Culture – Page 15 – Nicolas Demers

Apology to Alan Turing

The UK government apologises for its treatment of Alan Turing.

The UK government apologises for its treatment of Alan Turing:

Earlier this year I stood with Presidents Sarkozy and Obama to honour the service and the sacrifice of the heroes who stormed the beaches of Normandy 65 years ago. And just last week, we marked the 70 years which have passed since the British government declared its willingness to take up arms against Fascism and declared the outbreak of World War Two. So I am both pleased and proud that, thanks to a coalition of computer scientists, historians and LGBT activists, we have this year a chance to mark and celebrate another contribution to Britain’s fight against the darkness of dictatorship; that of code-breaker Alan Turing.

Turing was a quite brilliant mathematician, most famous for his work on breaking the German Enigma codes. It is no exaggeration to say that, without his outstanding contribution, the history of World War Two could well have been very different. He truly was one of those individuals we can point to whose unique contribution helped to turn the tide of war. The debt of gratitude he is owed makes it all the more horrifying, therefore, that he was treated so inhumanely. In 1952, he was convicted of ‘gross indecency’ – in effect, tried for being gay. His sentence – and he was faced with the miserable choice of this or prison – was chemical castration by a series of injections of female hormones. He took his own life just two years later.

A pointless feel-good exercise? Too little too late? A fitting tribute to a national hero? I don’t know. Maybe all of the above, but on the whole I’m happy with it. Turing damn well deserves some recognition for being one of the founding fathers of computer science, not to mention his cracking of the Enigma ciphers. And who knows what other contributions he may have made, if he’d lived? In his last years Turing researched neural nets and artificial intelligence, amongst other topics. He might have helped drive not one but two information revolutions.

I read Andrew Hodges’ excellent biography Alan Turing: The Enigma not too long after coming out. Borrowed it from the library, which is a shame because I’d really like to reread it now. An abridged version (also maintained by Andrew Hodges) is available online which, shameless plug, was the basis of an article I co-wrote in my first semester at SFU.

And in all the discussion surrounding this apology, I found a link to an excellent short story that sort of answers my previous question. What might have Turing done, if he’d lived (and was helped by a time traveller)? Check it out

Queer Film Festival 2009: a few reviews

A good crop of movies this year! I didn’t see as many as I wanted, due to previous commitments (or in one case getting the show times mixed up), but I had a great time at this festival. Here are some of my thoughts on the movies I saw, in chronological order.

Ciao

Oh my God, was that painful. Awkward dialog, clunky directing, plodding pacing, and acting that could only be more wooden if Ents played the parts. I could see where the writers were going with the story—a weird kinda-romance between one guy and his dead best friend’s long-distance boyfriend had a lot of dramatic potential—but the execution was totally off. A friend of mine very accurately described it as “the most boring date ever.” And yes, this setup does justify the awkward “how-was-your-flight” and “so-tell-me-about-yourself-what-do-you-do-for-a-living” small talk, but the audience shouldn’t be bored to tears!

Things livened up a little when the two finally bonded over their memories of Mark, as well as Mark’s hilariously cheesy song, but I could never manage to suspend my disbelief and accept that these were real people doing real, natural things. And the story didn’t get any resolution. Sure, I could accept that Jeff and Andrea just shared one kiss and would never see each other again, but what about Jeff’s sleeping problems, mentioned several times near the beginning? Were they due to unresolved grief over Mark? Did that one crying jag (followed by that brief makeout) fix everything?

Ready? OK!

Sweet, fluffy, totally hilarious. An 11-year-old boy who dreams of becoming a cheerleader in his conservative Catholic school must deal with his hardass nun teacher, and his overworked single mother who’s afraid that her doll-playing, Maria-von-Trapp-dressing son might be… you know… that way. But nobody’s really bad in this movie, just misguided, and even the serious moments are eventually resolved through the power of love and pom-poms. Gimme a W! Gimme an I! Gimme an N! Gimme an N! Gimme an E! Gimme an R!

The Coast is Queer

I always look forward to this annual showcase of local queer filmmakers. There was some very good stuff this year—Coffee being my favourite, along with Asylum (hey, I drove by that mental hospital every day for a couple of years!), the catchily tragic Caught, the hilariously naughty Galactic Docking—but nothing as memorable as last year’s offerings, I’m sorry to say. And mixed in with that were some bizarre numbers that just left me scratching my head (Cindy Doll and Swans, I’m looking at you). So, a bit of a disappointment, but hey. They can’t all be winners.

I have to give props to the folks at the anti-homophobia youth filmmaking bootcamp. See, I don’t mind shelling out for a pass I won’t fully use, if it goes to fund things like this. And those anti-homophobia shorts showing before every film, made by fifth-graders! Fifth. Graders. The mind is blown.

Otto; or, Up With Dead People

Is it a spoof of pretentious indie films? Is it an homage to gory zombie flicks? Is it gay porn? The answer, of course, is “all of the above.” Otto, a young man who may or may not be a zombie, must deal with an egotistical movie director and her silent-film girlfriend, bashers, an ex-boyfriend from when he was alive, and the sad knowledge that he does not fit in the world of the living. But is he in fact alive, though insane? Was it all just part of Medea’s pompous gay zombie blockbuster? No. Or was it? Maybe.

Boycrazy

These four shorts are full of delicious eye candy, from the adorable Zak in Dinks, to hot FBI agents and hotter alien ass probers in Q-Case, to Corey and his parade of musical friends in Boycrazy. Okay, King County didn’t have so much eye candy, what with the dancing bears and the Top Gun stage musical with all-butch-lesbian cast, but I was too busy laughing my ass off to care.

Half-Life

I love a good mind-fuck on a Saturday night! This movie has gorgeous cinematography, bizarre dream sequences, a little boy with magical powers and a seriously messed-up family living in an increasingly messed-up world. There was no real plot, just a tapestry of interweaving stories that the characters and their issues brought to disturbing life: the overworked mother is dating a controlling asshole, the older sister bonds with her gay friend who just lost his virginity and dreams of flying planes, the boy yearns to reconnect with his long-lost father (who’s not dead, maybe, just… gone), and much more.

Global warming, geeky fundamentalists, teleportation, and everything ends (or begins?) with Timothy making the sun rise in the West. A perfectly weird end to a weird movie.

A couple of belated book reviews

Hey, didn’t I resolve in January to read fiction and then to blog about it? Why yes I did.

Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City

I’d started Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City in April, shortly after finishing The Five Books of Moses Lapinsky, and eventually finished it on my vacation in June. And just like Five Books, as with the previous book, I had a hard time getting into it. The problem, I think, was that there wasn’t any plot, just a bunch of characters living their lives and interacting.

But it grew on me. The lack of an overall plot stopped bothering me, and I just let Maupin lead me by the hand into the lives of these oddballs—not as sideshow freaks, but as interesting people who made San Francisco the city he loved. And hey, I can definitely relate to Mary Ann, the innocent newcomer.

Mary Ann Singleton was twenty-five years old when she saw San Francisco for the first time.

She came to the city alone for an eight-day vacation. On the fifth night she drank three Irish coffees at the Buena Vista, realized that her Mood Ring was blue, and decided to phone her mother in Cleveland.

Hee. “Mood Ring.”

And another sign of the times: all the scenes of cruising (both hetero and otherwise) at Safeways and laundromats. I mean, granted, they didn’t have the internet back then, but did people really do that? Oh my god, maybe they still do that! Have I been blind to all the hooking up going on at the Safeway on Davie? Damn, I’ll have to pay more attention in the future.

William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land

I totally forgot about this book, until I dug it up again in Ottawa, and decided to bring it back with me.

A bit of history: way back when, I borrowed from a friend a complete compilation of HP Lovecraft’s stories, in three large volumes. The second (IIRC) contained a review by Lovecraft of about a dozen horror/fantasy novels of the era. One of them, The Night Land, sounded intriguing—a story of the far future, where the last remnants of humankind are huddled in a massive fortress and the rest of the Earth is filled with horrible monsters. Lovecraft appreciated the weird and creepy settings, but objected to the silly pseudo-Olde-Fashioned Writing style, and the schmaltzy love story that drove the plot.

Don’t ask me how I got my hands on an obscure horror novel published in 1912, but I did. And say what you will about Lovecraft (like, that he was a creepy misogynistic bigot), but when it came to fiction the guy knew his shit. Everything he said in his review was absolutely on the nose. In fact, rereading The Night Land the second time around was even more painful than I remembered:

And I stood me up, and did peer about for any dread matter; but all seemed proper, and I began to stamp my feet against the earth, as that I would drive it from me, and this I do say as a whimsy, and I swung mine arms, as often you shall do in the cold days; and so I was presently something warmed. And I dismantled my cloak, and wrapped it around me, and did feel that the Diskos [his weapon, like a circular vibro-blade] was safe to my hip.

Then did I sit me down, and did glow a little with relish, in that I should now eat four of the tablets; for, indeed, these were my proper due, by reason of my shiftless fasting ere I came so wotless to my slumbering.

Now imagine 500+ pages of that. And I’ve spared you the really nauseating parts after he rescues his lady-love and takes her back to the Pyramid. They alternate between being all lovey-dovey, and her being an arbitrarily silly bitch so the big strong protector male has to hit her a few times so she’ll behave. Yeah, I’d forgotten how stunningly sexist the book was, and “Well, it was written in 1912” isn’t much of an excuse. Hodgson deliberately went for old-fashioned, not just in the language but the story dynamics, creating something I’d describe as “medieval”. As much as I hate doing it on principle, I had to skim a lot of passages until I got to the next plot point or action scene.

Some bits were interesting, though. The description of the Evil Forces was indeed pretty cool, as was the narrator’s musing that most of this future Earth wasn’t so much evil as just alien; dangerous to humans, sure, but not actively hostile to them, and still not without beauty.

At one point the protagonist was wondering if Naani (the love interest) had had other lovers between the present day and this future (because they’ve both been reincarnated many times) and actually got jealous over the possibility. That was just so silly to me that I felt sure the whole novel was a subtle deconstruction of the reincarnation romance trope. However, everything else seemed to be played completely straight, so I don’t know.

Bottom line: meh. It was kind of interesting as a specimen of old-time literature, but it fails as a love story, and only somewhat succeeds as horror and adventure. Only hardcore fans would enjoy this.

Movie Review: Star Trek

That was awesome. And not quite what I expected, which was even more awesome.

See, I expected a straight-up prequel: the story of how all the old familiar characters met, their first adventure together, that sort of thing. But without going into spoilery details, the story we got is not the one that will lead to the events of the original series. I kept waiting for the reset button to be pressed, for the writers to pull a time-travel eraser whatsit out of their asses and make everyone live logically every after, but they never did.

And that was a brilliant move. The problem with prequels is that you know how the story’s going to end. But here? This story is something totally new. If there are any sequels to this, writers will be free to go wherever the hell they want. Will there be any? I have no idea. The word “reboot” has been bandied about on the intenetz, though I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me still feels the franchise has exhausted itself. But damned if this movie didn’t make me fall in love with Trek again, if only for one night.

Judged as a standalone movie, Star Trek delivered on all counts: stunning visuals and FX (thank gawd they didn’t try to duplicate 1960’s future tech!), great action, and very nice character development. The focus was on Kirk and Spock, but everybody else got a chance to shine: Sulu the swordsman and rookie pilot, Chekov the enthusiastic math geek, Uhura the laser-sharp linguist, Scotty the genius tinkerer, McCoy the no-nonsense doctor—in an eerily dead-on performance by Karl Urban, last seen by me riding on the plains of Rohan with flowing blond locks. DeForest Kelley should have lived to see this.

It wasn’t perfect—there were a few silly plot holes, and some of the interpersonal drama came out of nowhere—but it came pretty damn close. This is Trek for the 21^st century, fresh and fun, both shinier and grittier, mindful of its heritage but not bound by it, boldly going where no Trek has gone before.

Movie Review: Wolverine

Not enough naked Hugh Jackman, in my opinion. Not enough Gambit. And I squeed a little when Patrick Stewart came on screen.

Yeah, it was… all right. Not bad, but not that good either. Just sort of… there. Which I expected, I’d read a couple of reviews and few of them were glowing. Okay special effects, and Hugh Jackman is welcome on my big screen anytime, but it just couldn’t gel into something coherent. Screaming, fighting, is Logan more animal than man?

I don’t know enough about Wolverine canon to say how faithful the story is, but from what I understand it’s been retconned to hell and back for years, so who knows? And maybe because there’s so damn much of it—150 years, give or take, which is apparently canon—they had to just hit the highlights. I was expecting that too, but it still bugged as much as Spiderman 3.

They did tie it in to the wider X-Men universe, though, with Scott Summers, Blob and Professor Xavier (again, squee), which I liked. But you know what I would have liked a lot more? If the couple who took Wolverine/Logan/Jimmy in after he escaped from Stryker’s facility had been James and Heather Hudson. Wolverine was a founding member of Alpha Flight after all, and he’s the one whose backstory kicked off the series, when he was only Canadian and not 150 years old, so was a cameo too much to ask for? Anything? Kayla’s sister with “diamond-hard” skin didn’t even turn out to be Diamond Lil. Hmph.

A few things that bugged: no blood on claws or Deadpool’s swords. Did the special FX people just not think about it, or was it a deliberate choice, to show off Wolvie’s shiny new claws or not traumatise the kiddies too much? Yeah, because with all the stabbing and slicing and death, a little blood would have put it way over the top (eyeroll). And though Hugh Jackman does a good primal scream, the kid who played him in 1845? Not so much. Finally, Creed/Sabertooth’s animal jumps looked very silly in the war flashbacks (with only so-so special effects, too), and kept on not looking any less silly.

But, all in all, it was entertaining enough. It’s a good thing my expectations were pretty low.

What’s inspiring me

AdamSchwabe.com: a wonderfully clean, minimalist site. Not just in the look; note that a lot of common blog functionality is missing: Category listings or tag cloud? Browsable archives? Blogroll? It has none of these things, and doesn’t especially need them. What it does have is a beautiful and effective navigation scheme that uses colour to let you know exactly where you are, and a layout that lets the eye flow naturally to the content. Hey, that’s what you get when the author’s a user interface designer. AdamSchwabe.com teaches me that less is indeed more.

Plus, it’s what introduced me to colourlovers.com, so bonus points there.

Avalonstar:distortion is the total opposite in many ways. It’s dark. It’s busy. But you know what? it works. The author puts in tons of fun little extra bits, from “Welcome to Avalonstar” in Japanese to the closing “</and this would be the end>” tag at the very bottom. The site is fun to read. If you can pull it off, more can definitely be more.

Mind you, a design is nothing without content, and the two above sites has it in spades. And that’s something else for me to work on (not that I haven’t already).

Elements: Architecture in detail. Not a website, but a book. The other day I was in The Book Warehouse on Davie, and this caught my eye right from the top shelf. Aside from the lovely shots of contemporary architecture, the book’s message is that the devil is in the details. For the whole to work, all the components have to be working first.

Oh, and that day I also bought Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book, Terry Pratchett’s Nation, A Hat Full of Sky and Wintersmith. They didn’t have The Wee Free Men, though. Bummer.

Book Review: The Five Books of Moses Lapinsky

Wow, that took a while. So much for my New Year’s resolution to read a novel a month, eh?

I started on this book in late January, after skipping through three quarters of the Mortal Engines quartet. Then I was taking a class, which left me with very little time and energy for such frivolities. But the class ended, and on Easter weekend I decided to pick it up again. I was immediately hooked, and devoured it in a three-day binge of more-or-less nonstop reading.

Wow, that took a while. So much for my New Year’s resolution to read a novel a month, eh?

I met Karen X. Tulchinsky years ago; she was leading a writing workshop, one night a week for… I don’t remember how many weeks. This was before I started blogging, but I was interested in writing. And meeting guys who were also interested in writing. The workshop didn’t help in that area, but otherwise I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Ms. Tulchinsky was a great teacher, very friendly and supportive.

Now that I think about it, I’ve gotten the same impression from her previous books—one short story collection and two novels, all dealing with the trials and joys of being a Jewish dyke. I’m rereading some of the stories in In Her Nature, and (to this non-Jewish non-dyke) the history, the culture, the Yiddish, they never seem forced or self-conscious. Just a simple This is who I am. This is who we are. Sure, it’s okay to laugh along.

This latest book is different, though. It’s “queer” only in the loosest sense—only a couple of characters, including the titular narrator, are gay—but it’s still there, part of the tapestry of human experience. Another difference is that it’s not set in the present day (except for the framing narration at the start of each section, most of the action takes place in the 30’s and 40’s), and thus deals much more heavily in presenting Canada as it was then, and Canadian Jews as they were then. We know all the dates and facts about the Depression, about World War II, D-Day, about antisemitism. But the magic lies in making all that history come to life, and Tulchinsky pulls it off, brilliantly mixing the personal dramas with the wide sweep of historical events.

Interesting technique to really grab the reader: Tulchinsky writes in present-tense narration. Nice choice; it felt so natural I took a hundred pages to even notice.

This being a historical novel, the details are made up but the story is true. Toronto youths wearing Swastika badges, fighting Jewish kids; the Christie Pits riot; the disastrous Battle of Dieppe; pogroms in Tsarist Russia. All these things happened. And though Sonny “The Charger” Lapinsky never actually existed, other Jewish boxers lived and fought during the Depression. Though Yacov Lapinsky never existed, the stories he told of his escape from Russia are deeply rooted in reality—a lot more than I realised then, probably. Because, as I said, I’ve been rereading In Her Nature and one of the short stories there (“Canadian Shmadian”) contains some parts of those tales; surely they come courtesy of Tulchinsky’s older relatives.

Most of the novel’s events are related in chronological order, starting on the day after the Christie Pits riot in August 1933. Throughout the book we’re told all the facts, how that day affected the Lapinsky family: Sonny’s anger, Izzy’s brain damage. But in the last chapters take us back to the riot, and even though I knew exactly how things would turn out, I still couldn’t stop reading. Now that’s impressive.

The Five Books of Moses Lapinsky is a masterpiece: engrossing, educational, full of human drama that’s still not without comedy. Tulchinsky has done a wonderful job of honouring her family by creating this ficionalised, though still true, tale.

Movie Review: Watchmen

Oh, man, that was great.

No, seriously. This is the first time I was very, very pleased with an Alan Moore movie. League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was a massive clusterfuck from the word go, V for Vendetta was pretty good, but not great. This, though? Yes. I was so afraid it would suck—either it would try to stay true to the comic and fail, or it wouldn’t even try, and thus suck as an adaptation. But the movie managed to be both true to the source material and be very watchable. A lot of the backstory and exposition was nicely filled in with various flashbacks and montages, most of which were merged into the storyline pretty smoothly. The only exception I can think of is Ozymandias’ origin. The movie has him expositioning to a bunch of financial bigwigs just before his attempted “assassination,” which felt forced and didn’t reveal all that much anyway. Oh well.

Some stuff was trimmed or tweaked, like Dr. Manhattan’s solitary meditation on Mars, but that’s fine. A couple of scenes were actually improved, like when Nite Owl and Rorschach broke into Veidt’s computer network. In the comic, Nite Owl when entered “RAMESES”, the system helpfully told him the password was incomplete. The movie bypassed this silliness, showing Dreiberg attempting a few passwords before hitting on “RAMESES II”. I also liked the new costumes. It’s a well-known fact that while many superhero costumes look good on paper, they don’t look so good on the big screen (or the little screen). Case in point: the very, very dorky 1940’s Minutemen costumes in the opening montage. Seriously, Mothman, with the wings? Hooded Justice, with that noose around his neck, what’s up with that?

As for Ozymandias’ master plan? Well, I’ve got no complaints. Teleporting a giant psychic squid to kill half of New York might have worked in the comic, but it’d be harder to pull off on the big screen. Ozymandias duplicating Manhattan’s powers? That worked better, and was just as good a testament to his ingenuity.

In short: very impressed, and I’d definitely recommend this movie whether or not you’ve read the original graphic novel.

“There is grandeur in this view of life…”

In the last chapter of The Origin of Species, Darwin recapped all the evidence he so carefully and meticulously presenting for his theory of common descent. And then took a step back to ponder where it was all going, and what it all meant.

In the last chapter of The Origin of Species, Darwin recapped all the evidence he had so meticulously presented for his theory of common descent. And then took a step back to ponder where it was all going, and what it all meant.

When we no longer look at an organic being as a savage looks at a ship, as at something wholly beyond his comprehension; when we regard every production of nature as one which has had a history; when we contemplate every complex structure and instinct as the summing up of many contrivances, each useful to the possessor, nearly in the same way as when we look at any great mechanical invention as the summing up of the labour, the experience, the reason, and even the blunders of numerous workmen; when we thus view each organic being, how far more interesting, I speak from experience, will the study of natural history become!

He predicted that the theory would open up rich new fields of scientific research in biology, geology, paleontology, psychology and anthropology. Armed with the understanding that all individuals of all species are related, however distantly, that species have been shaped by their environments over the eons, scientists would look backwards, and outwards, free of counterproductive labels and dogmas, answering many current questions and discovering even more interesting questions to ask. This prediction would prove to be correct. As Theodosius Dobzhansky wrote, “nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution.”

And then he went one step further:

When I view all beings not as special creations, but as the lineal descendants of some few beings which lived long before the first bed of the Silurian system was deposited, they seem to me to become ennobled.

What ennobles them? Simply having such a long and complex history. They—and all their ancestors—were lucky or tough enough to survive everything Nature could throw at them. Every being now living, worm or eagle, peasant or aristocrat, is descended from a long line of survivors. That’s a pedigree anyone should be proud of.

Judging from the past, we may safely infer that not one living species will transmit its unaltered likeness to a distant futurity. And of the species now living very few will transmit progeny of any kind to a far distant futurity; for the manner in which all organic beings are grouped, shows that the greater number of species of each genus, and all the species of many genera, have left no descendants, but have become utterly extinct.

Is it all doom and gloom, though? Not at all.

As all the living forms of life are the lineal descendants of those which lived long before the Silurian epoch, we may feel certain that the ordinary succession by generation has never once been broken, and that no cataclysm has desolated the whole world. Hence we may look with some confidence to a secure future of equally inappreciable length. And as natural selection works solely by and for the good of each being, all corporeal and mental endowments will tend to progress towards perfection.

I don’t know about that “perfection,” but hey, that’s Victorians for you.

It’s interesting to note how Darwin’s attitude contrasts with that of creationists, then or now. To them, the idea of being related to apes is just as abhorrent as the idea the Bible isn’t literally true. Animals aren’t ennobled by their connection with us; it’s we who are demeaned by our connection with them. The only way Humankind can be seen as special is through our creation, not our history or achievements. And they certainly don’t look forward to a far distant future where our descendants—however different they’ll be from us—will continue to thrive.

The book concludes with a final appeal, not to the truth, but the beauty of his theory.

There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being, evolved.

Darwin’s no poet, I grant you, but this passage works. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the theory of evolution—with its notions of deep time and the fundamental interconnectedness of all living beings—tells a far more satisfying story than any creation myth our various cultures have cooked up. Our long journey from the trees—and before that, from the swamps and the seas—has made us what we are, flaws and all. We dishonour our ancestors by ignoring their struggles, their achievements, and yes, their failures. We honour them by remembering their lives, and continuing the journey they made possible for us.

Happy 200^th, Mr. Darwin.

Book Review: Mortal Engines, Predator’s Gold, Infernal Devices

One of my new year’s resolutions is to read more literature, and then to blog about it. This post is more of a prologue to that, because the books it reviews don’t really count as literature.

So a month or two ago I was browsing TVTropes, and came upon this entry right here. A post-apocalyptic future with mobile cities that eat each other? This was way too intriguing to pass up. I decided to only order the first three books since the last, A Darkling Plain, is only out in hardback.

One of my new year’s resolutions is to read more literature, and then to blog about it. This post is more of a prologue to that, because the books it reviews don’t really count as literature.

All in all, the series was pretty good. Not great, mind you, and I don’t think I would have given it all those awards, but a pleasant little adventure story. There are a lot of clever bits, including the basic premise of Traction Cities, and various shout outs. The plot and characters, though… they were less impressive. The author’s presence was too visible, I think, moving the players around on his board, and I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief. Likewise, Hester Shaw’s evolution from Action Girl to full-on murderous sociopath felt arbitrary and forced.

Incidentally, though the series does pretty consistently depict a savagely town-eat-town world, it falls prey to the Apocalypse Not trope. In Mortal Engines the Hunting Ground was in bad shape and getting worse, with slim pickings for London. Yet in Infernal Devices, we see many cities of varied sizes coexisting, with something of a common culture. Not to mention the lands of the Anti-Traction League.

Writing-wise, the first book needed some polish. The plot seemed even more forced (honestly, it was pretty clear this was Philip Reeve’s first stab at novel writing), and there were a couple of odd bits—like passages switching to the present tense for no clear reason—that should have been caught by an editor.

Still, I was entertained, and that’s what counts, right? I’ll be sure to pick up A Darkling Plain when it comes out in paperback.

Next up: Karen X. Tulchinksy’s The Five Books of Moses Lapinsky