MMXX

December 31, 2020January 25, 2021 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

So 2020 was a year that certainly happened.

I don’t want to write much about the year on a personal level. I used to do that with these reflections, but the last couple of years have been rough, to say the least, both on a personal scale and, you know, a global one, and I find myself with little energy to expound much on the hardships of life at the close of it all. I doubt there’s much I can say that hasn’t already been said by thousands of others, anyway. We’re all passengers on Spaceship Earth after all; we’re all going through the same kind of bedlam.

So I talk about books and stories. It’s the best I can do.

Books are — and they always have been — the beams of light that break through the darkness of any given time period, after all. I can’t think of a better, more appropriate way of saying good riddance to this plague year than by putting forth a small selection of these bright, shining beacons. These talismans against despair.

Continue reading “MMXX” →

PIRANESI by Susanna Clarke

December 31, 2020April 8, 2021 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

𝑷𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒊 was the very last book I read in 2020. I finished it thinking that it was probably the best thing I read in the entire year, but that I needed time to dwell on it before I could say for certain.⠀

I think two weeks is more than ample time. It’s not only the best book I read last year, but it’s also simply one of the best I’ve read in, I don’t know, the last decade? Susanna Clarke just writes the kind of stories I love reading the most: full of wizardry and wordplay and whimsy and wistfulness. Fairy tales, in other words, in their purest, most primal form. ⠀

Alan Moore, the comic book writer and actual honest-to-goodness magician, often writes about art as being true, literal magic, a notion that has always stuck with me:⠀

Art is, like magic, the science of manipulating symbols, words, or images, to achieve changes in consciousness. The very language about magic seems to be talking as much about writing or art as it is about supernatural events. A “grimoire,” for example, “the book of spells,” is simply a fancy way of saying “grammar.” Indeed, to “cast a spell,” is simply, “to spell.” To manipulate words. To change people’s consciousness.

It’s an interpretation I love, because while I don’t really believe in actual, wave-thy-wand magic, I sure as hell believe in the power of art.⠀

Which is all really to say, for what seems the hundredth time, that I think Susanna Clarke is a true mage, and I will read any spell she chuses to cast on the world.

SEVEN DAYS OF US by Francesca Hornak

December 20, 2020December 25, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

I was going to attempt to do one of my overly verbose, wordplay-filled summaries for this novel, as they are turning out to be one of my very favorite things to write, but I found that the publisher’s copy is actually pretty perfect as on its own, particularly in capturing the frantic, frenetic tone of the story. It goes:

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸’𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 — 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘞𝘦𝘺𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘖𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢, 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰. 𝘚𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬… 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘗𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘱𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵-𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘴.

𝘈𝘴 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨-𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰’𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦….

I mean, come on. I suppose it does also make it sound like a Lifetime and/or Hallmark movie, but, unremarkable and problematic as they may be (must they all center around white, upper-middle class people and their problems, in this the year of our Lord 2020), you kind of have to admit that they seemed to have cracked a hell of an alluring formula. Why else would ~~my mother~~ audiences keep coming back for more?

But that’s the vibe I got from Francesca Hornak’s 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑼𝒔. And while I may not generally be a fan of the tried and true trope of melodrama stemming from people not communicating clearly with one another, I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy the hell out of it in this telenovela of a novel. Admittedly, my interest in it only began about the midway point, finding the first half’s set-up and exposition excessive to the point of being tedious. The nearer the story got to Christmas however, the more all the secrets and pent up tension from the preceding pages threatened to explode. The outcome of which was the bookish equivalent of not being able to look away from a trainwreck. I was surprised to find myself gasping and harshly whispering out things like “ⁿᵒ” and “ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ” and “ᵒʰ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵍᵒᵈ ʷʰʸ” so often. It was pretty great.

Much of that enjoyment was a direct result of Hornak’s remarkable job at writing this bevy of fastidious, slightly unlikeable characters. You may not wish to spend some time with them in real life, but you can certainly, assuredly, relate and empathize with every single one of them. We might not be going through many of their specific set of issues (Olivia labeling them first world problems is spot on for the most part), but we know how family can be a battleground almost as often as it is a haven. It’s another time-tested trope — one that rings particularly true in this time of quarantine and lockdowns.

It’s a little wild to think that this stay-at-home angle was probably the one aspect of the novel the author must have thought not many readers would find relatable. Why would she? This book was first published in 2017, after all. Back when we were all still taking the act of being able to go outside your house and mingling with other people who are not immediately related to you totally and utterly for granted. Ha ha ha who would have ever thought.

SERPENTINE by Philip Pullman

December 19, 2020April 8, 2021 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

When it comes to human affairs, a billion invisible filaments connect us to our own pasts, as well as to the most remote things we can imagine; and I hope that, above all, these books are about being alive and being human.⠀

— Philip Pullman⠀

I began this year by reading Philip Pullman’s 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩, so I only thought it fitting that I would end it by reading yet another of his fantastic expeditions into human nature. 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 is a brief excursion into Lyra’s world, and actually acts as a sort of thematic prequel to 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩, the second entry in 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵 series. ⠀

𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 tells a small, intimate story in which Lyra Belacqua joins some colleagues at an archaeological site that happens to be near the home of a past acquaintance — someone who just might be able to answer some of the many burning questions Lyra has been carrying ever since the events related in 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴. She and her dæmon, Pan, have been growing apart in the aftermath of these earlier exploits, a predicament they can’t seem to be able to solve, causing them both great emotional turmoil. Lyra, true to her curious nature, is determined to decipher this dilemma. She gets some clarification by the end of this novella, but the relationship between humans and their inner-selves is something that will preoccupy Lyra well into her adulthood. Indeed this concern forms the central theme in 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 (and, I suspect, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵 as a whole).⠀

I was well into my twenties when I first read 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘴, but the series still ended up being acutely formative. It’s a story that spoke to me on a host of different levels (not least of which a spiritual one) and even though I’ve never sat down and revisited the novels, they still, to this day, live rent-free in my head and heart.⠀

This makes every subsequent glimpse into this world feel like a privilege and a homecoming. There’s something intensely warm and comforting about these novels — probably due to the fact that despite them being mostly dark, serious tomes of the fantastic, they are also some of the most human books out there.⠀⠀

Which is a roundabout way of saying that each return visit to Pullman’s world has felt like coming home. Like visiting old friends. Like gaining some fresh, new insight— however small — into what it means to be human and alive. And the experience of reading 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 was no different.

KINDRED SPIRITS + THE PRINCE AND THE TROLL by Rainbow Rowell

December 19, 2020December 23, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

Hey so speaking of — did you know Rainbow Rowell once wrote a Star Wars story? Well, Star Wars-adjacent, at any rate. For World Book Day a couple of years ago she came out with a short little story about a group of fans waiting in line for the premiere of 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘴. I read it a short while after the story came out and, like a lot of Rowell’s work, I pretty much loved it. Here’s a short review from an old blog:⠀
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𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚠 𝚁𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝘎𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚁𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔). 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕.⠀
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𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔-𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.⠀
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𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝙾𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘴. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝙸 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕-𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙. 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕.⠀
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Like every December since the first film in the sequel trilogy came out, Star Wars has been on my mind a lot, which is why I decided to revisit the slim volume. I enjoyed it just as much this time around, appreciating especially how it captures the eager, edgy excitement a lot of fans of the saga felt in the run-up of the release of TFA. You know, before the dark times. Before the 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. This does tragically make the story act somewhat like a time capsule, however, portraying as it does a facet of fandom that seems quaint and innocent considering the meaningless gatekeeping and toxic rhetoric that is so maddeningly prevalent these days. Alas. ⠀
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You and I can still enjoy things, though. It’ll be our secret. ⠀
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Shortly after finishing the novella, I was made aware of a series of fairy tale retellings a bunch of prominent authors were doing for the Amazon Original Stories initiative. Rowell was one of these writers, contributing 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍, an odd little tale that doesn’t seem to be an interpretation of any one fable in particular but instead plays with the troll-under-the-bridge narrative. The story seems to be a blend of Rowell’s realistic contemporary style and the dark whimsy found in her fantasy fiction. This makes it a bit disjointed but it works for the most part. The aforementioned gift is once more in full display here as I also finished this peculiar yarn wanting to know more about the two protagonists, and about the world in specific, which appears to be a sort of post-climate apocalypse mythical land (that, you know, still has Starbucks). Also because once I read that title I just 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 Rowell would make them fall in love with each other and that I would buy it hook, line, sinker — and, reader, I 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

THE VISITOR by Sergio Gomez

December 18, 2020December 22, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

In the proverbial middle of nowhere a group of travelers wait out a severe snowstorm inside of a diner. Inside they find warmth and food and drink and casual conversation. Most of them quickly develop the quick camaraderie commonly found between people sharing in a particular, peculiar experience. They are hopeful the rough weather will disperse before long, allowing them to continue their particular journeys. ⠀
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A fellow traveler will soon be trying to join them, however, one with less than benevolent intentions in mind — and the group will quickly realize that there are far more dangerous things outside than the miserable elements.⠀
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You know, I’ve never really associated the holiday season with horror. Dwell on it enough and it does begin to make a perverse sort of sense, though. Fiction centered around the holidays (and around Christmas especially) is brimming with stories about disparate groups of people finding themselves stuck in an isolated, often claustrophobic setting, after all, and that is as traditional a horror set-up as you can get. Why 𝘯𝘰𝘵 just throw a monster into the mix?⠀
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The monster in 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓, a novella by Sergio Gomez, arrives in the shape of an alien, coming to terrorize our protagonists. Despite the otherworldly antagonist and the wintry setting however, this story is less 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 than it is 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳, as we quickly find out this creature wants to join in on the Yautja fun by trying to hunt down our core characters one by one.⠀
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This being a brief sojourn of a story, my only expectation was to have a good time — a prospect that was indeed met. Gomez has written a tight tale that boasts a breakneck pace, while also somehow finding the space to develop the characters enough that we can recognize and sympathize with their plight. Not an easy thing to do in less than a hundred pages, but Gomez did a creditable job with the material.⠀
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If there is one thing I found lacking was the monster itself, especially in terms of its appearance. Gomez keeps it understandably vague, but the impression that we can glean from the details he 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 drop ends up being… a tiny bit goofy. This is disappointing seeing as how the cover depicts what looks like a traditional Grey alien, which is an image that has always haunted and disturbed me (hullo, my name is Rick, and Whitley Strieber’s 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯 is one of the most terrifying books I have ever read). I would have found the story much more effective and unsettling if we got the same spindly extraterrestrial inside the story itself. But I confess that this is more of a personal preference than it is 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 criticism.⠀
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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓 is a fun and bloody ride that makes for some excellent holiday reading.

FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW: THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK by Various

December 14, 2020April 3, 2021 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

The first volume of 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘊𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘗𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘝𝘪𝘦𝘸 was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘴 had, well, awakened a long-dormant excitement for Star Wars, pushing me down a nostalgic-tinged rabbit hole that led me to things like 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘴 (which still stands as my favorite piece of new SW media) and, eventually, inevitably, to the books. Up to that point, in the aftermath of the Disney acquisition most of the stories had to do, naturally, with the new sequel trilogy of films, broadening the narrative and developing certain key characters. Occasionally some of the books dropped dealt with characters and events from bygone eras, but for the most part the expanded universe focused on the 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵. And then 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘊𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘗𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘝𝘪𝘦𝘸 suddenly arrived, an anthology featuring a wide array of writers telling the stories of dozens of peripheral characters from the film that started it all. It’s an idea that perfectly embodies this franchise’s most charming, playful notion: that 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 has a tale that needs to be told; that 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 has an important role to play in this far-away galaxy. ⠀
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I ate it all up. The collection somehow managed to satisfy my nostalgic yen while also injecting some much needed, much welcomed fresh ideas to this familiar universe: from boasting a more diverse cast of characters (people of color! a touch of queer representation!) to playing with styles and genres. There was a lot of emphasis on lighthearted humor, of course, but a lot of the stories also packed quite the emotional punch. It was a wild ride, and definitely one of my favorite reads the year it came out. It made me hope they would continue this concept with the rest of films. And so when this volume, telling the story of 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘬, was announced I was nothing if not thrilled.⠀
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Which just makes it all the more the shame that 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝑪𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒘: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 mostly disappointed me. It still boasts a broad battalion of authors, many of whom have written works I’ve enjoyed in the past, who do an admirable job with the material given while also continuing to ramp up the diversity aspect established in the first volume. Really, the ingredients that made me love the previous collection are all here, it’s just that, somehow, the recipe doesn’t particularly work with the story 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦 is trying to tell. ⠀
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It makes sense — the first film introduced us to a vast cast of characters, giving the stories a wider area in which to play and let loose. In contrast, 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦’s story is smaller in scale, and much more personal, concentrating less on the galaxy at large and more on the trials and tribulations of our protagonists. This leaves the authors of this collection to either focus on a scattering of minor characters or create new ones whole cloth. In any other context, this would be a freeing conceit; here, though, it just ends up making the collection feel helter-skelter. Add to that the fact that most of the stories are mostly irreverent in nature, focusing on the humorous, slightly ridiculous side of the saga, seemingly eschewing the poignancy found in much of the first volume in favor of knowing winks at the audience. And while you will never find me stating that camp has no place in the Star Wars universe (it’s been there from the start, etched into its genetic makeup), I do think that, much like with the Force, there needs to be a balance. ⠀
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But before I feel too bad about being a bit harsh on this volume, I want to make note of the stories that 𝘥𝘪𝘥 end up leaving a big impression on me, of which there were a handful:⠀
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Django Wexler’s “Amara Kel’s Rules for TIE Pilot Survival (Probably)” and Mackenzi Lee’s “There Is Always Another” feature the sort of clever cheek that 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 work for me, where humor is used to ground all these fanciful figures. The opening line in Lee’s story in particular will stand as one of the funniest in all of Star Wars. ⠀
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Jim Zub’s “The First Lesson” and Lydia Kang’s “Right-Hand Man” in contrast, delve deep into the pathos of some of these mythical characters, and they were the stories I feel actually added some more substance to the story being told in the film. ⠀
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And finally, Austin Walker’s “No Time for Poetry” and Alexander Freed’s “The Man Who Built Cloud City” both tell the type of story I currently enjoy the most in this universe, narratives which — much like my other two favorites, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯 and 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘴 — manage to perfectly blend that mix of earnestness and enthusiasm that made Star Wars so damn precious and exceptional in the first place.⠀
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I’ve mentioned it before but it bears repeating: disappointment is as much an integral part of being a Star Wars fan as the feeling of delight. And if there is anything to living in this post-Disney supersaturated world is that, for the foreseeable future at least, we can be certain there will soon be something else to anticipate, anyway.

CHILLING EFFECT by Valerie Valdes

December 1, 2020December 22, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

Eva-Benita Caridad Larsen y Coipel de Innocente — Eva, for short — captain of 𝘓𝘢 𝘚𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢, is tired. She’s led a rough life, one riddled with tragedies and mistakes that she would soon like to forget. She’s doing a decent job at it, too, with having cut ties with most of her family and concentrating on growing her mostly legal shipping business. Helping her in this endeavor is a capable, crackpot crew that is beginning to feel like a sort of family. She’s even considering starting a new relationship. Eva Innocente’s past seems to be staying well behind her, where it belongs.⠀
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Right up until it catches back up with her in the form of the shadowy, mob-like organization known as The Fridge, who Eva learns are holding her younger sister, Mari, captive. With the threat of harm coming to her sister lest she comply, the captain of 𝘓𝘢 𝘚𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢 is coerced into doing increasingly dangerous and bizarre tasks for the secretive faction, all while trying to keep her close-knit crew in the dark as to the origins of these odd jobs, a deceit that soon begins to unravel, bringing back all the tension and drama Eva has tried so hard to evade all these years.⠀
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What you definitely won’t get from that synopsis though is just how funny and irreverent 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕, the debut novel from Valerie Valdes, actually is. The book starts out fun and light, a tone that, thanks to characters who are instantly compelling, it manages to keep even as the tension and melodrama ramps up like a proper telenovela. Like many science fiction romps, 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 deals with a diverse, ragtag group of people traveling the universe and getting into trouble — a classic, well-established trope present in many personal favorites such as 𝘊𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘉𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘱, 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺, and most recently Becky Chambers’ excellent 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘴 series, to which, at least in the beginning, my brain kept comparing this novel to — you might say this novel is the delightfully vulgar, foul-mouthed cousin.⠀
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Which brings me to the dialogue, an area in which Valdes excels. Main character Eva’s rhetoric in particular was a stand-out for me, packed as it is with shrewd Spanglish witticisms that I couldn’t help but appreciate: there are particular phrases (and insults and profanities) that I have never come across in a work of fiction before. It made me feel seen in a way I did not expect. It was great.⠀
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The first half of the novel is episodic in nature, which is another aspect of the plucky crew trope that I highly enjoy. Unfortunately though as the vignettes gradually connected with the overarching storyline, the picaresque plot began to feel repetitive and drawn out, and it made the last half of the book a bit of a slog to get through.⠀
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Ultimately it was the characters and the clever, sharp writing that compelled me to finish the space opera telenovela, and I wouldn’t mind traveling the galaxy and getting into trouble with these bunch of misfits again.

TRULY DEVIOUS by Maureen Johnson

November 13, 2020December 22, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

Stephanie “Stevie” Bell leads a life of crime — studying every aspect of it, at any rate. Most of her free time is spent reading old case reports or listening to true crime podcasts. She wants nothing more in life than to find a body in the library.⠀
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She writes as much in her application letter to the Ellingham Academy, a boarding school that focuses on unorthodox learning, basing itself on its founder’s philosophy of play as the best method for gaining knowledge. The grounds also happen to be the site of a particularly heinous crime committed back in the early days of the institute that was never suitably, satisfyingly solved. It’s a cold case Stevie has long been obsessed with and is certain she can crack.⠀
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She is soon admitted into Ellingham, but before she even gets close to thawing the famous case, however, she gets her primary wish granted when she stumbles upon the body of a fellow schoolmate. The victim appears to have been murdered in a theatrical fashion not that dissimilar to the ones carried out all those years ago in the school by someone calling themselves Truly Devious, and this — along with other ominous coincidences — leads Stevie to believe the incidents are somehow connected, and that there is still much of the old mystery to uncover.
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Maureen Johnson’s 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 is a riveting, utterly captivating read. A curious and effective mix between a classic Agatha Christie-style mystery and the more modern trend of true crime accounts — podcasts, in specific. Indeed, much of this book reads like a podcast transcript, which does a lot to help ground the story.⠀
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A foundation that is much needed given the fact that Johnson populates the story with a cast of truly eccentric characters — think a Poirot mystery but with the residents of Stars Hollow running around. Curiously it’s the characters that prove to be both the book’s strength and weakness. One the one hand, the cast is wonderfully diverse, and Johnson has done an admirable job in terms of representation (cute queer representation! realistic portrayals of mental health issues!); on the other hand, they all have somewhat flat, one-note personalities: they are introduced at a certain level, dynamically speaking, and they rarely waver from it moving forward. In any other case these sort of hollow personalities would have been detrimental to the story, but Johnson writes such funny, witty dialogue for them (she essentially turns them into walking memes) that I can forgive it here. Murder mysteries are not traditionally known for fully-drawn, well-developed characters, at any rate; they deal with more flamboyant figures, the better to contrast with macabre misdeeds.⠀
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But my favorite aspect of this novel is definitely the recounting of the Ellingham case, a narrative that is immediately arresting. Alternating between the chapters set in the modern day, the events are laid out through various forms: from website articles, to interview transcripts, to what seem to be passages of a nonfiction book (perhaps Stevie’s own report of the matter — the novel never explicitly states who is writing these). Johnson shows a deep understanding of the true crime genre with these entries, and they add an authentic air to the entire affair.⠀
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𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 is the first book in a series, naturally, and while I have had a hard time getting into sequels lately, I’ll be damned if this didn’t make me want to immediately pick up the next one.

𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊’𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖑

October 31, 2020November 13, 2020 ~ Ricardo Luna ~ Leave a comment

October is my best reading month. I’m a very seasonal, themed-oriented reader, and Hallowe’en, more than any other holiday, lends itself to these qualities pretty perfectly. I cut loose and read books that are a bit more fun than my usual fare, which makes it really easy to pick up book after book after book, something that I definitely don’t do in any other month of the year.

This particular Hallowe’en, however, felt a little off. It was to be expected considering, well, everything, but I guess I was just confident the holiday would lift my spirits up. It did during the harrowing aftermath of Hurricane María, after all. But as tragic as that event was, this pandemic is obviously so much worse and I foolishly ended up underestimating just how much it would affect my mood.

Add to that the fact that I decided to go all in on my bookstragram for Hallowe’en, wanting to put out pictures and reviews on a more or less consistent manner throughout the month. I succeeded, too, and I’m happy and proud I did it, but it was draining, and that sucked a bit of the fun out of it a bit.

I still ended up having a tremendous amount of fun, though, and I read a lot of damn fine books. I’m sad to see the spooky season go, but we all know that ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢’𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩 anyway. Continue reading “𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊’𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖑” →