Horse Buggies and Automobiles

One of many observations I’ve made since I began blogging is the circular nature of so much of the discussion. A topic gets hot, is talked about endlessly, dies for a while, and is resurrected again to begin the whole process anew. One such topic (and one that seems to always inspire a reaction from me) is that on reviewing in general, and specifically the quality of on-line reviews and on-line versus print reviews. I most recently mentioned this only yesterday, but dig deep enough and you’ll fine a lot of discussion around the time preceding Scalpel’s ill-fated launch, and another round some months prior, etc. Each of these incarnations may have a slightly different focus, but it all seems to be part of the same on-going discussion.

The latest entries in the newest round (which has been building in response to a panel at Readercon) are actually somewhat anomalous – these most interesting contributions seem to be voices of reason (at least from my admittedly biased view). Paul Kincaid dissects the argument that on-line and print reviews are fundamentally different, and then explains in detail what he feels makes a good review. Jonathan McCalmont follows up with a very good discussion on the quality of on-line reviews.

Really, I shouldn’t even be jumping in here – I don’t write the type of reviews that these guys want. I’m not a critic and I don’t even pretend that I offer criticism – I just offer my opinion on books. I go into detail in this explanation on my reviews, but it really boils down to me wanting to write a review for the average fan, a review that I would want to read. I’ve always just wanted a short idea of what the book is about (i.e. short plot summary), some commentary that says what’s good and/or bad about the book, and what makes it so. The ideal review length for me tends to be in the 600-900 word range. I do love the longer, in-depth reviews/criticisms, but not until after I’ve read the book.

From many discussions that I’ve had on various message boards and blogs, I found that there is a real demand for this type of review (as can be seen by the relative success of this blog and those like it). The more academic-minded reviewers out there chafe at this, but as I see it, it’s a simple fact. A large audience is really craving this, and there are a number people like me who provide. That doesn’t mean that there’s not audience for longer, more ‘professional’ type reviews – a street-level criticism to bring up a term that’s been bandied about. Of course there is – there’s room for all of us, and this is a point that is so often overlooked, especially when extreme, or at least narrowly focused opinions tend to get all the attention. However, one thing that will continue to annoy me (well piss me off may be more correct here) is the derogatory elitism and disdain shown to those like me by some out there (particularly old-school print reviewers).

Before I ramble on too far, I think I’ll sign off until the next time this all comes around…

On a side note – Jonathan McCalmont is looking to keep the idea behind Scalpel alive with a new (Gabe-free) project. My reaction: Excellent!

Brasyl by Ian McDonald

Imagine a trip abroad where they don’t speak your language, the climate and smells are all different, the rapid pace makes you believe everyone must be on methamphetamines, and all the while you see clear yet seemingly out of place influences from the good old USA. You’ve got your guidebook in hand, but for all the help it is once you step out of the airport you should throw it away.

“You like this car? You like it?” She was shrieking like a shoutygirl-presenter. João-Batista looking pityingly at her. On the car cams the boys looked as if a bomb had gone off under their Knight Rider LEDS. Don’t bail, Lady Lady Lady, don’t bail. “It’s yours! It’s your big star prize. It’s all right, you’re on a TV game show!”

McDonald drops us into a Brazil where the reader is the tourist in a foreign land, McDonald the ex-pat guide fully immersed in local culture, and it’s a constant struggle at first to keep track of what’s going on.

Brasyl begins in Rio in the year 2006, following a morally ambiguous producer of reality-shock TV setting the stage for her next show. Immediately thrown into a high-octane police chase full of the sights, sounds, and lingua franca of Brazil, the reader is left trying to catch up and make sense what exactly is happening. I imagine this approach is designed to grab hold of the reader with an immediacy they are not prepared for, however, this early disorientation made it harder for me to connect and involve myself in the story. The glossary thoughtfully provided by McDonald offers some reprieve, but breaking the carefully constructed rhythm of the prose looses much of its effectiveness.

Each of the three ultimately inter-related story arcs and their main characters embody the time-line they come from and McDonald’s view of the world as it was, is, and could be. The first arc introduces us to Marcelina Hoffman, trashy television producer. McDonald utilizes Hoffman and her pop-culture ties to orientate the reader to Brazil. Her up-to-the-minute fashion sense and stratospheric ambition form a shallow shell around a confidently clueless core as we see Brazil through her distinctive point of view. Marcelina slowly realizes who she is and what she truly desires in life as she is literally confronted with herself.

In the second arc we jump ahead to a mid-21st Century Brazil and the fringes of an Orwellian society. Here we follow Edson Jesus Oliveira de Freitas, the sixth son of a sixth son, a semi-legit businessman of the slums of São Paulo who becomes enthralled by Fia, a black-market quantum physicist pawning her skills to crack quantum tracking devices in stolen goods. Edson struggles with his identity and sexuality as he cons his way through life as his world overlaps with others, his puppy-love for Fia at the heart it all.

The third arc takes us back in time to 18th Century Brazil where Father Luis Quinn, a Jesuit priest, embarks on a journey to the dark heart of the Amazon to confront a renegade Jesuit missionary. Father Luis is accompanied by the French intellectual and spy, Robert Falcon, a friend and foe. Both are brilliant, introspective, hard and dangerous men with the best of intentions of this dark past.

Brasyl is the first novel by McDonald I have read as the oft-compared River of Gods languishes in The Stack of books to read. McDonald has earned a reputation for his stylistic prose, and he certainly justifies it. Brasyl is a stylistic tour de force where the techno-punk soul of quantum physics permeates his multidimensional Brazil. The emotional response invoked in this American was as otherworldly as any SFF book set in its own created world.

McDonald carefully styles the look and feel of each story arc with a rhythm not often found in SFF writing. It’s almost a beat you could dance to (you, not me) that changes from arc to arc. This rousing Latin beat begs a soundtrack and McDonald happily obliges with a set list provided at the back of the book. The beat of 2006 is fast and reckless with the occasional moderation of elderly, more sedate characters.

Gunga spoke the rhythm, the bass chug, the pulse of the city and the mountain. Médio was the chatterer, the loose and cheeky gossip of the street and the bar, the celebrity news. Violinha was the singer, high over bass and rhythm, hymn over all, dropping onto the rhythm of gunga and médio then cartwheeling away, like the spirit of capoeira itself, into rhythmic flights and plays, feints and improvisations, shaking its ass all over the place.

The beat of the future has the same fast and reckless feel of 2006 with an added bi-polar identity crisis and at times, extreme paranoia.

The loading ramp extends, lowers. Steel hits road. Sparks shower around the brothers Oliveira. Black Metal beckons them again: Come on, come on, on the ramp. Sparks peel away round Edson as he lines up the run. He’s a businessman, not a stunt-rider. Edson edges forward: the concentration pill gives him micro-accelerations and relative velocities. Wheel on wheel off wheel on wheel off, wheel on; then Edson throttles hard, surges forward, and brakes and declutches simultaneously.

The 18th Century slows down to a more traditional and introspective classical dance of events while keeping the feel that Brazil is not like any other place.

Luis Quinn sipped his coffee, rapidly achieving equilibrium with the general environment. An unrelenting climate; no release in the dark of the night. A cigar would be a fine thing. After months of enforced chastity aboard Cristo Redentor, he found his appetite for smoke had returned redoubled. The beginning of attachment, of indiscipline?

While stylistically superb, Brasyl falls short with a lack of resolution of its plot. The 18th Century story arc of Father Luis concludes well, while the other two offer more ambiguous conclusions. Ambiguous conclusions often add strength and the feeling of the right kind of completeness to a plot, and if each of the three story arcs existed independently, this would be the case. The problem arises with the inter-relation of the three arcs and their eventual convergence. At the point of convergence the plot just ends, leaving over-arching questions about the nature of quantum universes, human existence, and the mysterious factions in conflict unanswered. Early ascertains for award recognition may be justified, but for me, Brasyl falls flat at precisely the time it should and could have blown my mind.

Brasyl reflects the high-on-meth, ambitious, and paranoid times suffering an identity crisis emerging in the world around us and infuses it with the Latin beat of the Brazilian melting pot. It’s a view of our world and its possible future directions as reflected in a seemingly warped mirror. Brasyl is a good book, but for me it failed to reach its full potential as a great book, an important book. Even so, dust off the thrown-out guidebook and read Brasyl, but don’t don’t don’t lick the frog.

7.5/10

Scalpel Appears to Have Imploded

Well, I’ve been patiently waiting for Scalpel Magazine to get its technical issue in control. And I kept on waiting. Now it appears that Jonathan McCalmont (one of the editors) is giving up on it, so I’m going to consider Scalpel dead to me. There may be a good reason why Scalpel has flopped, but I’m not privy to the details.

Anyway, my review of Brasyl by Ian McDonald which has been in limbo for over a month now is now free to be published. I’ll be publishing it here quite soon (edit: the review is here) – it’s a bit different and more lengthy than my typical review as it is an attempt at meeting the ‘street-level criticism’ that Scalpel was aiming for (part of the manifesto is preserved here). I’d be remiss not to acknowledge the editorial help that Scalpel did provide for this review, and by Gabe Chouinard in particular.

I’m sad to see Scalpel fail and I’ve been both disappointed and frustrated as I’ve hoped and waited for it to survive.

Scalpel Dissects Reviewing

Gabe Chouinard and Jonathan McCalmont have teamed up to create a new on-line magazine that focuses on reviewing – specifically the newly coined ‘street-level criticism’ style of review. Checkout Scalpel Magazine – they are currently looking for reviewers.

Our Mission

Jonathan McCalmont and Gabe Chouinard founded Scalpel Magazine to serve as an outlet for what they have come to term “street-level criticism”, a style of reviewing that serves to bridge the gap between academic criticism and standardized reviews.

Our purpose is to allow reviewers to utilize the rigor and tools of literary criticism in order to properly assess genre fiction, while discarding the elevated tone and reliance upon jargon that often mars academic criticism. In order to create useful, critical reviews far removed from the publicity-style “Four Flaming Swords of Five” reviews that dominate the speculative fiction field, Scalpel Magazine encourages its contributors to honestly and fully engage not only with what a given piece of genre fiction is about, but also the context in which the piece exists, as well as its thematic, stylistic, political and conceptual content.

What We Desire

Scalpel Magazine seeks sharp, intelligent reviews and interviews. Period. Achieving sharp, intelligent reviews and interviews’, however, is another matter.

In many ways, good reviews are like pornography… we’ll know them when we see them. We have no stringent limitations, no hard and fast rules on what we seek. However, there are some quick and easy benchmarks that can be used to decide if a review is right for Scalpel Magazine:

• Does the review consist of a summary of the work under review, followed by a brief summary of your likes and dislikes? If so, this is not a review for Scalpel Magazine.

  Does the review indulge in easy, generalized relativism? If you have used the stand-by line of “If you’re the type of person who likes books like this, then you’ll like this book.” or any of its permutations, this is not a review for Scalpel Magazine.

  Does the review sound like a fourth-grade book report? If so, this is not a review for Scalpel Magazine.

  Does the review read as if it could have been written by anyone but you? If so, this is not a review for Scalpel Magazine.
  

What We Really Desire

At Scalpel Magazine, we treat reviews and interviews seriously. However, we are not some lofty glass house. Sure, we seek sharp, intelligent reviews and interviews. But more than anything, we are seeking strong, individualized voices. We want reviewers that are not only informed about their subject, but also confident in their judgments. We are looking for skewed views, humor, and irreverence to be coupled with intelligence. Street-level criticism is about breaking the mold of traditional reviewing and traditional criticism. In our opinion, reviewers should be just as creative as the writers under review. Good reviewing is an art, not a science, and we treat it as such.

Some of you may be wondering why I would post this since I don’t really write reviews that really fit into the ‘street-level criticism’ envelope. Well, Gabe and Jonathan have assured me that there is hope for me yet and I certainly hope they succeed. Will you see a review of mine in Scalpel Magazine? Time will tell, but I wouldn’t be surprised.