Post-apocalyptic (though you don’t know it at the beginning) thriller, documenting the experience of a small Anishinaabe community in a reservation in northern Ontario. As the community is already pretty isolated, even more so as winter approaches, their awareness that civilization is collapsing comes slowly; first the power is cut off, then their fuel shipment never arrives. As the tribe attempts to maintain order and community safety, intruders escaping the crumbling south arrive and throw things into disarray. The narrator, a quiet, solid hunter named Evan Whitesky, quietly maintains family and community ties even as he begins to suspect the new arrivals of more sinister intentions. Well-paced, smoothly written.
Tag: genre-postapocalyptic
The Dawnhounds, by Sascha Stronach
One of those books so wondrously weird that you really don’t know how you got there or what is even going on, but which is written with such intensity and lush detail that you can’t stop reading it. The action opens on a boat, manned by a skeleton crew and carrying a cargo crawling with infectious poisons, with references to wars long past (but with conflicts still simmering) and mysterious weapons. Then we alternate between the viewpoints of Jyn (former street rat, current disgraced constable, disgraced because of her attraction to women) and Sen (former soldier, current sergeant, world-weary but still trying to do the decent thing) as they patrol their city, in which people live in breathing cellulose houses which consume their inhabitants’ waste matter for food. There’s a mysterious religion in which priests dress up as their sacred crane (delightfully, Jyn and Sen call them “bin chickens” under their breaths; clearly the Aussie nickname extends to Stronach’s native New Zealand as well) and seem intent on gaining power. About halfway through the book we learn that there’s a very magical element going on as well, very much tied to the outsider status that is thrust upon characters who don’t fit into the mainstream. There’s a lot going on in the background that Stronach doesn’t bother to explain: what, besides a lust for power, is driving the bin chicken religion? Why do they want to infect everyone with spores? What are they trying to accomplish? How are they related to the god-like deities who grant powers to a chosen wounded few? The reader has no idea, but the writing in the book rockets along so beautifully, the emotions of the outcast characters so strong and the descriptive prose lush and vivid, that you barely have time to wonder what happened before it’s all over and you’re left blinking, wondering what the heck you just read. Stronach is a Maori author so maybe I need to read up on Maori mythology to get a handle on things. First in a series, apparently, though honestly I don’t know how much I’ll retain by the time I pick up the next.
Notes from the Burning Age, by Claire North
This is dystopian fiction, a kind of anti-Becky Chambers vision of the future in which humanity destroys the world, understands why and how it was destroyed, and hurtles towards doing it again anyway. Narrator Ven once belonged to the priesthood, where he interprets and sorts data excavated from the past, from trivial information like selfies and pictures of food, to more dangerous and forbidden knowledge like political screeds and diagrams of nuclear weapons. This is a very show-don’t-tell book, and Ven keeps secrets from the reader as well as from the people around him. The book builds patiently, the postapocalyptic world drawn with gorgeous detail, while Ven sinks deeper and deeper into his own head as he tries to grasp the complexities of the people around him. For a long time I didn’t know where this book was going, and then about a third of the way through it got very compelling. Slow start, amazing finish.
Bannerless, by Carrie Vaughn
I liked this image of the future, which was postapocalyptic but not precisely dystopian. Following the collapse of civilization, survival is precarious and resources are limited; people must organize themselves into demonstrably productive households before they can earn a “banner,” which gives them license to bear a child. Any children born “bannerless” reflect their parents’ lack of community feeling and responsibility, a shame that carries into adulthood. Main character Enid’s job is to mediate conflict and investigate crimes; when she is called in to investigate a suspicious death, she is startled to discover that someone from her past might be involved. The pacing of this book was a little uneven, bouncing back and forth between Enid’s past and present; however, it did a good job communicating both the challenging climate and the sociopolitical structure of Enid’s world. I liked the contemplative tone but thought that for an investigator, Enid took way too long to figure things out that were already made obvious to the reader.
The Girl with All the Gifts, by M.R. Carey
Zombie story with a nice twist in perspective from the norm. I liked the character of the titular girl; child geniuses in stories often come across as super-unbelievable tiny versions of adults, but I thought her characterization was really well done, both when she was the POV character and when she was seen through the eyes of the other characters. I also like what Carey did with the characters of the tough soldier and the empathic teacher, who each began as flat stereotypes and who were slowly and smoothly developed into sympathetic wholes. Also, mild spoiler, but I’m a sucker for any universe that involves mycorrhizal spores.
The Stand, by Stephen King
For book club. I get why people call this an American post-apocalyptic classic, it’s the sheer ambitious scale of it. (Paradoxically, reading King’s pandemic actually made me feel a little better about our current pandemic, because ours is so much less deadly! yay?) King focuses on individual human stories to tell the story of a nationwide tragedy, and then gradually pivots to make it an even bigger story of good vs. pure evil. It really, really didn’t work for me though; it’s too obvious that King is a white guy writing from the whitest state of America. His people of color get to be stereotypes and/or stale tropes; I couldn’t even quietly envision myself in the cast, because if a character isn’t white or heterosexual, King will. point. it. out. The origins and government mismanagement of King’s pandemic also didn’t sit well with me; I know it wasn’t his intent at all, but to me, by painting the government as untrustworthy and inept in the face of a pandemic, it feels like he’s encouraging the real people who are prolonging this pandemic by ignoring the government’s advice on masking and vaccination, ugh. Bad timing, I guess. Also, despite a really patient and gradual buildup of good vs. evil, the climax of the conflict felt pointless and unsatisfying. In short: boy am I the wrong audience for this book.
The Actual Star, by Monica Byrne
A super ambitious book, following three reincarnated groups of characters through three different timelines (Ancient Maya, present day, and post-climate-apocalypse future). Really impressive worldbuilding and character development. I did bog down a little though when it came to the MANY various terms and genders invented for the future, and I also got tripped up by the incorporation of Belize creole. I don’t mind a little Spanish thrown in here and there, but if I have to slow down and mouth the words several times over in order to understand what’s being said, I feel like it gets in the way of the story even if it does add verisimilitude/authenticity. Also, the ending was appropriate to the story, but it didn’t really wrap anything up for me, and left a few too many loose ends for the reader.