’ or ‘being quiet’. Cain’s spent years researching for this book, and has interviewed many people around the world, both introverts and extroverts (and everyone is in one of these camps to some degree). But she can also write, and the book reads like an exploration rather than a dry, academic tone.

There are some surprising facts in this book. Introversion is linked not only to societal pressures, but also to genetics. It is easy to see how western culture seems to favour the extrovert, but introverts, in certain circumstances, make more effective leaders. In the financial chaos over recent years, the traders who have come out on top tend to be more introverted in nature.

But the book also explores how to cope with introversion, and how to fake being an extrovert. There is a whole section on raising introverted children in ways that will help them cope with life. And there are also sections on different cultures, especially how eastern societies tend to favour introversion‌—‌think about how somewhere like Japan holds respect in high regard, whereas America is all about making oneself bigger and better in order to get ahead. There are interviews with eastern students studying at western colleges, and the struggles they face.

So, a very interesting book, and well written. As something thought-provoking, it was a great contrast to the rest of my lighter holiday reading. If you’re at all interested in how people think and function, it’s well worth a look.

SongOfTheSpaceSiren_BarryJHutchinsonSong Of The Space Siren‌—‌Barry J Hutchinson

This is the fourth Space Team book, and from what I understand, there are two more to come before the end of the year. Hutchinson seems to bring one out every couple of months, and I recently discovered that there is very little editing involved in his writing process, which makes the quality of these books even more impressive.

Comedy is hard to do well. Pratchett managed it fantastically with his Discworld books. Douglas Adams was great, but the comedy and the bizarre ideas took over, pushing the story to second place. Hutchinson avoids this problem, and he describes his books as space adventure stories with humour, rather than comedy books. The humour comes from the character interactions. It helps, of course, that his main character tends to react to stressful situations by making fun of them.

After reading the first book, I downloaded the rest, but I did wonder if Hutchinson could keep up the high standards of the original Space Team. So far, I’ve been impressed, and I think that rounding the series off at six books will keep things from getting too stretched. As it is, there were a few things in Song Of The Space Siren that didn’t quite work for me (to avoid spoilers, I won’t say what they are), and the growing relationship between a couple of the characters didn’t quite ring true. But these are minor points. The book is still great fun, and I’d recommend it (and the whole series) to anyone who is looking for a space opera adventure with a good dose of humour. I’m already looking forward to early June, when book five comes out.

A few book recommendations

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There are so many good books out there. I’m reading more now than I ever was, and my to-be-read pile keeps on growing. Loads of these books are by new authors, too‌—‌people who are publishing independently, without the backing of big-name publishers, and many of them deserve far more recognition. Every time I finish a great book, I tell myself I should review it. It’s a way of spreading the word, and of doing what I can to help these fantastic authors.

Problem is, by that time I’m already onto the next book. And when I turn on my computer, I’m distracted (if that’s the right word) by stories I’m working on, or finding things to write about on this site. Somehow, I never get around to these reviews.

But I intend to. And, as a start, I’m going to let you know about books that have impressed me. Every couple of months, I’ll pick a few great reads and write about them.
So here goes.

spaceteam_barryjhutchinsonSpace Team (Barry J Hutchinson)

Comedy books are hard to pull off. It’s tempting to simply run from one joke to the next, leaving the plot to fend for itself. Yes, Douglas Adams got away with this in his earlier stuff, but his writing could carry it. Other authors who use comedy, like Terry Pratchett, work just as hard (harder?) on the things that make a story great‌—‌plot and characters. The comedy comes out of the situations and how the characters react.

Barry J Hutchinson does this with Space Team. It tells the story of Cal, a wise-cracking petty criminal who is imprisoned in a cell with a cannibal. And things get worse when he’s abducted by aliens and forced to join a gang of reprobates on a mission to save the galaxy. And, of course, things don’t run smoothly.

It could have been a mediocre story, but there are enough turns to keep things interesting, as well as a feeling that things are not quite what they seem. The start promises intrigue, and it is clear that there is more to this simple mission than meets the eye. See, Hutchinson has a plot that could work for a serious book. The humour just adds an extra layer.

The fact that he has a main character who reverts to insults and comedy as a defence mechanism helps. So too does the way Hutchinson doesn’t over-explain things. Just like Pratchett, much of the comedy lies in what isn’t on the page. He also uses running gags, but again, by putting them in the mouth of a character who is trying to wind others up, they don’t become annoying.

I really enjoyed this book, and bought the next two in the series as soon as I’d finished it. I hope they carry on the same high standards.

Mr Ruins (Michael John Grist)mrruins_michaeljohngrist

I’ll start by saying that this book isn’t for everyone. Looking at reviews on Amazon, a couple mention that it is confusing, and I can see this. From the very first page, we’re thrust into an incredibly strange world, where the main character goes diving in the minds of others, and little is explained outright (in fact, much is left unexplained throughout the book). The main character (Ritry Goligh) is being chased, or something, but then there is a secondary story, with a group of marines (possibly) battling across this world that feels like something out of Lewis Carroll, only with deadlier intentions. Who these marines actually are, and how they connect to Ritry’s story, is left hanging for much of the book.

But there are hints, and I think I picked up on these fairly quickly. And the strange terms that are thrown in with no explanation, such as ‘lag’‌—‌it is possible to understand them in context. Besides, I’d far rather read a book like this than one that slows down with paragraphs of exposition every few pages. The fact that there is no explanation shows how confident Grist is in his writing, and because of this, as a reader I trust him. I might not quite get what’s happening, but I’ll follow, because I trust he’ll deliver in the end.

Another facet of this book that many will find off-putting is the tense‌—‌it’s written in first person present (so we have things like ‘I walk into the room’ rather than ‘I walked into the room’). That did jar with me initially, but I soon grew accustomed to it, and I can see how it works in the book’s favour. It makes things seem both more intimate and more distant (and I’ve no idea how Michael John Grist pulls this off), which suits the character perfectly. Add the lack of explanations, and it does feel like you’re in Ritry’s head (or maybe someone else’s).

Mr Ruins himself is a shadowy character, and at the end I was a little disappointed‌—‌I felt he wasn’t developed as well as he could have been. And I’m still not sure I totally understand what happened to him (even after reading the second book‌—‌hopefully the final part of the trilogy will help me there). But that’s only a small negative. With this book I enjoyed the ride (even if, like a decent roller coaster, it sometimes felt like I couldn’t follow what was happening), and as with Space Team, I bought the rest of the trilogy immediately I’d finished it.

So, not for everyone, but if you’re looking for a mind-bender, and are prepared to try something difference, check it out.

shellcollector_hughhoweyThe Shell Collector (Hugh Howey)

I’ve come to Hugh Howey a bit late. I read Beacon 23 last year, but I still haven’t got round to reading Wool. I really should, though.

Judging from reviews, this book is different to the rest of Howey’s work. That’s mainly down to it being a romance. And before you switch off, let me say that this isn’t a genre I’m familiar with, or one that particularly appeals. I’ve read a few, and I’ve been unimpressed.

But The Shell Collector is different.

To start with, the prologue is one of the best pieces of writing I have read in a long time. It would stand up as a short story on its own, and I was almost tempted to stop when I reached the end, as I couldn’t imagine how Howey could top it. There is so much emotion and back-story conveyed in a short time, and it’s a fine indication of how good a writer he is.

But I carried on, and the book became intriguing. I didn’t know I was reading a romance, because the build-up to the relationship is slow, and evolves around a mystery, as journalist Maya Walsh gets an invitation to interview Ness Wilde, one of those responsible for the destruction of the oceans (at least, as she sees it). The story’s set in the near future, and shows the effects of environmental change without resorting to ‘end of the world’ catastrophes, and without beating us over the head with ‘look after the planet’ stuff. Instead, the world is what it is, and Maya (and the other characters) just have to cope with it. It’s like a real-world dystopia, if that makes sense.

The characters are very believable, as are their interactions. And the mystery element really keeps things moving, as Maya finds out more about the real Ness Wilde (and his grandfather). I don’t know if I totally like either character, but they are interesting and real enough that I wanted to find out more, especially about Ness’ secret.

And this was one let-down in the book. When this secret is finally revealed at the end, it felt rushed. Maybe Howey thought that giving it more time would have impacted on the romance, or maybe it was never supposed to be the driving force of the book. I don’t know. But I would have preferred a little more meat to the mystery side of the story.

But it’s still a very good book, written by someone who definitely deserves the success he’s enjoyed since Wool got so much interest. Where Beacon 23 hides its seriousness behind a playful exterior, The Shell Collector is earnest throughout. It shows how Howey can change his writing to suit the story he’s telling. It’s a fine example of character-driven story. I’ll definitely be reading more of his books.

So, three books that have impressed me over the last month or so. I know they won’t appeal to everyone (a comedy, a book that seems to purposely make reading difficult, and a romance), but the writing itself is great in all of them, and I’d recommend all three.

And now I’ve got more books to read. Some promise to be cracking stories, others are things I’m not sure about but I’ll give them a go anyway. Some will leave me unimpressed. But others will blow me away.

I’ll let you know which ones do that for me in a couple of months.

If I Wanted Facts, I’d Read A Textbook

/ T W Iain / Leave a comment

I recently bought a collection called Star Heroes: 9 Novels of Space Exploration, Aliens, and Adventure‌—‌9 novels for a ridiculously low price. As with anything that seems like too good a deal, I was initially dubious of the quality, but so far I have been pleasantly surprised.

starnomad_lindsayburokerThe first novel in the collection is Star Nomad, a sci-fi adventure by Lindsay Buroker, and it is a very enjoyable read‌—‌lots of action, a fast-moving story, and an interesting cast of characters. I’ve already bought the next book in the series.

When I’d finished it, I popped onto Amazon and read some of the reviews. The vast majority were positive, but, as with any book, there were a few one-stars. Although I personally didn’t agree with these, one of the complaints against the book got me thinking. A couple of reviewers took Buroker to task over the weak science in the book, with one especially complaining about her apparent lack of understanding of how craft would move in space.

That comment made me think of another book I read recently, Neal Stephenson’s Seveneves‌—‌800 pages, with about half of them explaining the science behind what is happening. In this book, manoeuvring in space is a precise, drawn-out procedure that can take hours, days, or even longer. Everything moves at a slow pace, because that is more scientifically accurate.

I enjoyed that book, and it was clear that Stephenson had done a great deal of research. There is no way I can vouch for the technical details, but even if Stephenson invented parts of it, it reads like fact.

seveneves_nealstephensonBut it is a very different read to Buroker’s book. Where Stephenson starts with a premise (what would happen if the moon exploded?) and uses science to plot his story, Buroker is more interested in the action and adventure, and putting her characters in different situations to see how they cope. Where Seveneves is serious (most of the time), Star Nomad is escapism.

But I’m also reminded of Arthur C Clarke’s statement that ‘any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’. Today, we can do things with technology that would astound someone from a century ago. We can hold an entire library on a small, hand-held device, or we can travel the globe in a matter of hours. We can control computers with our eyes, and cars can drive themselves. So, in books set in the far future, or in alternative universes or dimensions, who’s to say what can be done with science? Just because something is impossible today doesn’t mean it will always be so.

Both books are science-fiction, but there are two parts to that description. Stephenson is driven by the former, and Buroker is more concerned with the latter. Yet it should be remembered that these books are both fiction. They are invented stories, not factual accounts, and to fully appreciate them we have to buy into the implausibilities. Yes, the way Buroker’s heroine throws her craft around cannot be explained by science as we understand it, but so what? It’s a fun read. It’s entertainment. And it doesn’t pretend to be anything else.

When we read (or watch) fiction, we have to give ourselves that freedom to accept the ridiculous. It’s how we can enjoy James Bond films without concerning ourselves over the seemingly indestructible nature of Bond himself (how many lucky escapes can one man have?) It’s how cosy-mystery fans can ignore the implausibility of a Jessica Fletcher character who stumbles across, and solves, more murders over a series than many police officers would deal with in their whole careers. It’s how we can accept, for a couple of hours, that a hero can survive and win, despite being beaten so much that he should be in intensive care (see just about any action film for examples of this‌—‌most fights should be short and brutal, with both combatants soon out of breath or incapacitated from their injuries, not long drawn-out affairs with breaks for witty comments).

So were the negative reviews of Buroker’s book wrong? No. Reviews are personal opinions, not facts. And there is validity in the claim that her book is light on actual science. This clearly bothered some readers, and they would probably prefer something like Seveneves.

And that is fine. There are so, so many books out there. Even a specific genre like science-fiction contains a vast spectrum of books, including Stephenson’s hard sci-fi and Buroker’s sci-fi adventures. Not every book will appeal to every reader.

My opinion‌—‌and that is all it is‌—‌is that Star Nomad is a fun read, and gave me a few hours of solid entertainment. Which is exactly what I was looking for.

If I wanted to understand the science of space, I’d read a textbook.

Wayward Pines, Star Wars and the Structure of a Series

/ T W Iain / Leave a comment

 

I’ve just finished reading the Wayward Pines trilogy by Blake Crouch (okay, so it sometimes takes me a long time to get round to books), and I really enjoyed it. I loved the way Crouch evoked the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and when the truth behind the town of Wayward Pines was revealed, it was not at all what I was expecting. The trilogy was well-paced, and although I read them fast, they didn’t feel rushed. But there was one thing in particular that I kept on thinking about, and that was how well the series was structured.

In fact, the series structure reminded me a lot of the original Star Wars films. I’ll explain this in more detail as I go on.

The first book, Pines, starts off like an amnesia thriller (with a main character coming to after an accident and not understanding exactly what’s going on around him), and for the first half things get stranger and stranger. When the ending does come, it works well, bringing the book to a satisfying close while still leaving enough open for a sequel.

This is one thing that struck me — although the book is part of a series, it is also complete in itself. If I had not gone on to read others, or if Crouch had not written them, this book would still work. It’s like that first Star Wars film (IV, not I) — the story ends, yet there is so much more that could be explored in the story universe.

Wayward, the second book, picks things up a short while after the first finishes, and it has a different feel. Where the first book is more of a mystery, as the main character uncovers the truth of the town, the second looks at what he will do now that he knows this truth. And it’s good that it feels different — it’s not like a big-budget film sequel, where the story is basically the same, but the explosions are bigger and the body count is higher. Instead, it takes the original idea and expands on it.

Where the first book comes to a definite close, things are different at the close of the second book. Although the main story arc is brought to a conclusion, there is a huge cliffhanger. The hero manages to win, but the final chapter stars to show the dire consequences of this, and it’s clear that he’s not out of danger yet — in fact, the worst is yet to come.

Back to the Star Wars trilogy, and The Empire Strikes Back. In that film, Luke has survived his duel with Darth Vader, but he’s lost a hand, and Han Solo’s frozen in carbonite. We know, as viewers, that the story is not yet over.

With Wayward Pines, if this had been the ending of the first book, I would have felt annoyed. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers. Unless a book makes it pretty clear that there will be a cliffhanger ending (for instance, if it is clearly part of a serial), I expect some sort of complete story, and if the story is left hanging I feel tricked. Even if the story is good enough that I want to find out what happens next, a big part of me resents paying out for this. I’ve read too many continuing stories where, a few books in, it feels like the author has run out of steam, and I’m left reading something that fizzles out to nothing.

Yet I didn’t have a problem with this ending in Wayward. I think there’s two reasons for this. First, there was a full story, despite the cliffhanger. Second, it was the second book in the series, not the first. I’d read enough to know I was enjoying the ride, and I was invested in the series. I went on to get the third because I genuinely wanted to, and not because I needed to know what happened next.

So on to the third book, The Last Town. It starts off exactly where the second ends, and the initial third is pretty much non-stop action. Initially this concerned me — I wondered if the action was being used to disguise a weak plot — but the story is solid when it kicks in. And, again, it was not simply a rehash of what had gone before.

The ending of the book works well, and also brings the complete trilogy to a solid conclusion. There is a single-line epilogue that leaves scope for more books, and there are plenty of aspects of the story-world that could be developed, but the trilogy feels like a whole. Although I’d happily buy more Wayward Pines books, I don’t need them in order to feel that I’ve had a great reading experience.

Again, this is like that original Star Wars trilogy. Yes, there are all the other stories, either films or books, and more are planned. But the original three films work on their own. I can explore more of this universe, but I don’t have to in order to understand the originals.

The way the Wayward Pines trilogy is structured gives me something else — confidence that Crouch won’t write a follow-on simply because ‘it will sell’. If there are more books, I would imagine they will be thought-out, and will expand on rather than retread ideas.

So as a summary, what have I learnt about the structure of a series from these books? This is personal, and you might not agree with this, but for me, there are three main things:

  • I don’t like to feel tricked into buying more books, so for me a complete story, with sequel potential, works well (especially as the first book in a series).
  • If there is a cliffhanger ending, the book still needs an overall story arc that is satisfying.
  • Second and third books should not simply be ‘more of the same’, but should push into other areas.

I’ll probably write more at some point on what I think makes a good or bad series (or serial), but I’ll leave it for now.

(See what I’ve done there? I’ve come to the conclusion of this post, but I’ve left it open for a sequel. Maybe the next time I write about this topic, I’ll have to make it a two-parter.)