Daniel H. Wilson, Robopocalypse

[sanguinity]

25. Daniel H. Wilson, Robopocalypse.

As one might expect from the name on the tin, more or less the Terminator franchise (but without the time travel), updated for the 2010s. Horror and SF both, written by a guy who has a Ph.D. in robotics. Consequently, the part of my brain that is usually saying, "Pfft, this is ridiculously implausible, haha," was instead saying, "Auuughgh no no no no too-plausible stopit stop!" and looking for something to hide under.

(The first third, when Archos / Skynet is putting in place its opening gambits for Zero/Judgment Day, freaked me so badly that I had to take it one chapter at a time. Of course, I haven't read horror since junior high and thus might be more freakoutable than you. But still. I've been giving my darling pet Roomba suspicious looks lately. The microwave, too.)

The book is highly episodic, relating key incidents of the war via archived documents, CCTV footage, survivor accounts, and the like. Many characters appear only once (in other words, many characters die horribly on their first appearance), but we do get repeated encounters with many people who play pivotal roles in the resistance. Among them: the tribal police of the Osage Nation, Iraqi insurgents, a Japanese factory technician, Brooklyn construction workers, and the 12yo daughter of a U.S. Congresswoman. I adored this slate of heroes, I did.

The book is fairly strongly U.S.-normed, which bugged me a bit. Key parts of the resistance occur in Iraq, Japan, England, and the U.S.; while that's nominally a global list, it still felt a bit too much like "parts of the world that the U.S. notices". Throughout the book, I wondered what Zero Day and the following war had looked like in less wealthy nations (or, in the case of Iraq, nations that weren't already pumped full of U.S. military devices), but I never got an answer to that. Additionally, Zero Day itself was scheduled for the U.S.'s Thanksgiving weekend, apparently for strategic reasons. It is unclear why a single nation's holiday weekend should be that important: after all, if you wait a month and aim for Christmas, far more people, in far more countries, will be off their game. I can come up with some post-hoc explanations of the focus on U.S. Thanksgiving (the most convincing of which is that Archos's hardware resides in the U.S., and thus it's important to decisively gut U.S. capacity for resistance), but really, it mostly just felt like the author was an American.

Altogether, however: it was an engaging read, I loved the heroes, I loved the SF-nal speculations and counter-speculations, and my brain has been having quite the lovely time fiddling around in this world. Well, when my brain hasn't been creeped out of its skull, that is. But that can be its own kind of lovely, too...

(Additional tags: cherokee author, science fiction, horror)

Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou

[ms-mmelissa.livejournal.com]

Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas is a compulsively good read. Like Angelou's previous two biographies it's not very long, but the enthusiasm with which Angelou relates her experiences makes it seem even shorter. While her other biographies deal with childhood and her early steps towards independence, Angelou emerges here as a full-fledged adult become more confident with herself and the world around her.

The book covers two major themes, the first being Angelou's beginnings in show business. After her first marriage fails (the courtship, marriage and its dissolution are covered in a brisk few pages) Angelou takes a job as a dancer in a strip club. Her dances catch the attention of some white night club singers who help her begin a career as a nightclub singer which becomes a launching pad for her career as an actress and dancer. At last the Marguerite Johnson of the two previous memoirs transforms into Maya Angelou. A role in the renowned opera Porgy and Bess opens the world up to Angelou literally as well as metaphorically as the opera's tour allows her to visit Europe and parts of North Africa.

Wound inseparably into the narrative is Angelou's observations about what it is like to operate as a strong-minded independent black woman in America in the fifties. Segregation meant that her previous experiences with white people had been infrequent and hostile, but as she begins to travel in different circles her experiences with white people become more frequent and complex. Her family reacts badly when she marries a white man. Her white friends still have the power to unexpectedly wound her with a thoughtless comment and Angelou feels that power imbalance keenly. Her tour across Europe is also incredibly revealing to Angelou as she and the members of her company are often the first black people that people have seen in real life. The questions and stares give way to both painful moments and beautiful ones all of which Angelou recollects with grace and good humour.