Mueller here. The Boss is off on one of his jaunts again. Came back from his latest one looking like a 20 something guy with a goatee and a head of short brown hair. When he sticks around here he looks like a very healthy gent in his 60s, distinguished looking and with a full head of wavy white hair. However, he usually looks different when he comes back from a journey. I've seen him as a stripling of a boy, this young man, an ancient geezer who can barely move without assistance, and anything and everything in between. One thing always gives him away, though, his eyes. No matter what color they are, or how lidded his gaze is, those eyes are always the same. There's some undefinable spark in 'em that makes you feel alive when you see them. Eve since we first met 15 years ago in the mine, those eyes stuck with me, even when I was doing my best to kill him.
Ehrm, enough talk about the Boss and the past.
It's been a slow week here in Ocean's Deep. Only had a handful of customers, so I've had plenty of time on my hands. A jovial turtle by the name of Henry had me order an assortment of books last Monday and they came in on Friday. Unfortunately, he phoned me later that day to let me know that he wouldn't be able to pick up the books for some time, so sorry. I asked him if I he minded me flipping through some of them, and he told me to go right ahead. Haven't read any of them before, so I spent most of the weekend reading in the pub. Got through one of the books and started a second one last night, but thought I'd try to write a review of the first book, to see how I like it. By the way, I'm having Bruce type this up and put it on the blog. We've become fast friends over the month or so since we first met, and since I'm utterly hopeless with technology, he's kindly offered to post stuff for me.
Anyhoo, here goes. The first book I read was Runner, by William C. Dietz.
General background of the story
It's a story about humanity at least a million years in the future. Several thousand years before the book takes place, there was apparently some sort of technological war and humans have by and large sworn of technology, or at least what I'd consider advanced technology. They'd spread among the stars by that point, but by the time of the book, they didn't know how to operate the ancient starships that traveled set routes between the planets, and in general had regressed back to a technology level more or less reminiscient of my native time period, the 1870s. Certain remnants of technology still fight for survival, but as a whole, on all worlds humanity is sliding backwards in progress towards the dark ages. Specialized couriers, known as runners, exist to deliver packages and messages to anyone on any world, braving the dangers of interstellar travel on ancient starships that no one knows how to operate. Across the planets, there are two main factions, the Black/Red Hats and the Technologists. The Black/Red Hats are competing schools of Buddhist thought, the Red Hats pretty much focusing on mind over emotion, and the Black Hats focusing on the reverse. The Technologists are trying to force a return to the technological ways of the past, and seem to be right bastards most of the time. Also present, although not a faction, are variants. These are people who were genetically engineered in the past to serve a specific role. There are the heavies, huge people around 7 feet tall and built like tanks, who specialize in heavy labor and the like. There are the sensitives, who have ESP, limited telekinesis, and other fun stuff. You've also got the wings, humans who were engineered to fly, and several other types of variants. Depending on which world you're on, the variants are either a standard part of society, or a distrusted faction that are enslaved.
Dramatis Personae:
-Jak Rebo: He's a runner
-Lanni Norr: She's a sensitive
-Tra Lee: He's a 10 year old boy from the Red Hat sect
-Bo Hoggles: He's a heavy
-Jevan Kane: He's an operative of the Technologists.
Plot
The story begins with Rebo being hired to transport Tra Lee to one of the other planets. The Red Hat sect thinks the boy is the incarnation of a revered prophet, Nom Maa. Unfortunately, the Black Hat Sect also thinks they have a boy who is Nom Maa's incarnation. The BH boy has already been sent to the other planet where Lee is going to undergo a test and determine if he is actually the reincarnated prophet. The BHs are intent on stopping Lee, the "imposter" from reaching his goal. Along the way, Rebo and Lee pick up Norr, who can channel the spirit of the founder of the Technologist order. Thousands of years ago, he was the emperor of the last star empire. His death marked the start of humanity's decline back towards barbarism. Norr's ability to channel the founder makes her a target of the Technologists, who want communication with the founder in order to reestablish the star gates that once linked the planets and allowed for instantaneous travel. The story primarily follows their travel across the various worlds from one space port to another, since the automated space ships that dock every so often are the only known way of travelling between planets. During the entire trip, which lasts what seems to be about 6 months or so, Rebo/Norr/Lee/Hoggles (he joins the group on the first leg of their journey) try to stay one step ahead of the Technologists chasing them, led by Kane, and the various Black Hat groups. To attempt to avoid spoiling the plot, Rebo's group eventually delivers Lee to his destination and the book is set up for a sequel.
Verdict
Overall, I wasn't super impressed. Lee is a 10 year old boy, but has been trained for years to be the current incarnation of a Buddhist prophet. But the kid is a freaking moron half the time. Pardon my French. He'll say something that seems suitably Buddhist-prophet-like, and then turn around and do something that anyone with half a brain cell would tell is a terrible, terrible idea. And the adults of the party are equally juvenile in their thinking and actions. The chase crosses a handful of planets and they fall into the same traps each time. The cognitive process of the adults as portrayed in the book has holes big enough to drive a L-phant (genetically engineered headless elephants) through. The dialog often feels just "off," and the characterizations aren't very fleshed out. That being said, the overall story is engaging, although it could have stood a much more stringent editing, and the action is well written. If I had to give it a numerical score, I'd give it a 6.5/10.
*************
I haven't looked through the entire pile of books my customer bought, so I don't know if he ordered the sequel. If he did, I'll read it to see if it improved. If not, my inability to read the next book won't shatter my world.
Enough writing for now. Looks like I've got a potential customer heading this way. Maybe I can persuade him to read some of the Boss' excellent exploits.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Sunday, August 19, 2012
A most peculiar turn of events
Hallo, my name is Bruce. I like books almost as much as I like fish. I met a very pleasant and engaging elderly gent the other day at the local Fish Are Friends meeting, and we quickly hit it off talking about books. The conversation meandered here and there covering all genres of books and our favorite authors before it turned to the topic of writing. Mr. Taylor, for that's the fellow, mentioned that he is currently working on three different projects, each chronicling some of his adventures throughout his long and storied life. One is a series of short stories that read like sci fi or fantasy if they were fiction, another is a series of his quite fantastical adventures, and the third is a very grandiose and broad sweeping retelling of yet more of his epic adventures, although it was in the extremely preliminary stages, as he is trying to remember all the details of his adventures. As bloomin' fantastical as it sounds, it appears that he's lived enough lifetimes to satisfy ten tens of men! It sure sounds odd, mate, but as far as I could tell, he was telling me the truth.
Anyhoo, he lamented the fact that he didn't have the time, busy as he is chronicling his exploits, to keep his friends and family appraised of his status. By this time, we'd been talking for hours upon hours and had retired to a local bar. Over shots of Floridian seawater, I mentioned that I was pretty handy with blogs and offered to set a blog up to keep his friends and family appraised if he'd keep in touch with me from time to time. His eyes lit up at the offer and he indicated that he was quite interested in the prospect. The bartender, a tuna friend of mine, gave out last call, so we adjoined back to our respective houses with the promise to keep in touch the next day.
The following morning, I received a letter written in a flowing script from Tim. He said he had been urgently summoned away on a matter of great importance, but would contact me as soon as he had some free time. The next several weeks passed rather uneventfully, but seventeen days later, I received a package addressed to me with no return address.
Opening it, I found another letter written in the same familiar script. Tim apologized for having to act somewhat clandestinely, but the situation he was dealing with was even more important than he'd expected, and he wouldn't be able to drag himself away for the forseeable future. He entrusted the contents of the package to my care, and recommended that I meet a fellow named Mueller at the provided address at my earliest convenience. I finished unwrapping the package to reveal a stack of books. I flipped through them, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about them. How odd.
The peculiarity of the whole situation excited my curiosity for the rest of the day, and I looked this Mueller fellow the next day, carrying my package of books. Mueller had a shop down in the depths of an old WWII shipwreck, a small, dingy looking shop tucked away in a corner under a spectacular mushroom of rusted, twisted metal. The sign proclaimed the establishment to be Mueller's Oddities: Purveyor of fine short stories, novellas, and novels. Curioser and curioser. I entered the shop and ran into the only fellow in the store.
A tall, heavily muscled man, he wore a dusty outfit that looked like it had come out of the pages of an old American Western novel. I introduced myself and told him about Mr. Taylor's cryptic letter.
"Ah," he exclaimed. "You've met Mr. Taylor, too! Please, please, make yourself at home!" He hustled around and cleared off a table for me to set the books down upon.
"I spoke to Mr. Taylor last week and he mentioned that you'd be coming along any day now. Has he told you of how we met?" I indicated that he hadn't, so Mueller continued. "We met, oh, about 15 years ago. It was out West just after the War Between The States. Yes, yes, I know the dates don't line up, but that's part of what makes Mr. Taylor so special! Anyways, we were mortal enemies at first, but several years later we ran into each other again and we became business acquaintances. For the past ten years or so, I've published the chronicles of his exploits." He waved his hand at the contents of the bookstore. "All those are his exploits. I must admit, I can scarcely fathom how he can do all these things, and how he aged half a lifetime between when I first met him and when I met him the second time a few years later, let alone how I'm here and now."
Wow, that was a lot to take in. I took out a braided rope of kelp and started munching on it as I pondered what Mueller had said. Around a mouthful of kelp, I asked what Mr. Taylor had in mind for me.
"My dear fellow, I've got no capabilities with computers and the internet. I am a man outside of my own time, after all. When he communicates with you, he'd like you to turn said communications into a blog to share with his friends and family. No, I don't have any clue who his family is, either, let alone if they are as singularly impressive as he is. If you'd like to use his blog for your own purposes, you are more than welcome to do so, as long as your uses don't impinge on his communiques."
I mused it over for about half a second and then whole heartedly accepted. This sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime! I stayed around to chat with Mueller for a while longer, then departed to head back to my abode.
Later that evening, as I sat in my great chair before the fire, I looked at the stack of books Mr Taylor had sent, and then picked up the first off the stack, opened it up, and started to read. Later that night, when my eyes had started to tire of the printed page, I turned on my computer and sat down to write about the most peculiar events of the last few weeks...
Anyhoo, he lamented the fact that he didn't have the time, busy as he is chronicling his exploits, to keep his friends and family appraised of his status. By this time, we'd been talking for hours upon hours and had retired to a local bar. Over shots of Floridian seawater, I mentioned that I was pretty handy with blogs and offered to set a blog up to keep his friends and family appraised if he'd keep in touch with me from time to time. His eyes lit up at the offer and he indicated that he was quite interested in the prospect. The bartender, a tuna friend of mine, gave out last call, so we adjoined back to our respective houses with the promise to keep in touch the next day.
The following morning, I received a letter written in a flowing script from Tim. He said he had been urgently summoned away on a matter of great importance, but would contact me as soon as he had some free time. The next several weeks passed rather uneventfully, but seventeen days later, I received a package addressed to me with no return address.
Opening it, I found another letter written in the same familiar script. Tim apologized for having to act somewhat clandestinely, but the situation he was dealing with was even more important than he'd expected, and he wouldn't be able to drag himself away for the forseeable future. He entrusted the contents of the package to my care, and recommended that I meet a fellow named Mueller at the provided address at my earliest convenience. I finished unwrapping the package to reveal a stack of books. I flipped through them, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about them. How odd.
The peculiarity of the whole situation excited my curiosity for the rest of the day, and I looked this Mueller fellow the next day, carrying my package of books. Mueller had a shop down in the depths of an old WWII shipwreck, a small, dingy looking shop tucked away in a corner under a spectacular mushroom of rusted, twisted metal. The sign proclaimed the establishment to be Mueller's Oddities: Purveyor of fine short stories, novellas, and novels. Curioser and curioser. I entered the shop and ran into the only fellow in the store.
A tall, heavily muscled man, he wore a dusty outfit that looked like it had come out of the pages of an old American Western novel. I introduced myself and told him about Mr. Taylor's cryptic letter.
"Ah," he exclaimed. "You've met Mr. Taylor, too! Please, please, make yourself at home!" He hustled around and cleared off a table for me to set the books down upon.
"I spoke to Mr. Taylor last week and he mentioned that you'd be coming along any day now. Has he told you of how we met?" I indicated that he hadn't, so Mueller continued. "We met, oh, about 15 years ago. It was out West just after the War Between The States. Yes, yes, I know the dates don't line up, but that's part of what makes Mr. Taylor so special! Anyways, we were mortal enemies at first, but several years later we ran into each other again and we became business acquaintances. For the past ten years or so, I've published the chronicles of his exploits." He waved his hand at the contents of the bookstore. "All those are his exploits. I must admit, I can scarcely fathom how he can do all these things, and how he aged half a lifetime between when I first met him and when I met him the second time a few years later, let alone how I'm here and now."
Wow, that was a lot to take in. I took out a braided rope of kelp and started munching on it as I pondered what Mueller had said. Around a mouthful of kelp, I asked what Mr. Taylor had in mind for me.
"My dear fellow, I've got no capabilities with computers and the internet. I am a man outside of my own time, after all. When he communicates with you, he'd like you to turn said communications into a blog to share with his friends and family. No, I don't have any clue who his family is, either, let alone if they are as singularly impressive as he is. If you'd like to use his blog for your own purposes, you are more than welcome to do so, as long as your uses don't impinge on his communiques."
I mused it over for about half a second and then whole heartedly accepted. This sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime! I stayed around to chat with Mueller for a while longer, then departed to head back to my abode.
Later that evening, as I sat in my great chair before the fire, I looked at the stack of books Mr Taylor had sent, and then picked up the first off the stack, opened it up, and started to read. Later that night, when my eyes had started to tire of the printed page, I turned on my computer and sat down to write about the most peculiar events of the last few weeks...
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