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"Is there one among us who has not behaved badly in this tale?"

I would pitch this book as Gundam Joan of Arc. It follows the course of the life of Misery Nomaki :drum: who believes they are sick with the same void madness that claimed the life of their mother and causes them to hear the voice of an angel telling them what to do. They lie their way into being the foretold ninth messiah to try to get themselves out of larger trouble, but everybody believes them (and eventually they begin to wonder if maybe they're not lying to themselves after all).

I love Neon Yang's worldbuilding and characters. This book is set in the far future where humanity's exodus into the stars took them into a realm where a "nullvoid" epidemic warped people's bodies; they were saved by the Larex Forge who teaches them how to use magic stone and protects them from the nullvoid. There's also a political conflict between the throne and the church, who are at war with heretics.

Small details I enjoyed:

• One common motif here is "lies". The story about the Larex Forge is clearly a self-serving church narrative, but we only see one side. Misery lies to other people and to herself, and we only see the world through her eyes. We see a lot of the church and some of the throne, but hear very little of the heretics and what their side has to say for themselves. Also, the epilogue itself is a discussion about lies.

• I love the way that Misery changes the way they talk over the course of the book as they change from feeling like they are lying their way through the world to starting to become invested in their own ninth Messiah identity.

• The book explicitly gives everybody's pronouns, and I love that there's a minor plot detail that hinges on Misery using a pronoun for somebody they aren't supposed to know about.

• The angry royal princess with a whip who has a knock-down fight with Misery the first time they meet felt like a classic romance introduction, but I thought she ended up being a fun character. That first fight is also such a great literal introduction to the conflict between the church and the throne.

This is a book that is understandably entirely focused on the experience and biased perspective of Misery, and it leaves the motivations and machinations of throne, church, and heretics out of view. On top of that, the epilogue and ending narrative framing create far more questions than they answer and call many things into doubt. All of this together made me feel as if I had missed some significant puzzle pieces while I was reading. However, I learned afterwards that this is the first book in a trilogy, which hopefully creates room to fill in all these juicy details later.

This is a belated #SFFBookClub read for me, as I finally was able to get my library's only copy of this book.

Wondrous Journeys in Strange Lands reads like a set of short stories in a travelogue, where each chapter in this book felt like its own self-contained adventure. Most loose ends for each story get (almost too) neatly tied off before the next, and Qamar felt to me emotionally as almost a different character each time around. All of this together made the book feel a little shallow to me, as most of what I got out of it thematically was just a desire for travel.

The in-world "Wondrous Journeys in Strange Lands" book connects both Qamar's parents as well as Qamar with other characters, especially given that we find out that there's only a half-dozen copies of it made, but it felt underused. By the end, it seemed to be more of an easter egg to have the book appear in itself; at best, it's an overt symbol of the spirit of travel, and I wanted a little bit more oomph to it.

This all sounds very negative, but I enjoyed a lot of the short stories. They just don't stand as a whole together, and I think the book is weaker for it.

This was a fun prequel to Legends & Lattes. It was a much stronger book for me with much more depth; Viv is stuck injured in a small seaside town and has to figure out what to do with herself while she's recovering. It's a cozy book about finding new directions, supporting friends who are stuck, and connections even when they're temporary. These are very different books, but it made me want to go reread Bujold's Memory, which is also a book centered on sorting out your life when its expected trajectory has been suddenly altered.

It's also a book about loving books and caring for a bookstore, which immediately endeared itself to me. Fern (the foul-mouthed rattkin who owns said bookstore) recommends Viv a series of books from different (in-world fantasy takes on) genres. The snippets from these books are entertaining but each one ties implicitly and explicitly into the themes and plot. Mystery! Action! Romance! Friendship! Local authors! Maybe it's a little too on the nose, but it worked really well for me.

(As a super minor aside here, it's also interesting to me about where the tension in this book comes from. Certainly, there's a larger necromancer in the background that creates the larger plot. Secondarily, money in the book is also a concern, but it's less that any of these characters will starve and it's more an emotional worry--Fern is concerned that her bookstore will fold and she will have failed her dad and her own dream. There's a lot of discussion of Viv paying for baked goods and her room and board, but despite being a young mercenary there's never any "how am I going to support this lifestyle of staying at this inn all summer" worries. It reminds me of the kind of cozy worldbuilding that Zandra Vandra does, where there's emotional tension but the normal grinding terribleness of the world has been softened at the edges.)

A debut science fiction novel about secrets, genocide, and revenge.

I enjoyed all three point of view characters. Jun is a hacker with a secret past on the run. Esek is selfish, violent, and literally terrible, and yet she manages to be a captivating character. Chono is good-hearted and looks like a rule-following institutionalist, but her conflicting loyalties to people overrule her lawful tendencies. Chono and Esek are tied together by their relationships with Six, a mysterious figure who used to be a student with Chono; Esek spurning Six in the opening scene creates a feud that escalates out of control. I enjoyed the worldbuilding, but as you can see from this description, the heart of this book was in the relationships.

A content warning especially for genocide here. A good bit of the plot revolves around the Jeveni people; they were mostly killed on a small moon and the remaining few are now economically exploited and hated. Folks tut about the past while doing nothing about the present. Other content warnings for quite a bit of bloody violence on page, and mentions of rape and pedophilia.

(On the minor space gender front, this book also has characters wearing "gendermarks" which felt sort of like pronoun pins of the future. One character switches up their gendermark from scene to scene. There seems to be some non-binary [this is my word] options too. It reminded me a bit of the signifiers in Everina Maxwell's Winter's Orbit.)

The book was a bit slow to start. Jun is on the run from Chono and Esek, and for a good chunk of the book we see Chono and Esek repeatedly showing up just too late to find Jun. I wish the chase on their end did a little bit more narrative work.

I think my favorite part of the book is its use of flashbacks. The reader gets teased about the names of some events that we eventually get to see. Esek shows up with a mangled ear, and oh boy do we find out about that in a later flashback too. The novel takes a little bit to get going, but these reveals about the past mixing with action in the present make for some great twists and a satisfying conclusion.

I read this for the #SFFBookClub January book pick. How High We Go in the Dark is a collection of interconnected short stories dealing with death, grief, and remembrance in the face of overwhelming death and a pandemic. Despite getting very dark, I was surprised at the amount of hopefulness to be found in the face of all of this.

It was interesting to me that this collection had been started much earlier and the Arctic plague was a later detail to tie everything together. Personally, I feel really appreciative of authors exploring their own pandemic-related feelings like this; they're certainly not often comfortable feelings, but it certainly helps me personally, much more than the avoidance and blinders song and dance that feels on repeat everywhere else in my life.

It's hard for me to evaluate this book as a whole. I deeply enjoyed the structural setup, and seeing background characters narrate their own chapters added quite a bit of emotional nuance. Pig Son especially would have hit differently without the background from a few chapters earlier. Some of the stories were quite full of knives, but my one complaint is that some stories in the back half felt like retreading similar grounds of grief and remembrance; they just didn't have the same level of impact for me. Both the final chapter and the title-generating chapter were thematically strong, but didn't quite carry the same level of emotional weight or closure that I wanted. I am not sure subjectively why I felt this way, but I think this is some of the flipside of its short story nature--that there's only a consistent emotional thread running through the book rather than a character or plot arc.

I'm really glad to have read this, and feel like a lot of these stories and feelings are going to stick with me for a long while.

This is a near future story about Beck Garrison, a precocious teenager growing up on a libertarian seastead off the coast of California. Her part-time job is finding things (or people) for others, and this work gets her into things and places she's not supposed to, all while trying to stay out from under the eye of an overbearing father.

It's also got: Reality shows! Unions! (Un)believable backlash against said unions! Shitty controlling parents! Mad scientists!

This book certainly gets at everything you suspect would go wrong with a libertarian seastead. What situations would cause people to flee the United States to go there? What kind of immoral shady behavior would people get up to? What terrible capitalism is everybody living under? What sort of a sham of worker's rights even pretends like it exists here? BUT, if that were all this book were about, it'd be just another good book in the overflowing "capitalism is bad, actually" pile.

What works in this book especially for me, is that Beck likes the seastead she's grown up on (even as she moans about not getting to ever leave like her friends have). She cares about making it better. People listen to her. She has leverage to make things better, and goes out of her way to help people when she has the power to. I think her care for a place that is both broken and also hers makes the story work; it feels like a metaphor for our own broken and messy places that we still want to try to fix.