The Expanse, pt. 2: Caliban's War

Caliban's War, the second novel in James S.A. Corey's Expanse series, hits a lot of the same notes that the first novel does.  The crew of the Rocinante returns, with a few new additions, to continue their battle with the protomolecule. 
The novel opens with the crew fighting space pirates at the behest of the OPA, the newly-legitimized Outer Planets Alliance.
At the end of Leviathan Wakes, the protomolecule has crash-landed on Venus and no one really knows what it is doing there.  Of course this doesn't last long and there is a new threat for the new book.
Holden and his crew adopt a similar mission to the first book, seeking out a lost daughter.  Mei, the young daughter of Praxidike Meng, had lived on Ganymede and was kidnapped by her doctor with other immuno-compromised children.  The structure of the novel is similarly shaggy-dogged as the first novel as the authors juggle many different players in the game.  The crew of the Rocinante is always central to the action, but the stakes remain very high with cold-warring colonial factions and a threat to humanity.
The alterations to the protomolocule work well for the new novel and Corey manages to keep all of the players more or less clear.  I was a little dismayed that the second novel in was already recycling a lost-daughter plot, but it ends up working out well as a motivating factor.  The wider world of the Expanse now knows who the central characters are, so they are able to use this to their advantage in funding their mission. 
As I write this, I am finding it difficult to summarize the plot and to organize my thoughts about it.  This is partially because there is a lot going on in this novel and I don't want to get too bogged down in details.  This is also partly because I think I want to like this more than I do.  The books have been enjoyable and I don't have any real complaints about them, but something is keeping me from diving into the series a bit more fully.  I haven't figured out what that is yet, and I know that this makes for bad writing.  For now, I am going to continue reading the books.  I am interested in ferreting out what it is that is blocking me. 
So  stay tuned for another lack-luster installment in this blog series that muddles through a novel that probably deserves better.

Down Among the Sticks and Bones

I always hate saying that I am "surprised" that I like a book or a movie because it implies that I went into it expecting to dislike it.  Sometimes it is true that I pick something up to give it a shot, knowing that the odds are that I will not like it or not finish it -- this has been the basis of my reading too many Palahniuk books.  Generally, what I mean instead is that, having finished a book or movie, I liked it more than I would have guessed going into it.  It is a fine distinction and a weird nonironic double-positioning of knowing and unknowing.
All of this is to say that I read Seanan McGuire's Down among the Sticks and Bones recently and I am surprised by how much I liked it.  This post will be about McGuire's book, but I also want to unpack what I mean by being surprised to like this.  I want to analyze what readerly expectations are when picking up a book and how this may influence the reading process.

Each month tor.com gives away free ebooks of their releases if you subscribe to the site.  It is cool and I recommend that you do it.  The free books are split between sci-fi and fantasy.  I normally opt to skip the fantasy, but I decided to give Down among the Sticks and Bones a try based on the description.  I don't remember what that was now, but I will provide one of my own in a bit.
Where I got this book is the first part of my readerly expectation.  I tend to like Tor's publications because they travel a lot of the same roads that I do.  Much of their output is sci-fi and what falls outside of this is often dark, gothic, and weird in varying degrees.  They do publish some high fantasy that goes a bit beyond my tastes, but I understand the overlap.  Given the publisher's history, I figured that this was close enough to something that I might like.  I picked up the book knowing that it was a sort of fantasy --again, not a genre I tend to like much.  But I was not primed to dislike the novel because of this; rather, I was looking to this to defy my expectations in a way.

The novel is something of a postmodern-parable-reimagining of the Jack and Jill nursery rhyme.  In this telling, Jack and Jill are twin girls (Jaqueline and Jillian) born to selfish, status-hungry parents who mold them into tomboy and girlie-girl stereotypes.  The parents refuse to see the as autonomous humans and only care about how the girls fit into their idealized version of family.  The girls are props used by their parents and are largely ignored beyond that.
The first third of the book establishes the girls' early lives and the trajectory that their parents force on them. The girls' grandmother lives with them for the first five years of their lives but is turned away by the parents because of the way that she encourages the girls to seek their own personalities and shun their parents' expectations. 
After their grandmother is sent away, the girls develop a codependent/competitive relationship that ends up leaving each feeling alienated, as they don't even have one another to rely upon.  The parents, real pieces of shit, even go so far as to tell the girls that their grandmother left because she didn't love them anymore.
The novel takes a fantastic turn when the girls, now 12 years old, discover a hidden stairwell in the bottom of a trunk that was left behind in what had been their grandmother's room.  The two find a door marked "Be sure" at the bottom of a very long staircase and push through to arrive at a place called the Moors. Without going too far into this part of the story, the Moors is home to a small village presided over by the Master.  Monsters prowl the Moors and it exists in a state of suspended technology and witchcraft.
The twins, now free of their parents, match themselves to competing protector figures, adopt the nicknames Jack and Jill, and follow new directions according to their own personalities.  Jack, the sister forced into a strict traditional femininity, instead chooses to apprentice herself and adopts functional, masculine clothing.  Jill, the erstwhile tomboy, takes to a softer life with the Master, living in a fine castle and dressing in opulent gowns.  As the two settle into their respective roles, they drift ever further apart.
I am going to skip to some highlights now that I have gotten the characters to the heart of the story.  They learn more about the world they live in and themselves.  The fantastic world of the Moors is something like a medieval recreation.  The economy is subsistent and feudalistic.  The Master is revealed to be a vampire and Jack's master is a Dr. Frankenstein sort.  Werewolves and sea creatures roam the wilderness outside of the village.  Both girls learn that the Moor is home to many "foundlings" such as themselves, lost children who come from a different existence.  Some of these children find their way home and some live out their lives in the Moors.  Independently, the girls decide to stay on the Moors, each cleaving to her respective master.  Jack wishes to replace the doctor after she learns his trade, and Jill wishes to become a vampire and join the Master in ruling the village.
Something happens to close off the possibility of the girls staying in the world and they must escape back to their own world, having spent five years on the Moors.  The final scene of the novel finds the girls standing in front of their parents and new younger brother, no one sure what to do next.

So, this book does some surprising things.  Throughout the reading, I found myself wondering what the relationship was between the world that the girls came from and the one they have adopted.  This is never answered, which ends up being a point in its favor.  The girls live in a mysterious world that they learn little about.  The reader is placed in the same position of not knowing.  This helps to heighten the tension of the novel.  We know already that the girls don't have much to go back to, but this new world still does not seem satisfactory, but they both choose it.
Part of wondering about the relationship between the worlds is wondering how time functions.  A part of me expected the girls to eventually find their way back and to revert to the 12-year olds they were when they left.  This would fulfill some nursery rhyme type allegory about growing up or self-actualization.  The author doesn't do this.  The problems the girls face are compounded by the fact that they have left their own world to learn new rules in a new place.  Their parents and old world have moved on for five years without them and have, ostensibly, accepted the loss of them.  This actually deepens the allegory because growing up and finding oneself is not a simple quest with a clear goal.  This ending more accurately reflects the confusion of "coming of age" in that one is just as likely to feel the same confusion and misgivings as a new "adult" that one had as a child.  Becoming oneself and reaching adulthood don't solve any problems, they just shift to new sets of problems.  Where the novel leaves off, the girls will need to deal with their ew places, the new brother and the family dynamic that this creates, and struggle to keep reclaiming the personalities that they have fought for.  This is one of the moments that struck me most in reading this book.  The author left me with more to think about after the story ended.  To me, this is a welcome surprise and is one of the reasons that I liked this book so much.
Most of the book adopts the simple language and shallow characterizations of nursery rhymes, so when this last image leaves so much room for nuance, is comes as a surprise itself.  It makes a quick reversal in direction and opens the way for a new interpretation of the preceding story.

Earlier in this post I mentioned a nonironic double-positioning of knowing and unknowing.  What I mean by this is that, when considering a novel or story, the reader projects what kind of story they think it will be, they pretend to know more about the book than they do know.  This helps to set up expectations for what is to come.  This, I think, is actually a really useful heuristic when it comes to apprehending narrative.  This amounts to looking for patterns and building meaning from the way that a particular narrative either conforms to or deviates from familiar patterns.  When narratives surprise us, they deviate from expectations, or perhaps they conform to them in new or unexpected ways.  What this means for the reader is that they are in a state of expectation/anticipation and confirmation or deviation.

In this novel, much of it builds on familiar narrative tropes.  The naming of the girls, the reversal of their positions, their desire to stay in an unfamiliar new home rather than return to an unfulfilling old one all build a momentum for the narrative.  There are several places in the narrative that also disrupt this momentum, but it is the ending that is most jarring.  The surprise at having to re-evaluate earlier expectations of what the novel will convey is what is the more rewarding for it arriving in such an unexpected way. 
This is all back of the envelope narratology and I have not spent too much time fleshing it out, so if it sounds a little out there, I'm not taking responsibility for it. 

Books I couldn't finish...

Every now and then I come across a book that I can't make it through.  I typically try to get about 100 pages in before I finally give up.  Sometimes the books are too boring, about something different than I thought, or I don't like the author's voice.  Other times the subject matter is just too difficult or too far outside my area and I don't get anything out of it.  This last is the case for David Foster Wallace's Everything and More. 
I promise not to get too deep into discussing DFW as a writer here.  But a little background on him helps to put this odd book into context.  So most will likely know Wallace for either his fiction or his journalistic essays.  His most famous work of fiction, Infinite Jest, is a monster and one of my favorite novels.  I won't write about that here.  His essays were published both in a variety of magazines and in expanded versions in collections.  These range all sorts of topics and can be pretty funny.  DFW gets really invested in his subject matter and tends to have unique and perceptive perspectives. 
In addition, DFW also has a background in philosophy that helps him to write with great exactitude.
Everything and More is a departure from the majority of the rest of his work.  This book is on the mathematical concept of infinity.  He writes the book in his signature avuncular stye and includes loads of asides and digressive information as he goes.  But this book about infinity includes a lot of discussions about calculus and differential equations and a historical dive into mathematics in the 18th century.  A lot of this is interesting and deceptively easy to read.  The problem is that the math is actually pretty difficult.  Wallace claims that memories of college math should be enough to get through the book.  While I made it through some college math, I never got to calculus and even the notations for a lot of his material is unfamiliar.  This makes for some rough going for someone not really in tune with mathematics.  This isn't a fault of the book.
One of the more striking descriptions in the book is Wallace's attempt to parse the difference between zero and nothing.  I like this because it is illustrative of the promise of the book and a direction I would have liked to see it take more.  It also helps to explain both the depth that the book takes and Wallace's ability to break down potentially difficult topics. 
In this example, he describes two students who both fail (get a zero) on a history test, only one student is not enrolled in the class.  The enrolled student receives a zero and the non-enrolled student gets nothing.  Had the book contained more like this I likely would have made it further through.
I was initially interested in reading this book because of Wallace.  I was also interested in the concept of infinity, and particularly any intersections that it may have with sublimity, another concept that I find fascinating.  Although I did not expect Wallace to address these topics in conjunction in this book, I figured that I could make those connections on my own.
In the end, I am still interested in the concept and many of the specific ideas that Wallace presents.  I may return to this book eventually if I can up my math understanding a bit.

Modern pulp

I picked up Michael Mammay's Spaceside at the grocery store on a whim.  It looked pulpy and it did not disappoint.  Apparently this is the sequel to a novel called Planetside that I did not read, and probably will not.  It isn't that I didn't enjoy this one, but more like I have enough things sitting on my shelf and on my amazon wish list that it seems unlikely that I will feel inspired to make time for this.  However, I do tend to pick books up for worse reasons, so it is always possible.
This was a good quick read blending mystery and thriller elements in with sci-fi.  The main character is a man with a history (if I had read the preceding novel, I probably would not have had to piece so much of it together, but I picked it up) who sets out on a new mission.  He does end up redeeming himself to some extent.
All of this is to be expected.  The thriller and action elements were stronger than the sci-fi because the author seems to really enjoy descriptions of combat strategy, particularly when ground troops are backed up from above.  The movements of his warring groups are precise, whether they are alien combatants or rival corporations.  The main character gets involved in a sort of interstellar corporate espionage plot that gets a little muddled in the middle.
In the end, I liked it but am having trouble remembering details about it even a couple of days after finishing it.