Blue Mars - Kim Stanley Robinson (1996)

 

Rating: Excellent

Blue Mars continues the epic story of humanity colonising and terraforming the planet Mars, but in being the conclusion of the trilogy it has some inherent differences to the first two, Red Mars (1992) and Green Mars (1993). Perhaps the biggest difference is that Blue Mars features fewer singular events, rather, the focus is more evenly spread across political, scientific and geological themes as the planet has become much more dominated by water, along with a terraformed habitable climate. Blue Mars is much more of a travelogue than the first two books, taking the reader back to Earth, which is beset with environmental problems, and across most of the major areas of Mars, in particular the northern ocean, now teeming with life. On Mars the changed landscape is seen through the eyes of many of the remaining first hundred, but also some new characters, such as Zo, a young arrogant woman who embodies the hubris of new generations who are free of Earth's influence and high on the possibility of living for centuries due to further refinements to the longevity treatments invented on Mars by scientists from the first hundred. The clash between generations, between political movements and the demands of an ailing Earth drive the tensions that play out across the novel. As usual Robinson handles weighty themes and significant plot developments with aplomb. It's epic in scope, yet Robinson's detailed and highly descriptive prose style is as dense as ever, which all makes for an absorbing read.

I particularly enjoyed the sections in which the character Sax Russel features (in fact he is one of my all time favourite characters in science fiction). Sax is one of the first hundred and was behind the push to terraform Mars. His scientific perspective and philosophical musings regarding the clash between the terraforming of Mars and the 'Red Mars' movement's aim to preserve as much of Mars primal state as possible, are endlessly fascinating. Sax gives voice to Robinson's thoughts about science and philosophy, which, across all three novels, is a recurring theme. In Blue Mars this includes the notion as to whether geographical places have rights. Do rocks and geological formations have some kind of consciousness and do they have the right to remain 'unchanged', and what is 'unchanged' in any case? Sax slowly comes around to Ann Clayborne's views about keeping Mars as red as possible, although much of his terraforming work has born fruit. Also fascinating is the exploration of not just the physiological effects, but also the psychological effects of living for a very long time. As the remainder of the first hundred succumb to side effects of living so long, Sax makes up his mind to do something about it, and the resulting treatment and aftermath is one of the highlights of the novel, bringing together all of the remaining first hundred for a nostalgic send-off. Humanity is also branching out to other parts of the solar system and beyond, which is explored in a speculative, yet very convincing way by Robinson. The ending has a satisfying emotional impact and wraps up what really is one of the great trilogies in modern science fiction. Once again, perhaps stay away if you mostly enjoy space operas or soft science fiction, but for those who love hard science fiction, the Mars trilogy is highly recommended.

The Sirens Sing - Kristel Thornell (2022)

 

Rating: Admirable

The Sirens Sing is a novel in two parts, beginning in the locality of Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, between 1991-93. The second section is set in the 1960s – 1970s, in Sydney’s west. The two sections are connected by two characters, Jan and her son David. David features as a teenager in the first section and in the second section we see Jan’s life as a young adult grappling with growing up during times of generational and political change. The first section is the strongest, with well written relatable teenage characters who are on the cusp of leaving high-school and venturing into the adult world. David and Heather are two awkward teens who don’t really fit in, but they find each other and begin what could be a great friendship and romance. Heather’s friend, the troubled Robbie, is a budding artist. The three enter the orbit of an Italian language teacher, Ada, and by the end things end up going off the rails quite tragically. Thornell evokes a strong sense of place with considerable skill, which adds to the effectiveness of the first section.

 

Unfortunately, the second section is where things go awry. After genuinely connecting with the characters in the first section we are taken completely away from them and, apart from some hints about what happened after, the reader is left to wonder. Jan, although otherwise nicely fleshed out, is weakened as a character due to Thornell’s tendency to overemphasise her lack of confidence and self-consciousness about her upbringing. Jan gets drawn into a friendship with with a fellow student, Alicia, meeting her at university during an awkward interaction with a snobby male student. Alicia lives with her hippy poet older boyfriend and they have a polyamorous lifestyle. Jan and her partner fit awkwardly into this bohemian world and then, you guessed it, due to a series of events things end up going tragically wrong. There’s plenty of juicy themes throughout the novel – class, relationships, politics and repression, however a few key flaws weaken their effectiveness. The impact of some key scenes are weakened by nebulous descriptions, in particular during the climax of the second section, which needs to be read several times to work out exactly what’s going on. The fact that the two sections are not chronologically linked is unfortunate, as it breaks up the generational links between the characters and their circumstances. Such criticisms were shared by most of the thirty book club members who came to the sessions to discuss The Sirens Sing. They really wanted to rate the novel higher, but were frustrated by its flaws, which tended to overshadow its attributes. I've rated the novel as Admirable, but it came close to a Mediocre rating, saved by the fact that I’ve read novels far more flawed than this contemporary Australian novel.

The Flaming Cow: The Making of Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother - Ron Geesin (2021)

 

Rating: Excellent

I'm a big fan of Pink Floyd and recently I've been listening to them once again, getting my prog fix in a serious way. I replaced some of my second hand copies of their albums, including Atom Heart Mother (1970). I hadn't listened to it for quite a while, but when I did something special happened, I heard it in a new way that resonated with me deeply. Since then I dug out my Early Years: 1965-72 (2016) box set, which contains many different live and early versions of Atom Heart Mother, some of which are referenced in The Flaming Cow. As Geesin, a Scottish musician and composer, points out, when we talk about Atom Heart Mother we talk about the track itself, which takes up all of the first side of the album it is named after. Geesin was brought in by the band to help them finish and embellish an early bare-bones version and had him write and arrange new parts, which included brass and a choir. In the end there was some unhappiness about the way in which Geesin was credited, which is alluded to by Geesin in this book and also by Nick Mason, who has written a forward, mentioning how he had to contend with the notion that he and his colleagues may have behaved in "...a less than saintly way." In the years after the album was released the band ceased playing Atom Heart Mother and then both Water and Gilmour publicly disparaged the track, referring to it as an artistic low, which is a pity, because it is a unique work with qualities that become apparent the more you listen.

Geesin, back in the day

The Flaming Cow gives you some background of Geesin's life and work, a chronological overview of how the collaboration came about, the making of the track and the aftermath. Geesin's recollections are thorough and detailed, but it is a pity that, apart from Mason's forward, there are no contributions from the other band-members, despite being invited to do so. Therefore everything comes from Geesin's point of view, which is really only part of the story. This means that details about the actual making of the track, before Geesin was invited to contribute, is a bit sketchy. As I read through these sections I couldn't help but wish that Pink Floyd had contributed, but then, to be fair, this is Geesin's story and what an eccentric story it is. Geesin's writing style is witty, erudite and, at times, gnostic. I had to re-read some passages for a second time to make sure I was understanding what he was saying, although most of the rest is clearly written. Geesin is certainly a creative fellow and you can't help but admire his dedication to Atom Heart Mother, both the music and the story. There's also many fine and rare photos, most of which I've never seen before. It seems that, despite Pink Floyd's dismissive attitude, the work has enjoyed a rich afterlife, sought out by performers and listeners alike. After all, it was the band's first number one album and a significant portion of fans would hold it close to their prog-loving bosoms. People who are already fans of the album should seek out The Flaming Cow for its unique perspective from one of its creators, for others its subject matter would be esoteric and obscure, therefore if you are interested listen to the album first and really get to know it. You may or may not love it, depending on your musical bent, but I thoroughly recommend it.

Floyd at work - one of many rare photos

Far from the Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy (1874)

 

Rating: Excellent

What does a Victorian era classic novel have in common with the fantasy genre? Not much really you'd think, however it occurred to me half way through Far from the Madding Crowd that trying to adapt to Hardy's Victorian era prose style, with its particular turn of phrase and anachronistic words; is like trying to adapt to all the esoteric character and place names used in fantasy novels. Hardy even sets the novel in a semi-fictional literary landscape called Wessex (which once did exist during medieval times), with lush rolling hills, sun dappled forests and dramatic coastal cliffs, which all sounds very Tolkienesque. It is an exotic novel when viewed from this point in history, as Hardy's beautiful and complex prose style was already out of fashion before his death in 1929, thanks the the generation of Modernist writers that emerged during the immediate post Victorian era. Yet once you get used to Hardy's style the novel becomes a total pleasure to read. Although some (Goodreads) reader descriptions of the novel focus on sheep, sheep, some more sheep, and some romance, there is much more on offer for the dedicated reader; the plot itself is absorbing and although the novel can be heavy-going at times, there's always something that comes along that piques your interest and keeps you reading.

Essentially, Far from the Madding Crowd is a romance involving the independent and feisty Bathsheba Everdene, the young and irrepressible (and irresponsible) Sergeant Troy, the middle-aged stick-in-the mud William Boldwood and finally the stoic and quite shepherd, Gabriel Oak. The interplay between these four characters plays out across the novel, which was originally serialised, as a slow-burn of romantic desire both actualised and repressed, but mostly the latter, this being Victorian literature. Things do get rather intense towards the end, involving a macabre scene with a coffin, some Gothic overtones, farce at a travelling circus, manslaughter and more romance, once again, both repressed and actualised. In the Victorian era this was seen as sensationalist literature, designed to both outrage and to spur the reader on; whilst there's no outrage to be had for the modern reader, there is certainly a great deal of spurring on. My library book club really loved this novel, winning the approval of about thirty people, so despite the best efforts of the Modernists, the varying literary experiments and trends of the twentieth century and beyond, Hardy can still pack a literary punch. Recommended as a gateway to classic nineteenth century literature, easier than the Russians, less prosaic than George Eliot and less gothically florid than the Brontes.

ABBA: The Official Photo Book - Jan Gradvall et al. (2014)

 

Rating: Excellent

"Anybody could be that guy...", and indeed, I became that guy who wasn't a fan of ABBA and then suddenly became one. About five years ago a friend's partner posted a video of the band on Japanese television from the late seventies performing If it wasn't for the Nights (1979), and for some reason, even though I did like some of their well known singles, it was this track that caused me to start listening to them more seriously, and then I was hooked. It's often the case with me that I fully explore an act's discography, purchasing all of their albums and obsessing over rare songs and all the different phases. I picked up this book very cheaply at a Dymocks pop-up store for something like $20. It's an extremely good quality coffee-table book, with thick glossy paper and a stylish layout coupled with quality photographs. ABBA wrote the forward, talking about how they loved the time they had in the band and that many of the photo's they hadn't seen before. As with everything ABBA, it's very heartfelt.

Fun in Sweden!

The band's history is laid out chronologically, from before they became ABBA, all their albums and tours and then the aftermath of the beginning of their hiatus in 1982. Due to the date of publication it does not include the totally unexpected comeback album and virtual live show of recent years. The text is relatively minimal, but is well written and contains many anecdotes and obscure facts about the band and their work. Where the book really shines is with the hundreds of fantastic photos, many of which show them in their homes and behind the scenes. If you are an ABBA fan then this book is essential just for the photographs alone (600 of them!). Looking at the photos I'm reminded of something that occurred to me as I explored their particular brand of pop music, that they didn't care at all about being cool. They were totally themselves and sometimes they looked right on, and other times they looked completely daggy. A similar thing can be said about their music, but the daggy songs are just as good as the exulted ones, simply because they were being ABBA. That's what this book is, totally ABBA.

Early on

Ubik - Philip K. Dick (1969)

 

Rating: Admirable

Warning: this rather lazy review contains something close to a spoiler, but if you are already familiar with Dick's work, then read on with impunity...

I've been a Dickhead for a long time, a Dickhead among many, and as we Dickheads know Ubik is one of his more revered novels. Having read most of his significant novels, such as A Scanner Darkly (1977) and Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said (1974), strangely I have long overlooked Ubik. For a newbie reader of Dick, Ubik would stand as a fine introduction to his work, but as an experienced Dick lover the novel is diminished by familiarity, for me, at least. Set in the early 1990's, the novel concerns a society in which telepaths and pre-cogs have emerged and they are both a menace and a solution. Glen Runciter oversees a company that provides protection for companies or individuals who are being targeted invasively by those with psychic abilities, using his own array of telepaths and pre-cogs in his employ to counteract the abilities of their own type. Also the dead, if attended to promptly, are able to be held in cryogenic suspension (half-life) and can be communicated with for advice and comfort. Oh, and humanity has colonised the Moon. So far, so typical of Philip K. Dick. Also typical are the characters, such as the 'everyman', Joe Chip, down on his luck financially (people have to pay doors in order for them to open for them), yet he is integral to the narrative. The other characters are a mostly crew of eccentric and suspicious characters trying to make their way inside a Philip K. Dick novel, which, ultimately, is unfortunate for them.

P. K. Dick, thinking about getting there first

I did enjoy Ubik, however, as mentioned above, over-familiarity did curtail my appreciation of its prime Dickheadian moments. Dick developed his narrative shtick early on and a great deal of his career as a novelist explored the same theme, that characters believe that they inhabit one very solid reality, only to find that another reality can be found beneath that seemingly solid surface. They work it out, especially Dick's everyman characters (Chip, in this case...), who are at the heart of most of his novels, but then, right at the end, there's another twist and they are trapped in multiple layers of reality, not knowing what the real one actually is. This pretty much sums up Ubik. As an experienced reader of Dick I grokked the clues early on, then it was just a matter of seeing if I was right, and I was pretty close. The cliche about Dick is that his narratives seem a lot like the reality we live in today, which is fair enough. Humans in this era seem to really want reality to be Dick-like, never trusting information or intention, always looking for conspiracy or duplicity, the layers below so-called reality. I wish that he had lived to at least see the beginnings of the World Wide Web era. I wonder whether he would have been disappointed or inspired? Either way, as the Terry Gilliam quote says on the cover of my edition, "Remember: Philip K. Dick got there first."

Beautiful You - Chuck Palahniuk (2014)

 

Rating: Admirable

Palahniuk is known as a transgressional author, one who takes on taboo or controversial themes in a manner that pushes their boundaries to the extreme. Beautiful You is undoubtably thematically extreme, featuring weird sex, hyper capitalism and male emasculation. Penny Harrigan is the kind of female protagonist, hyperconscious and awkward, just getting by in corporate culture, who would helm an American sit-com across ten seasons, only learning her lessons in the last season. Only this is a Palahniuk novel and Harrigan ends up in the clutches of the worlds richest man, C. Linus Maxwell, who proceeds to experiment on her with an array of sex toys of his own devising. Harrigan is literally driven to life threatening physical extremes by his ministrations. At the same time she's drawn into the world of the super-rich and the attentions Maxwell's former sexual muses, a famous actress and a woman who has become the first female president of America. This is, at least initially, all quite entertaining stuff, especially as you anticipate what Maxwell's plans will do to society, virtually making men and their ineffectual penises and clumsy techniques, obsolete.

This does indeed occur (male obsolescence) and once Harrigan is freed from Maxwell's ministrations after a set amount of time (136 days), she realises just what trouble society is in as Maxwell's new line of sex toys takes the female population by storm. Maxwell is a true evil protagonist flexing his capitalist muscle. a walking cliche, but that's part of the point. In this regard the implacable logic of how he goes about his business in this age is high capitalism, surveillance capitalism and downright exploitative capitalism, really rings true. Harrigan's attempts to rectify the situation are entertaining enough, but about two thirds of the way through what was quite a good novel, things start to become slightly ridiculous, as Palahniuk turns up the dial of extremity. Beautiful You never promised to be an example of sober realism, but where the novel eventually goes to is absurd, particularly the denouement, which involves women driven to homelessness by their sex toy habits, a shotgun wedding, a naked sex guru from Tibet and death by a fiery flying dildo. This novel is a wild ride that fills in some time on the train-ride to work, but it also leaves you feeling a bit empty, kind like impulse buying, followed by buyers regret. Fortunately I didn't buy this novel, nor any sex toys.