Hi hi. Here’s what I read during the month of June. Unlike May, which was a A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month, I actually managed to sneak in a few things this time around. It was a decent one.
The Wildman of Shaggy Creek by R.H. Grimly. After last month — which, as I’ve already said, was Terrible — I fell into a particularly bad slump. I’ve always maintained that the best way to get out of one is to pick up a middle grade book — particularly if it’s a spooky one. Picked this up with the intention of starting my summer horror reading. That didn’t really pan out, but it did get my reading in general back on track. A nice, fun, and quick read. It’s a Goosebumps throwback, down to the format and even the spectacular cover art, which was done by Tim Jacobus, natch. It does a fine job evoking the nostalgia-laden series, stumbling only towards the end, where it wraps up everything entirely too neatly, whereas Stine would have rather died before wasting an opportunity to go with a perfectly terrible and tawdry twist.
The Suitcase Clone by Robin Sloan. Read this in anticipation of Moonbound. Sloan is at his most playful here — both in terms of the language (the fun he has with words is palpable) and plot (veritably pulpy). Like in his novel Sourdough, of which this is sort of a prequel, food and drink play integral roles here, and the descriptions are nothing short of delectable. Like, I’m in no way a wine guy, but this made me want to be a wine guy, you know? Great stuff. Sloan is a perennial fave.
Moonbound by Robin Sloan. As with most things I end up truly loving, I have no idea how to talk about this book. It grabbed me in a way no book really has since Psalm for the Wild-Built. Which is apt, I think, because in a lot of ways they are very similar: stories about a future in which, rather than succumbing to despair and desperation, people find a way to go on. My own cynical streak aside, these stories of radical optimism always resonate with me in a deep and pointed manner — second only to stories that are about stories themselves. So is it any wonder that I loved this so much, when it’s a hopeful story about an optimistic future and that it’s also, at its core, about stories and storytelling? Another kind of storytelling I’m deeply drawn to are those that deal with the metatextual and the self-referential. It’s something that Sloan has always done particularly well, and here he cranks it up in a considerable manner. And the result is an extravagantly whimsical and imaginative fable about friendship and bravery and the stories we tell ourselves to get us through the dark. I couldn’t help but adore this book. It tugged at my heartstrings from the first chapter on. I didn’t want it to end. I want to read it again. Favorite book of the year thus far, needless to say.
I also managed to read two short stories this time around. To be perfectly candid I had forgotten all about them after a couple of weeks, which I guess is a reflection of how I enjoyed them as a whole.
“Uncharted Waters” by Sally Hepworth. Was in the mood for a summer mystery when I picked this up. It turned out to be less of a thriller than it was a domestic drama, but the vibes were undoubtedly summery. I thought it was okay. The story and the setting were fine, but like a lot of these Kindle-exclusive short stories, the beginning was way too drawn out while the climax felt entirely rushed and anticlimactic. Which is why it ended up being so forgettable, unfortunately.
“Tiger Chair” by Max Brooks. I am a fairly big fan of Brooks, I would say. World War Z was a formative reading experience for me, and Devolution was one of my favorite Hallowe’en reads a couple of years ago. Brooks’ books are all about world-building, something he is obscenely good at. His settings are always particular and precise. But the thing that makes his stories stand out for me is the visceral level through which we experience these meticulous environments. Brooks’ impeccable skill at setting a scene shines here, but ultimately I found that it lacked that certain vulnerable viewpoint. It is a terrifyingly realistic tale, though, and, I’m sure, painstakingly researched. But it left me feeling cold.
Things have been kind of hectic on my side for a couple of weeks and, even though reading hasn’t been exactly a priority lately because of that, I’m thankful to all these stories, regardless of enjoyment, for providing some much needed escapism. Onwards and upwards.
ricardo reading 