Fair disclosure: I read this book because the author’s publicist
sent me a review copy.

No Secrets is a thriller, the second volume in Rucker’s series about
Brandon Drake the “high-tech information agent”. (The first, which I’ve
not read, is called Intimate Falls.) It’s published by
Lochenlode Fiction–say that name out loud.

Drake is just wrapping up a job in Japan, collecting information
from the lab of an expatriate American named Ansel. Completely legally,
I might add. Ansel is an absent minded genius inventor whose motto is
“No national boundaries. No secrets.”; in other words, he’ll give his
inventions to anyone except those who would use them to enforce national
boundaries. In the current instance he’s invented a tiny robotic arm
for use in dentistry, and Drake has been hired to get the design and
related information from Ansel and bring it to a professor in Canada.
In short, the entire job is completely above-board.

But something goes wrong. Drake’s main contact in Ansel’s lab turns up
dead. The documents are stolen from Drake’s hotel room. And suddenly
Drake and his primary love interest (there are two) are on the run
from…someone…who thinks Drake knows more than he’s saying.

There’s a lot to like here. Ansel’s a genuinely interesting character,
and Rucker evokes the Japanese setting delightfully. With the exception
of a few short lapses, the suspense is well-maintained. The villains are
nasty, and the climax ties up most of the loose threads.

On the other hand…

The prose style is weird, especially in the first few chapters. The
first paragraph appears to be first person, and then Rucker moves
jarringly to the third person. There are several other jarring
viewpoint shifts in the course of the book. There are lots of sentence
fragments, and some of the sentences are just plain weird. For example, the
following sentences appears in the opening scene. Drake is at a hot
springs spa, looking for his interpreter in the hot baths:

The grey eyes of the tall, fair-skinned, lanky, tried to
perforate the steam nebula and wondered again where Yamamoto might
be.

See what I mean? The phrase “perforate the steam nebula” is absurd,
as is the implication that it’s Drake’s “grey eyes” that “wondered again”.
Thankfully, most of the stylistic peculiarities evaporate once Rucker
is well started.

Too much of the book is taken up with a romantic subplot between Drake
and his once-upon-a-time housemate and occasional lover, Mikki Sullivan.
Rucker uses it to humanize Drake and fill in some of his backstory, but
frankly I didn’t find Mikki or her past history all that enthralling.
And the character I did find compelling, Ansel the inventor, is rarely
on stage–and, ultimately, not all that important.

Finally, although Brandon Drake is supposed to be a pretty shrewd guy he
misses a number of obvious things–at least, until he’s hit over the head
with them. And he never does realize the most important fact–that he’s
clearly being used throughout the book. Actually, that’s my
interpretation of the story, as the book never says so in so many words;
it’s just the only way that I can explain a number of events in the book
that are otherwise just as absurd as Rucker’s prose excesses.

In sum, the book had some very good moments, but it didn’t hang together
all that well for me. I didn’t find Brandon Drake all that interesting,
either, alas. Pity.

Here’s the second in Lustbader’s current series, the Saga of the Pearl.

In the last episode, the Dar-al-Salat, the savior of Kundala, was saved
from death by a dangerous ritual performed by Giyan the Ramahan
sorceress. The ritual was successful, but since then Giyan has been
afflicted by a horrible skin condition on her hands and forearms. In this
book we discover that through an error in the ritual she made an opening
through which the archdaemon Horologgia has been able to begin escaping
from the Abyss. Worse, the archdaemon intends to take over Giyan’s
body–and, ultimately, all of her sorcerous powers. The Dar-al-Salat
must find the Veil of Thousand Tears, a relic of the creation of the
planet Kundala, to save Giyan from daemonic possession–for without Giyan
the Dar-al-Salat won’t be able to free the planet from the scourge of the
V’orrn.

It’s yet another fine piece of storytelling, even if the premise and the
execution are sometimes a little goofy. The characters develop in
interesting ways, and we find out more about the V’orrn, and in
particular about the Gyrgon. The V’orrn have a caste-based society, and
the Gyrgon–a caste of genetically-engineered cyborgs–are the top caste.
They are greatly feared by the other castes, and are rarely seen in
public, ruling primarily through the Regent, the leader of the Bashkir,
or merchant, class. Little is known about the Gyrgon, but we get to
learn quite a bit more here, and much that was obscure in the previous
book is made clear.

Perhaps the most satisfying thing is that both this book and its
predecessor have been properly structured; each book really is a
complete novel by itself. All too often in multi-volume fantasy sagas
it’s all one long story chopped arbitrarily into volumes. Instead, each
of these books has its own particular conflict which it tracks from
beginning to end. Nicely done.

Spinelli is a well-known children’s author. I’ve seen his books on lists for
kids put out by the library and by other various organizations in the know
and I’ve heard from my kid’s teachers recommendations for a couple of his
books. My daughter read this one and handed it to me with an admonition to
“read it, Mom, it’s, like, really good.” Anytime a kid says that to you, it
behooves you to, like, pay attention. The librarian may make all the lists
she can handle and teachers can recommend til they’re blue in the face, but
if a kid doesn’t read books, it’s an academic exercise.

So I picked it up and read it. The narrator of the story is Leo Borlock. Leo
is a bit of a geek. He produces a local cable show about high school
students called “Hot Seat.” He fits in with the kids at school but isn’t in
the “popular” group. He has figured out how to get along and not stick out.
He lives in an Arizona town dominated by a software company where everyone’s
Dad works. And he collects porcupine neckties.

For his fourteenth birthday, his Mom calls some info into the paper about
him for their local birthday column, noting that he collects porcupine
neckties. And when he comes home from school, there is one waiting for him.
No name, no card, just a note saying “Happy Birthday.” And no one he knows
will take the credit for giving it to him.

At the beginning of his junior year in high school, there is a new girl in
school. She calls herself Stargirl. She says hello to everyone. She plays
the ukulele at school. She has a pet rat she brings to school. She dresses
oddly in prairie dresses or costumes. She knows everyone’s birthday and
sings to them The Song in the cafeteria at lunch. She is totally oblivious
to the social hierarchy and the complex culture of high school. She has been
homeschooled up to this point. She is what we call in our house A Free
Spirit. Everyone is amazed by her. Leo is fascinated.

Initially she enchants the school. Kids vie for her attention. She is
popular with everyone. But then she starts making mistakes. You can’t be a
free spirit unwilling to conform and fit in in high school. This is the story
of what happened to her that year, of how she tried to compromise and how
the kids at school handled it. In some ways it’s a celebration of Stargirl’s
unwillingness to lose her essential self to the herd mentality; in others is
a grim tale of what kids do to those that don’t comply with the social
standards. And it’s the story of Leo’s dilemma of loving Stargirl and being
unwilling to stand up for her when the going gets tough.

I am glad my daughter gave it to me to read. She is a Free Spirit. I learned
a little about her from reading about Stargirl. She’s right. It is, like
really a good book.

Be forewarned. Visit Cicadaville, and find out everything you need to know about these deadly creatures–before it’s too late.

…Edgar Allan Poe had written the Dick and Jane books?.

Via Mark Shea’s blog.

I have mixed feelings about this book. On the one hand it’s a good
telling of the story of the Trojan War from the perspective of two young
sisters who live within the walls of Troy. And it remains fairly faithful
to Homer’s story line and to the mythical aspects of the story. One
of the girls works in the Blood Room where all the injured warriors are
brought for treatment and also cares for the young son of Hector when his
mother needs to do her royal duties. The other young girl is a maid and
assistant weaver in Helen’s household. She has the gift of being able to
see the gods for who they are thru their disguises which makes for some
interesting conversations. Both are caught in the crossfire of the war
and its aftermath. And war is not pretty in Geras’ story, nor is it a
glorious exercise of national pride. Unlike Homer, Geras brings into the
story real human emotions and conflicts. She’s not writing a heroic epic.
She’s giving us a personal narrative that is behind the epic story. And
it’s really well told.

And that’s where my problem comes in. The story is so good and yet Geras
throws in some very inappropriate sexual content that just
bugged me. And it bugged me more when I saw the litter of awards and honors
for young adult fiction this book has gotten from all sorts of “reputable”
organizations. The conflict/problem in the book isn’t caused when one of the
sisters has a roll in the hay with a young warrior. The problem is that the
other sister also has her eyes on him. It just made me uncomfortable reading
this as a young adult book. She could have done it as well, if not better
without the sexual content. As an adult, I enjoyed it. As a mother, I will
not be giving this to my 14-year-old daughter.

I first read Eric Van Lustbader back in the 1980’s, when he’d just
written his Sunset Warrior trilogy. It had some good bits, but
overall I wasn’t impressed, and I stopped reading him. It’s possible
that the books went over my head, as my brother liked them then and still
likes them now. Anyway, I heard Van Lustbader’s name every so often
through the years, until a couple of years ago I picked up a fat
paperback called The Ring of Five Dragons. I was a bit
skeptical, but I needed something to read, so I bought it–and was
pleasantly surprised. Indeed, I liked it well enough to buy the sequel
when it came out, but for one reason or another the sequel languished
unread until just recently, when I discovered that the third volume in
the series was imminent. It had been long enough that I’d forgotten much
of the details, so I dug The Ring of Five Dragons out again,
and dove in.

And once again I was alternately amused, bemused, and enthralled.

Let me say a few words about the plot, and then I’ll try to explain my
reaction to this truly weird book.

I suppose I can best describe the plot as the irresistable force meeting the
immovable object. The irresistable force is the V’orrn, a spacefaring
race that has been travelling through the galaxy for eons since their
home world was burned to a crisp by a supernova. The heart of the V’orrn
race is in the V’orrn fleet, apparently, but from time to time as new
planets are discovered a contingent is spun off to exploit them.

Enter the immovable object, the planet Kundala. Before the V’orrn
arrived, Kundala was a joyous planet under the special protection of the
Goddess Miina. But some of Miina’s worshippers rebelled, Miina withdrew
her protection, and the V’orrn arrived to kick butt.

It’s now about a hundred years later. The V’orrn are still in charge.
All but one of the Ramahan abbeys that led the worship of Miina are in
ruins, destroyed by the V’orrn; the only reason the remaining abbey is
still standing is because the abbey leaders have been feeding information
to the V’orrn about the Kundalan resistance.

But if Kundala has changed, the V’orrn have changed, too. The V’orrn are
raised to be contemptuous of the races they conquer–but some of them are
strangely attracted to the Kundalans and their ways, including the V’orrn
regent, one Eleusis Ashera. More, it begins to appear that the Ramahan
religion is true, and that the old prophecies of a messiah, the
Dar-al-Salat, are coming true. And if that’s true, then Kundala appears
to be the center of the universe.

So much for the plot.

There’s a lot to like in this book, amid the numerous subplots. The tale of
the corruption of the remaining Ramahan abbey is particularly good, and
chilling. The story of the Dar-al-Salat is equally compelling. The
backstory unfolds like a mystery novel, and quite satisfactorily.

But then there are the weird things, which make it difficult for me to
take the book seriously. V’orrn names, for example, often include weird
spellings with tripled letters–name like “Stogggul” and “Rekkk” and
“Khagggun” and “Salamuuun”. I can’t complain that they are
unpronounceable–there’s a pronunciation key in the back of the book–but
they aren’t pronounced like you’d think they should be. He could just as
easily have chosen a more phonetic spelling.

Then there’s the vocabulary, with which he does strange things–for
atmosphere, I assume. The V’orrn and the Kundalans, though similar of
appearance are two different races, and apparently neither of them are
human; at least, the words “man”, and “woman” are never used. He uses
“male” and “female” instead, which is jarring. Similarly, instead of
days he often has the V’orrn speak of “sidereal units” (because, of
course, only V’orrn days are really days, and V’orrn days have no
relation to the rotation of the planet Kundala). A little of this kind
of thing is OK, but he takes it too extremes–as, for example, he
invariably uses the word “quotidian” instead of “daily”. Let me tell
you, when you run across the word “quotidian” three times in thirty
pages, you notice.

Then there’s the “science”. As I say, the V’orrn and the Kundalans are
two separate races, though they look like. Although they are never
called “men” or “women”, Kundalans appear to look much like we do.
V’orrn look mostly like Kundalans, but they are completely hairless, have
two hearts, two stomachs, and one lung, and are slightly larger.

So tell me, how is it that the V’orrn soldiers can father bastards on the
local Kundalan girls? They can, and they do, and nobody seems to think
that this is at all unusual.

So honestly, what with the names, and the language, and the
improbabilities, I found myself shaking my head or rolling my eyes
regularly while re-reading the book–but the headshake or eye-roll was
generally accompanied by a chuckle at Van Lustbader’s audacity. I have
to wonder whether it’s supposed to be a little absurd!

This is going to be a multi-volume series, of unknown length (unless the
third book ends it, which I doubt), and I want to make a prediction.
Given Kundala’s remarkably place in the cosmic scheme of things, and the
length of time that the V’orrn have been travelling, and the vaguely
Hindu/Buddhist feel about a lot of the fantasy details, I’m going to bet
that Kundala is, in some sense, the V’orrn homeworld remade–that at long
last, and after eons of genetic tinkering that have changed them almost
out of recognition, they have returned home. We’ll see.

I read recently in a book about textbook publishing and censorship in the
use of teaching materials that there are two types of books published for
children and young adults. The author of the book, Diane Ravitch, makes the
distinction between “mirror” books that reflect back to the reader images of
themselves and “window” books that give to the young reader access to other
worlds and times and cultures. Many books written about teen problems and
teen issues are mirror books. She also argues that “good” literature tends
to be of the window variety. I personally think both have their places in
the reading lives of children but I did find that to be a very interesting
distinction since the YA books that I as an adult enjoy tend to be of the
window variety while the mirror variety bores me to tears.

With that in mind, I would class this as a window book. It is the story of 9
year old Jethro Creighton who, in 1861, watches his family disintegrate
because of the coming of the Civil War. The Creighton’s live in southern
Illinois where the feelings pro and con for the secession of the south are
mixed in the community. And one brother goes to fight for the South and the
other goes to fight for the North. For the next 4 years Jethro watches as
his family struggle to maintain their place in the community—a brother off
to fight the North is not a good thing for them—and to maintain their farm
in the face of other family crisis. His father has a heart attack and Jethro
becomes the backbone of the farm. A vigilante group sets their barn on fire
and neighbors that had previously been antagonistic pitch in to help rebuild
and restock their farm.

It’s an interesting meditation on community and standing up for what you
believe and loyalty in the face of hostile opinions. It’s also a great way
to get a little history into a kid since the events of the Civil War from
Fort Sumter to Appomattox are a part of Jethro life and the economic issues,
aside from slavery, that led up to the war are talked about in the family.
It’s a real life story about a believable kid in an awful time and I could
find all sorts of complicated ethical dilemmas to discuss within the context
of the book. I enjoyed the writing as well. She has a knack for making
images and situations believable without overwriting them that I
appreciated. Good book!

I’ve just posted another story to our Once-Told Tales. It’s something I wrote a few years ago, and something I read recently reminded me of it, so I decided to post it. It’s very short (just a couple of pages) so you should go read it now.

Hey, Ian, your e-mail address is bouncing; apparently hotpop.com is down.
Thought you should know.