“What If” and Choices in SF: Version Control by Dexter Palmer and Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

June 7, 2017 |

I’ve been on an adult science fiction kick lately, seeking out the hottest and best recent standalone titles. Monica Byrne’s The Girl in the Road kicked it off earlier in the year, and since then, I’ve been craving more of the same. Two titles – Version Control by Dexter Palmer and Dark Matter by Blake Crouch – have helped sate this craving. Fortunately for me, not only are they well-written and exciting science fiction, they also feature two interlinking tropes that I can’t get enough of: time travel and parallel worlds.

In Version Control, physicist Philip Steiner has been working on a Causality Violation Device for the past decade. This is really a fancy phrase for time machine, but he hates it when anyone calls it that. A time machine is fiction; the CVD is real. Or it would be, if it worked. He and his assistants are on test number three hundred something and the result is always the same: nothing. On the surface, Palmer’s novel is about Steiner, his wife Rebecca Wright, Steiner’s lab assistants (also respected scientists), and Rebecca’s best friend Kate. It traces Rebecca and Philip’s meeting and marriage, their respective jobs (Rebecca works for the dating site where she met Philip), their relationships with their friends, and the fallout from Philip’s obsession with the CVD. Perspective shifts at times between all of these characters, though it focuses mainly on Rebecca (with Philip a close second), and much of the novel seems to be a story of a marriage that is falling apart. As the novel progresses, it becomes clear that Rebecca and Philip suffered a tragedy a few years ago, one they haven’t really recovered from.

But this is science fiction, so that isn’t the whole story. From the beginning, readers will notice small details that are different about the world Rebecca and Philip inhabit. It’s the present-day, but self-driving cars are ubiquitous. The president will pop up on people’s electronic devices every so often, addressing them by name and complimenting them on a particular detail of their dress, for example. It’s…weird. Off-putting. Intriguing. Rebecca has a general feeling that something isn’t quite right, and when others start to feel this too, psychologists put it down to a side effect of the overuse of technology like smartphones. But because this is a science fiction novel, readers will know right away it has something to do with the Causality Violation Device, that folly of Philip’s that has never shown any evidence of actually working.

Palmer’s novel is clever in many ways. It’s divided into three parts, each more intriguing than the last. The finale is elegantly perfect, reasonable in context of the “physics” Palmer has created for his story, and satisfying in a story sense as well. In fact, I wish I knew some people who had read this so I could discuss the ending with them and just how perfect it is. His version of time travel is also fascinating, different from any other kind of time travel I’ve read about before in fiction.

The book is a big self-indulgent at times. It’s long and wanders down a few paths that aren’t strictly essential to the main plot, like the world of online dating. But in Palmer’s capable hands, these lengthy asides are fascinating, and they lend further insight into this world that is just barely wrong. He tackles casual sexism and racism through a couple of characters’ points of view as well. The asides and deeper themes give the book a more literary feel. One Goodreads reviewer wrote that this book might be “too SF for the Literature with capital L-lovers and too literary and ‘normal’ for the die hard SF-lovers” which I thought was apt. But if you love both Literature and SF, you’ll love Version Control.

Dark Matter is also the story of a marriage, though the tone is quite different. Whereas Version Control was deliberate and thoughtful, Crouch’s story reads much more like a thriller. Jason Dessen teaches physics at a mid-rate local college in Chicago. He’s married to Daniela, who gave up a promising art career to stay home with their son Charlie, whom she became pregnant with before the two were married. Jason himself gave up a much more lucrative physics career because their son (who was born premature) and his marriage required more time than he could give as a scientist stuck in a clean room for twelve or more hours each day. He often wonders what his life would have been like had he not had to do that; he wonders if Daniela has regrets, too. But overall, he’s happy with his choices.

Then one day, as he’s driving home, he’s abducted by a masked stranger. He’s knocked out; when he wakes, he’s in an unfamiliar laboratory and the people around him are welcoming him back home. But this world is not his world. He and Daniela never got married. Charlie was never born. People seem to believe he’s a celebrated scientist who won a major award and has been missing for the past eight months. After a brief time believing he may be crazy, Jason figures out he’s actually been forcibly sent to another version of his world, one where he made the choice to break up with Daniela when she became pregnant and pursue his career instead. Crouch shows us that the person who abducted Jason is now inhabiting his own life, sleeping with his wife and raising his son. Original Jason embarks on a journey to get back, no matter how impossible it seems. His love for Daniela drives him, haunting him across the multiverse as he runs into version after version of her.

The major fault I found in Dark Matter was its drawn-out beginning. It took too long for Jason to finally realize he’s not crazy, he’s not in his own world, and there are in fact infinite versions of the world that he now has the ability to travel through. Anyone who’s read any SF will have figured all of these things out long before; this concept is not new to the genre and is a primary reason why many readers will have picked up the book in the first place. While the beginning is interesting in a character sense, it’s once Jason learns the truth that the story really takes off. Crouch’s multiverse is fascinating, and I loved reading about the many different realities – terrible and wonderful and just plain weird – that Jason explores on his journey to find the one where he belongs. About a quarter of the way from the end, the story goes full-on bananas in the best kind of way, and I was worried that Crouch had written himself into a corner. But he found the solution for his characters (the only one possible, really), and the end is supremely satisfying.

Interestingly, the words “abortion” and “rape” are never used. In the world that Jason wakes up in initially, Daniela was pregnant and then she wasn’t. In Jason’s original world, Jason’s abductor is having sex with his wife without her knowledge of who he truly is. I don’t know if these two elisions were a conscious choice on Blake’s part, but they are two more aspects of this book for the reader to unpack.

The common themes between Version Control and Dark Matter are obvious, and they’re ones science fiction is perfectly suited to tackle. Are my choices permanent, or can they be changed? Should I even wish to change the past? Would I have turned out to be the same person I am now had I made a different choice – big or small – five years ago? Fifteen years ago? What is it that makes me uniquely me? How much impact do my choices make upon the rest of the world? Readers will come away from both of these novels pondering these timeless, thorny questions. Both books are highly recommended.

Before the Fall by Noah Hawley

May 31, 2017 |

A private plane carrying eleven people crashes in the Atlantic. The only two survivors are Scott Burroughs, a mostly has-been painter, and a four year old boy, the son of a Rupert Murdoch-type media mogul named David Bateman who founded an analog of Fox News. Burroughs swam the several miles to shore while towing the boy and as a result is now a celebrity of sorts. But his celebrity status is wholly unwelcome, as he’s hounded by reporters and his every move is monitored. Soon, perhaps inevitably, he’s targeted by a “journalist” who works at the right-wing television station and begins to insinuate that Burroughs had something to do with the crash.

Before the Fall follows each of the victims of the plane crash in the years, months, and days preceding the accident. They include each member of the Bateman family (David, his wife, his nine year old daughter, his four year old son), the Batemans’ bodyguard, their friends the Kiplings, Burroughs, and the plane’s crew. Each person had an interesting life, in the way the old British saying “May you live in interesting times” is often interpreted to be a curse. The Batemans’ young daughter was kidnapped (and recovered) as a toddler, the Kiplings were being investigated for money laundering, one of the flight attendants was being routinely harassed, and so on. It’s in illuminating each of their lives that Hawley’s writing shines. I was initially concerned that his depiction of Maggie Bateman, David’s wife, would be the blueprint for how he wrote about all the women in the story (Maggie as a young woman gave up a career as a schoolteacher somewhat reluctantly after marrying David and now all her thoughts are consumed by her children), but I was relieved that this was not the case. The women in the story, as well as the men, are varied, with unique experiences, thought processes, and personalities. Hawley (and the audiobook narrator Robert Petkoff) excel at getting readers deep into their characters’ minds, and reading about their lives only compounds the tragedy of their deaths.

When he’s not chronicling what happened before the fall, Hawley’s story follows Burroughs after the fall, including the way he deals with the reporter hounding him and slandering him on air. This storyline in particular is hugely satisfying and didn’t play out the way I anticipated. Hawley deftly skewers Fox News and its talking heads (Bill O’Reilly comes to mind as a timely analog for the reporter who targets Burroughs here) and highlights the way certain media outlets fabricate the news instead of reporting it. There’s also the added wrinkle of the incredible amount of money the young boy has just inherited, and the book includes a small but fascinating subplot about the boy’s aunt and her husband under whose care he is now placed.

Readers may be disappointed by the ending; the reason for the plane crash is simple and involves only a couple of people out of the many that Hawley’s book follows. This is a very television-esque kind of way to tell a story, and Hawley, who currently writes for tv series Fargo and Legion, is very good at telling it. So even if you’re a fan of novels where all the disparate threads join together into one satisfying tapestry at the end, you’ll likely still be riveted by Hawley’s story, which does precisely the opposite. Perhaps that is the point. People lead complicated, messy lives, and often, their deaths are without purpose. For most of the people on the plane, the crash really was just a tragedy – they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and their lives had nothing to do with their deaths.

This is a good pick for readers who enjoy character-driven, rather than plot-driven, thrillers.

Review and Giveaway: 5 Worlds: The Sand Warrior by Mark Siegel and Alexis Siegel

May 24, 2017 |

Oona Lee is possibly the worst sand dancer in her whole class, which wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if her older sister, disappeared now for many years, weren’t the best, destined to light five ancient beacons and save the Five Worlds from extinction. But she has talents of her own, ones she brings to bear when she joins forces with An Tzu, a boy from a slum with his own history, and Jax Amboy, the Five Worlds’ greatest Starball player. They all live on Mon Domani, at the center of the Five Worlds, a planet now being threatened by war as well as climate change so dire it could cause mass starvation.

The Sand Warrior is the first book in a new graphic novel series by Mark Siegel and Alexis Siegel, with art by Xanthe Bouma, Matt Rockefeller, and Boya Sun. That’s a lot of cooks in the kitchen for one graphic novel, and it shows in a few ways. The story is fairly complicated for a middle grade graphic novel, and it will take both adults and kids a bit of time to really fall into it. But that’s also part of the joy: the world the Siegels have created is complex, and the story has many moving parts that require more careful attention (or perhaps re-reads) than some readers may be accustomed to. It’s a fantasy lover’s dream, in other words.

Art and story work in tandem to build a multicultural world (or five worlds, really) with a detailed backstory and a unique magic system. Within the pages of this graphic novel you’ll find, for example, some people who are more plant than human, advanced robotic technology that conquers the uncanny valley, and sand castles big enough (and magical enough) for people to live in. It’s a really fun mixture of fantasy and science fiction, with all the creativity and weird names – one of the planets is called Grimbo(E) – that go along with that.

I’m a sucker for full-color art in graphic novels, and the art in The Sand Warrior is gorgeous. Even if readers have a hard time following all the nuances of the story, they’ll be riveted by the detailed landscapes and diverse cast of characters, each of whom is distinct and recognizable from panel to panel. The coloring is beautiful; the three artists work seamlessly together, eschewing the bold colors of a traditional superhero book for a softer but no less vibrant palette.

This should appeal to readers who like Kazu Kibuishi’s Amulet (Kibuishi has blurbed this, and it’s fitting), Faith Erin Hicks’ The Nameless City, and Ben Hatke’s Zita the Spacegirl.

We’re giving away a finished copy of 5 Worlds: The Sand Warrior, courtesy of Random House Children’s Books (who also sent me an unfinished review copy). To enter, fill out this form. I’ll pick a winner in two weeks. US only, please.

Decelerate Blue by Adam Rapp and Mike Cavallaro

May 10, 2017 |

In Rapp’s and Cavallaro’s dystopian near-future, everyone lives their life at high-speed. There’s no time taken for reflection and everything is always go-go-go. In fact, everyone is supposed to say “go” when they’re done talking to indicate that it’s time for the person they’re talking with to reply. It’s not strictly illegal to leave out the “go,” but it’s more serious than a social faux pas (like forgetting to say “please,” for example). Everyone reads abridged versions of classic novels in school, and beds are made upright. This world is more than just annoying, though: it’s a surveillance state, and the government punishes people for not living up to the hyper-efficient ideal, seen most alarmingly when protagonist Angela’s grandfather is sent to a “reduction colony” when his heart rate drops too low for too prolonged a time.

Angela is tired of living this way – and she learns a few others are, too, when she’s recruited into a resistance whose sole purpose is to deliberately slow things down, to dismantle this enforced way of life. The resistance lives underground, unplugged, and they have their own speech patterns, too – they refuse to use contractions, creating an immediately recognizable difference when reading the resistance sections versus the above-ground sections. The resistance, now with the help of Angela, are hatching a plan to make this sort of life possible for others on the outside, too.

The concept is intriguing, and I think a lot of teens will immediately find it relevant to their lives. Parts of the world-building seem like a stretch (upright beds?), but people said that about The Handmaid’s Tale too, and look where we are now. The story’s rhythm takes a while to get used to, mainly because every character really does end their sentences with “go” or eliminate contractions, so no one character really talks like we talk now. Cavallaro’s art is mostly black and white, with some spots of color during particularly emotional or important sections of the story. There’s a nice romance between Angela and a fellow female resistance fighter, and the “decelerate blue” of the title comes into play in a literal and shocking way at the end.

Decelerate Blue is a good question-raiser, even if its themes aren’t explored fully. It’s not a super long graphic novel, and it packs a lot of story into its roughly 200 pages. Somewhat ironically, I wish I could have lingered a little while longer in Rapp’s and Cavallaro’s future world, both the government-controlled one and the resistance, to get a more immersive experience and feel a greater connection to the characters. It felt like the story was sped up a bit, and then it was over too quickly, though the open ending is fitting. This is a good pick for teens who aren’t tired of dystopias yet – and we may actually see a resurgence of interest in this subgenre considering the current climate in this country.

Review copy received from the publisher. Decelerate Blue is available now.

A Pair of Contemporary Reviews

April 19, 2017 |

I don’t usually read a ton of contemporary realistic fiction, but participating in my workplace’s Mock Printz committee makes it hard to avoid. I like that committees such as this one force me to pick up books I otherwise never would have – it makes me a more well-rounded reader and, as a result, a more well-rounded person. Both of my most recent contemporary reads have focused on grief.

Optimists Die First by Susin Nielsen

Petula de Wilde’s baby sister died in an accident two years ago, and Petula blames herself (and feels everyone else does, too). Since then, Petula has been preoccupied with avoiding random accidents, rare diseases, and other events that can end a life early, to the point where it impacts her ability to live her life fully. She’s placed in a Youth Art Therapy (YART) class at her school with other troubled teens who are working through their own problems. While she’s initially resistant, her walls start to crumble when she befriends Jacob, a boy with a prosthetic arm who is the only survivor of a drunk driving accident.

Lest this description mislead you, this is not really a story about how a cute boy helps a girl learn to live again. Jacob has his own hangups, and Nielsen fleshes out a number of subplots involving other students in YART, Petula’s parents, and her former best friend. The result is a complex portrait of a grieving girl who grows – but is still perhaps not yet fully healed – by the end of the book. At times it has a bit of an after school special feel, and Nielsen’s writing is less sophisticated than a lot of other YA. Still, her straightforward style ably tells the story, and she’s able to mine significant humor – without mockery – from Petula’s and her classmates’ problems and their various methods of dealing with them (some quite healthy by the end). Readers will be happy to see Petula blame herself less – and live more – by the time they turn the last page.

We Are Okay by Nina LaCour

Marin fled her home in California for college in New York after an unnamed tragedy, and now that it’s the winter break, her (former?) best friend Mabel is coming for a brief visit. Marin hasn’t returned any of Mabel’s texts, and she’s chosen to stay at her dorm over the break, even though everyone else has left and the winter promises to be fierce. Over the course of the story, what exactly precipitated Marin’s departure unfolds in flashbacks.

Wow, can Nina LaCour write. It’s almost painful to read this book because Marin’s loneliness is so palpable. LaCour’s depiction of Marin is intimate and impossibly sad, showing readers a hurt, betrayed, and grief-stricken girl living in (chosen) isolation, wanting to let Mabel back in, but not knowing how. While LaCour does eventually reveal what has caused Marin’s grief, there aren’t really easy answers to how Marin can come back from it, nor why things happened the way they did in the first place. I can’t say I enjoyed reading this novel, but there’s no doubt LaCour’s mastery of her craft is on full display here. This one is for readers who love introspective YA.