Not On The Shortlist 2020

Every year there are more worthy works than could fit on any Hugo Awards ballot. There will therefore always be works that are not included, no matter how great they may be. As our book club has done in previous years, some of us have selected the works they wish could have made this year's ballot. Each of these items represents the views of one member of the book club about the one item they most wanted to see on the ballot.

Were Hugo voters put off
by Ian McEwan's dismissive
comments about SF?
(Image via Amazon)

(AW) Machines Like Me - Novel

Ian McEwan's Machines Like Me provides an alternate history set in a more technologically advanced 1980s. It opens with an emotionally lost protagonist purchasing an android, a product developed by a successful, septuagenarian Alan Turing. Predictable but compelling and engaging moral dilemmas ensue and, as with many crossover works, the author packs a bit too much into the story: love triangle, violent crime against women, primal maternal attachment, etc.. However, the strength of the writing -- including pacing and profluence, plot arc, character development -- make this a satisfying read.

Some mainstream authors are shy to admit they write science fiction, even though they do. And it seems that Worldcon members are shy to acknowledge good crossover fiction, even though it can sometimes be worthy of recognition. Was Machines Like Me ignored because the author made willfully ignorant and self-congratulatory statements about the genre? Were Worldcon members refusing someone known for bullish snobbery? We all know that McEwan is far from the first person to write about moral dilemmas with AI but he did write something that will bring the idea of liminal SF to a new audience. And that can help strengthen the impact of speculative thinking and writing.

(CF) Ninth House - Young Adult Novel

Leigh Bardugo has crafted a satisfying dark fantasy mystery plumbs fantastical conspiracy theories about magical secret societies for a fun ride of a story. The world of spoiled rich kids secretly using magic to gather power, make money, and/or get laid fits so perfectly with the Ivy League setting it is no wonder that it is a trope. However, Bardugo managed to make it feel fresh, and it is not a bit surprising that Amazon picked up the rights to make it a TV show.

The main characters are compelling and complex and they keep the story moving at a good pace. There were some obvious class issues raised but I think there could have been a more nuanced book with less (™) spoiled two-dimensional rich kids. While more work could have been done on these supporting characters, I consider this small flaw to be one of the only remnants of an otherwise lovely transition from YA to adult novel.

(OR) Beasts Of Burden: The Presence Of Others - Graphic Story 

Evan Dorkin and Jill
Thompson's Beasts Of
Burden is beautiful
in every way.
(Image via Darkhorse.com)

Sporadically published by Dark Horse Comics since 2003, Evan Dorkin’s story of a magic-wielding group of dogs has been one of my personal favourites for more than a decade.

Illustrated in gloriously rich watercolours, first by Jill Thompson and later by Benjamin Dewey, Beasts of Burden is one of the most beautiful comic books on the market. The rotating cast of characters in the series — including Jack the beagle, Rex the doberman, and Pugsley the pug — investigate and confront mystical threats to the citizens (both human and canine) of the town of Burden Hill.

While many ‘talking animal’ comic books might end up saccharine or twee, Beasts of Burden develops its characters and aims to tell a compelling story first and foremost.

The 2019 entry into this saga, “The Presence Of Others” is a particularly sterling example of the series. Serving as a perfect on-ramp to the story, the latest series offers more of the perspective of the humans living in Burden Hill. It is unfortunate that this year will apparently be the last one that original artist and co-creator Jill Thompson will work on for a while — her ability to depict canine expressions with nuance imbued the characters with life and pathos.

Given the beauty of this series, the kindness of the writing, and the quality of characterization, I’ve been long surprised that it seems to have escaped the notice of Hugo voters. If you are interested in the Best Graphic Story category, I strongly urge you to take a look.

(CF) The Priory of the Orange Tree - Novel

This epic fantasy by Samantha Shannon is deserving of best in class for world building. Delving into the malleable nature of legends, history, and politics it pulls you into a character driven drama that is a surprising breath of fresh air through the normally stuffy epic fantasy genre.

One aspect that feels fresh is that most of the main characters are females and they are not (™) strong females but rather full and imperfect people. This adds welcome complexity to the story. Because it is character driven (and quite long), some readers may find it hard to carry on but by the middle of the story I think even die hard action fans will be captured by Ead and Tané’s struggles against monsters and monstrous humans.

(KB) Prospect (2018) - Dramatic Presentation

Focusing on character development and a unique setting over expensive special effects, Prospect

Because the WSFS
extended eligibility for
Prospect, it could have been
nominated this year ... but
it wasn't.
(Image via IMDB)

thrives as a what could have been a stand-out nominee for Best Dramatic Presentation, Long Form. Leading the small cast are The Mandalorian’s eponymous hero Pedro Pascal and impressively-skilled newcomer Sophie Thatcher play prospectors. Instead of panning for gold in the Klondike, they are on a forest moon aiming to collect gems. The two spend the film both at odds with one another, and allied with each other. The tension between the two characters in this foreign-to-them environment evokes classic Robert Service poetry with a sci-fi twist. The setting is a character with agency - as deadly as overpowered, Infinity-gauntleted supervillain.

As someone who craves creative stories with a fresher take on the SFF genre, it’s consistently disappointing to see smaller-budgeted flicks overlooked for superhero blockbusters that don’t bring anything new to the screen. While Prospect may not have made it to your ballot, I encourage you to check it out on Netflix, and consider expanding your long-form frontiers in the future.

(MB) The Future of Another Timeline - Novel 

Annalee Newitz’s second novel is well deserving of a place on the Hugo shortlist. It is a well-crafted, time traveling adventure story. It tackles real current world issues of misogyny with unabashed feminism. At the same time, it contains a very personal story of the protagonist editing her own past. The characters have depth and feeling because of these personal stories.

The time travel follows a distinct set of rules and Newitz is able to abide by the rules and not reach for deus ex machina to solve their problems. The story is engaging and contains huge amounts of well researched history.

While at times, the story can feel like a bit of polemic, it never comes across as preachy. This is a strong story with an equally strong message about collective action and feminist values.

Sleeping Next To An Elephant

It’s often said in Canada that living next to the United States is like sleeping with an elephant: you are

A Memory Called Empire
does not seem like a
first novel.
(Image via Amazon)

affected by every twitch and grunt. It’s a phrase that came to mind when reading Arkady Martine’s debut A Memory Called Empire, a sprawling and richly imagined novel about hegemony and loss of culture.

Set in the capital city of the vast Teixcalaanli interstellar empire, A Memory Called Empire follows Mahit Dzmare the new ambassador from the much smaller Lsel Stationer Republic as she investigates the murder of her predecessor and navigates a political crisis that could spell disaster for both nations.

Martine has delivered one of the most Asimovian science fiction novels we’ve read in recent memory, while making the narrative uniquely her own. There are clear parallels to Asimov’s Caves of Steel, as an outsider partners with a local to investigate a killing in a sprawling steel megacity. Much like in that classic robot novel, this provides the reader a powerful cultural vantage point. But the ways in which American exceptionalism is subverted in each novel is different, and reflects the time periods in which they were written; Asimov was concerned with what he saw as a growing rift within American society between the educated and the uneducated, while Martine seems to concern herself with the nature of how a culture exerts its dominance on another. While Martine’s staging of a dominant culture grappling with self-preservation in a wider social network pushes our use of the American metaphor, the use of a wider lense makes Memory more interesting.

Adding to the intellectual richness of this novel is the way in which the Teixcalaanli cultural and governance practices are emblematic of an empire in decline. Their obsession with rote memorization and a pedigreed form of high literature aligns with the obsessive conservative culture of, for example, the British Empire’s heyday. Their preoccupation with the preservation of their own culture at the expense of creative and technological innovation perhaps mirrors the Bakumatsu period in Japan (I.E. pre-Commodore Perry). The portrait of a civilization in which bureaucracy has bloomed past the point of usefulness is painfully relevant today. It’s a portrait that again evokes comparisons to Asimov, as one can find parallels to the crumbling Galactic Empire of Foundation.

Theodore Judson once observed that history is often the secret weapon of science fiction authors, and by that standard Arkady Martine is armed and dangerous.

Arkady Martine's academic background
in Byzantine history helps inform
her excellent debut novel.
(Image via MacMillan.com)

And this examination of hegemony is in fact one of the strongest elements of the novel; how the children on Lsel Station are exposed to so much Teixcalaanli poetry that they ignore their own cultural output, and how Mahit is at once both drawn to the dominant culture and uncomfortable with its allure. To be blunt about it, the Stationers are sleeping with an elephant.

Throughout the book, Martine makes these cultures feel distinct, and delves into their unique social mores. The writing is clear and engaging, and while the science fictional aspects of the book are never overwhelming in their detail, they are interesting and believable. Given the quality of the writing and plotting, it is hard to believe that this is a debut novel.

Despite the hype for A Memory Called Empire, none of us had read it prior to its inclusion on the Hugo Award ballot. We are very glad that it got nominated because it is very likely to end up at the top of some of our ballots.

The Death And Life Of Cyberpunk

Few science fiction subgenres have been proclaimed dead as often as cyberpunk. If you need any

Christine Foltzer's cover
for the novel Repo Virtual.
(Image via Amazon)

proof that these claims are exaggerated, look no further than Corey White’s 2020 debut novel Repo Virtual, which shows that cyberpunk is still vital and evolving.

Set in the fictional Korean city of Neo Songdo, Repo Virtual is both an action-based heist and an exploration of how corporate hegemony subverts human freedom.

Protagonist Julius Dax is a person with a disability who repairs robots as his day job and has a side gig conducting repossessions in various augmented-reality online games. The skills he has from working his repo work come into play when his step-sibling Soo-hyun drags him into a risky heist involving the theft of an artificial intelligence from the hands of a reclusive billionaire named Zero Lee.

The novel gets a bit more complicated when Dax (who is being hunted by the corporation that made the AI) decides to try and extort the person who organized the heist — a charismatic cult leader named Kali who may have nefarious plans for the artificial intelligence.

We’ve long observed that members of marginalized groups are often the first to face the adverse impacts of technological change. Which is why it is baffling that cyberpunk (a subgenre that explores the freedom-destroying aspects of new information technologies) is often focused on able-bodied white male characters as protagonists. White’s inclusion of LGBTQ+ characters, a prominent enby character, and other minority characters hints at some of the reasons why a revival of cyberpunk could be vibrant. We might have appreciated a bit more development for these characters, but their presence was natural and inclusive without seeming tokenistic or heavy-handed.

Despite a brisk pace and approachable prose, Repo Virtual was occasionally baffling. Transitions between chapters were sometimes jarring, and there were points at which the narrative became a bit arcane and labyrinthine. That being said, these minor flaws actually made the book feel more authentic and raw; this is a book whose unpolished edges contribute to the ‘punk’ aspect of ‘cyberpunk.’ There is a crackling anti-authoritanian energy to the novel, and it’s this punk element that makes the novel truly shine.

When it comes to tackling issues of authority and capitalist overreach, this novel is quite quotable: “Corporate capitalism is built on a foundation of infinite growth despite our very finite resources. We’re on track to consume our way to an unlivable planet, and no one seems to care.”

Although it’s pretty clear from the novel’s ending that this is a stand-alone book, Neo Songdo is a

Corey J. White's debut novel
is often quotably Marxist.
(Image via Twitter)

setting that we could have happily spent more time in. One of the major challenges for cyberpunk writers is to imagine exactly what uses the street will find for new technologies; Corey White is particularly good at this. White’s thoughtful worldbuilding shows why cyberpunk continues to be a relevant subgenre; gamified economies, precarious employment, augmented reality, and globalization have all accelerated since cyberpunk’s heyday in the 1980s. We kept being drawn into the story by details like the autonomous police security robot dogs, the quasi-veneration of the ultrawealthy, and the wealthy kids who conspicuously smoke cigarettes as a status symbol to show that they have the resources to be cured of cancer.

These bits of worldbuilding help reinforce the anti-capitalist themes of the story. Privatized health care helps trap Dax in disability. The need to eke out a living has corrupted Dax’s family relationships. This is a sadly believable future, and one that White depicts well.

Repo Virtual is cyberpunk for those who are attracted to cyberpunk for its anti-capitalist, anti-authoritarian vibes. The world needs more proletarian science fiction that tackles issues of class and economy and recognizes the struggles of marginalized populations. Corey White has just made a solid argument as to why cyberpunk might be the subgenre most well-suited to doing so.

The Last Emperox - Review

The Last Emperox is a disappointing final volume of an otherwise superb trilogy.

Image via Amazon.ca

Set in an interstellar empire connected by a network of conduits that allow faster-than-light travel, the Interdependency Trilogy centres around Emperox Grayland II. Shortly after her coronation, the Emperox learns that the network is about to collapse, leaving each imperial node cut off and isolated from each other.

The first two books dealt with the initial response to this discovery and the subsequent political machinations and attempted coups as various factions tried to turn the crisis to their advantage.

But as the third book opens, the underlying problem of an impending collapse of all interstellar trade remains unresolved. Grayland has five years before the worlds of her empire are split apart, and each system is left to fend for itself. It was made abundantly clear in the first two novels that there was no way to avoid this tragedy, and that each system would be unable to survive without their existing and symbiotic relationships with other worlds.

Resolving this point of tension in a satisfying and internally consistent way presents a major storytelling challenge. With 20 billion lives in the empire, the logistics of getting them all to the safety of a habitable planet (as opposed to orbital space stations) within five years would strain any story. Conversely, the prospect of ending a relatively light-hearted set of space adventure novels with the demise of 20 billion people would present major tonal challenges.

Unfortunately, Scalzi does not manage to resolve this conundrum. Instead of untangling the gordian knot created in the first two books, The Last Emperox offers readers another round of scheming nobility and coup attempts, with several of the most intriguing characters sidelined on personal quests and errands.

One of John Scalzi’s biggest strengths as a writer is his breezy, approachable prose that conveys meaning, personality, and emotion. For the first third of The Last Emperox, this remains true. But significant portions of the novel, particularly in the middle third, are told in the form of a rushed exposition of events.

The pace slows down suddenly during one character’s side-quest, but only to talk about the nature of the interstellar network. For the better part of a chapter, the author explains through metaphor and technobabble exactly why what was established as canonical fact about interstellar travel is no longer true.

Worse yet is the section in which we follow the plot as if it were a historical essay. Pages upon pages, paragraphs upon paragraphs without dialogue, character development, or human warmth. It feels like reading the text off a TV news anchor’s teleprompter. The writing comes across as rushed and lifeless.

During one of these expository sections, a major character is killed off so abruptly that some of us wondered whether it was a fake-out, and that it would be revealed later to be a ruse.

Most of all, the end of the novel is mostly a cop out. There’s plans to save the whole population of the Empire through a new property of the interstellar hyperspace network, though implementing this plan, and the possible demise of entire planets worth of people are left hanging. This cop-out ending seriously undermines the central climate change metaphor of the trilogy.

The first two novels of the Interdependency Trilogy are possibly the most enjoyable novels John Scalzi has ever written, in large part because of a diverse and interesting cast of characters. The first book introduced an interesting setting and a significant challenge. The second book explored some of the history and backdrop of this setting, while revealing new facets to the society. But the third adds very little.

Despite significant reservations about the third volume, we’d still recommend the series. The trilogy had the potential to be a definitive classic of science fiction, but is instead just OK.

Attack Surface: A Novel For Today

After the events of a weekend in which waves of violence overtook American streets, I find myself wishing that Cory Doctorow’s upcoming novel Attack Surface were already available.

It’s a novel that is perfectly suited to inform national dialogues about police violence, how

A photograph from today's Detroit
Free Press could have been pulled
straight out of Cory Doctorow's new book. 

technology can undermine or promote human freedom, and how members of the dominant culture can be allies in combating injustices committed against marginalized groups.

Picking up a decade after the events of Doctorow's Hugo-shortlisted novel Little Brother, this new book follows the career of Masha Maximow, the hacker/programmer who showed up briefly in previous stories.

As an anti-hero protagonist working for private security firms, Maximow's loyalties are split between the well-funded realpolitik employers that let her live in luxury, and the idealistic friends and allies she helps in secret. This makes for interesting internal character tensions, as well as opportunities for Doctorow to delve into the details of computer security and encryption.

One of Doctorow’s strengths as a writer is his ability to tackle complex real-world computer security issues with a depth of knowledge, while making the subject accessible to lay readers. He also makes it evident why the subject — and the nuances he's describing — are of immediate relevance to the plot.

Where the book stumbles is when Maximow reconnects with her former antagonist and ally Marcus Yallow, who was the protagonist of Doctorow’s previous novels Little Brother and Homeland. Yallow’s wide-eyed techno-utopianism feels at-odds with the more pragmatic worldview that has informed Maximow’s life for the majority of the book. Maximow’s subsequent road to Damascus moment is unconvincing at best. This tonal confusion may in part be explained by the unusual placement of Attack Surface as a novel for adults that is a continuation of a story set by two YA novels.

Major portions of Attack Surface are spent in protest scenes that are nearly identical to those plastered

Attack Surface will be
released on October 18,
2020. It could not be
more timely today.
(Image via MacMillan)

across every news station in the U.S.A. right now, and Doctorow captures the hope, the fear, and the confusion of these types of events. Any reader who has participated in a protest that was targeted by the police will recognize that Doctorow is clearly writing from experience.

Some of the police tactics that Doctorow describes — including kettling, deliberate provocations, and cell phone jamming — have been on display over the past few days. The ways in which the protagonists of Attack Surface circumvent those tactics are not always as effective as Doctorow describes, but the novel still provides a good crash course in some forms of effective protest management.

Given the events of this past weekend, I wonder if Doctorow underestimated the willingness of American police officers to act with unmitigated violence, and if he overestimated the judicial system’s ability to hold those police officers accountable.

Despite the ways in which Doctorow depicts omnipresent surveillance, privatized military being turned against citizens, and corporate corrosion of democratic accountability, Attack Surface is at its heart a hopeful novel. This is a story in which protests work and in which individual actors are able to affect change for the better. I am not sure that I found that believable, but at this present moment many readers might need something hopeful.

Attack Surface is a vital and necessary contribution to the public discourse. Doctorow is extremely talented at diagnosing potential problems with new technologies being used to subvert human freedom, even when the resolution to the story he tells might ring hollow.

I wish it were available now, rather than being released in October. 

The Astounding Award

Most Worldcon attendees are likely to be familiar with the long list of megastars for whom the Astounding Award (formerly the John W. Campbell Award) has been amongst the first of many honours they’ve received in long careers: Jerry Pournelle, Ted Chiang, Nalo Hopkinson, Jo Walton, Cory Doctorow, and Mary Robinette Kowal to name a few.

These authors continue to benefit from the promotion of publishers who profit from their works … but there is little economic incentive for publishers to continue promoting the works of lesser-known writers who are not producing new works. In some ways, the Astounding Award helps fill this need.

Reviewing the list of Astounding Award finalists and winners makes it clear that part of the joy and value of this award is that it can help new generations of readers find works by creators whose careers never soared to Scalzian heights, or whose years of writing were few in number.

Raphael Carter was shortlisted for the Astounding Award in 1997 and 1998 on the strength of 

Raphael Carter has only
published one novel.
But one great novel matters.
(Image via Wikipedia)

zirs cyberpunk novel The Fortunate Fall. If not for seeing zir listed on the Astounding Award shortlist, I might never have read — and enjoyed — this book. Carter never wrote another novel, and as far as I can tell is credited with just one short story.

The Fortunate Fall is a rich text that was ahead of its time. It’s prescient tackling of gender politics, as well as themes of surveillance would only become more important as a point of discussion in the decade after it was published. The fact that it helped earn Carter an Astounding Award nod helps the novel find new audiences, and maintains the integrity of its enduring value.

But Carter is not the only example of why the Astounding Award, and the similar Locus Award For Best First Book, are so important to the genre.

It has been 20 years since the fourth — and most recent — novel by Michaela Roessner hit the shelves. It has been almost a decade since her most recent short story. But The Stars Dispose remains an excellent fantasy that continues to find new readers through her Astounding nomination. Paul Melko hasn’t published so much as a short story since 2012, but his three novels (Singularity’s Ring, The Walls Of The Universe, and The Broken Universe) will find new readers through his Locus award. I'd highly recommend the parallel-world-hopping fun of The Walls Of The Universe.

The fact that Melko, Roessner and Carter do not seem to be publishing new books or stories anymore does not diminish in any way the depth of their talent, or the worthiness of their existing works. But it would, unfortunately, have made it significantly less likely that they will find new readers if awards like the Astounding didn’t exist.

Whatever these authors are up to now, I sincerely hope that they are doing well, and that they are proud of the fact that their books continue to connect with readers.

But the Astounding Award also reminds us to celebrate authors whose careers were cut short.

Carrie Richerson, who died last year, was twice nominated for the Astounding in 1993 and 1994 on

Carrie Richerson at the World
Fantasy Convention in 2006.
(photo by Scott Zrubek)

the strength of her short fiction. The Astounding helps ensure that we won’t forget her debut story Apotheosis.

David Feintuch won the Astounding in 1996 for his Seafort Saga books, which are largely out of print now, but fans of Horatio Hornblower novels would do well to seek them out. The Astounding may help keep his memory alive.

Awards for best first book, or for new writers are often seen as a jumping-off point, or a way to promote the career of an emerging artist. But seen in retrospect, I’d argue that these awards provide even more value by reminding us of great works that might otherwise have been forgotten.

Gideon The Ninth - review

Exuberant, quirky, and occasionally goofy, Tamsien Muir’s uneven debut novel is elevated by singular world building and an engaging primary narrator.

Introducing us to an ancient, decaying nine-world civilization, Gideon The Ninth follows the title character’s journey from her miserable, frozen and depopulated homeworld on the edge of the solar system to Canaan House, the central palace at the heart of the empire. Partnered with her hated childhood rival Harrow, Gideon represents her world in a series of trials.

Protagonist Gideon
Nonagesimus is an
extraordinary swordsman
who wears sunglasses.
(Image via Amazon.com)

The location is as integral to the novel as any of the characters: Canaan House is a massive, sprawling castle complex filled with antediluvian secret chambers, cyclopean tombs, labyrinthine passages, and crumbling architecture. It is a castle with a personality all its own, and may be one of the most well-developed characters in the novel. It reminded some of us of a YA Gormenghast.

The book is poised in that liminal zone between the fantastic and the science fictional. Details of how the world works are peppered organically through the story, without excessive elaboration about why, or how: magic (but only necromancy) is in common use, spaceships flit between distant worlds, the civilization is ruled by arcane and ancient noble houses, mirrored sunglasses are rare but obtainable. Nothing about the setting makes sense, and yet it all seems to work.

An interesting aspect of this world building is that although the magic is limited to various iterations of necromancy (raising the dead), it has been around long enough for civilization to have found every conceivable use for it. This is one of the most interestingly imagined magical systems in recent memory.

The prose may be somewhat rococo for the tastes of some readers, but it would be difficult to deny the skill that’s evident in the sentence structure, and the depth of descriptive detail. It has often been observed that the classic gothic horror novel is usually about a woman who moves to a house, where the otherworldly contents try to harm her. Both in terms of style and content, Gideon The Ninth falls into this tradition.

The book’s momentum is propelled by Gideon’s irreverent, quippy first-person narration, filled with bravado and ribald jokes. This type of cooler-than-cool, hipper-than-hip protagonist may be somewhat of a cliche in genre fiction, but Muir manages to make the trope feel fresh.

Through flashbacks and Gideon’s internal monologue, readers learn about her long problematic

Tamsyn Muir's debut novel
is filled to the brim with strange
and wondrous imagination.
(Image via Wikipedia)

relationship with Harrow, the heir to the throne of the House of the Ninth, and the person most responsible for hijacking Gideon’s life. Because they’re forced to ally with each other during the trials they face, they quickly grow closer, and eventually develop an intimate relationship.

This frenemy/codependency slowly becomes the heart of the novel, albeit an exceptionally problematic one. Gideon has very little agency in her decision-making. She’s essentially bound into servitude, frog-marched into her role as the Ninth House’s representative in the trials, and thrown into grave danger, with her freedom dangled as a potential reward. The power dynamics between Gideon and her oppressor are uncomfortable, as Harrow treats her with little respect. Some of us were uncomfortable with the abusive nature of this central relationship. 

Although a sequel is already available, even those of us who were enthusiastic in our appreciation of the novel wondered whether a follow-up is necessary. The book seems complete in and of itself, and further exploration of this bizarre and beautiful world may only serve to diminish the vast, unknowable mystery.

Despite these issues, Gideon The Ninth is a memorable, well-crafted, and worthy Hugo nominee that will end up fairly high on our ballots. We will be very interested to see what other strange and arcane worlds Tamsyn Muir will take us to next.