Evolution’s Child: Earthman — Charles Lee Lesher — Book Review

One-sentence summary:

A dying-earth novel that is more concerned with its universe’s inner-workings than actually telling a story,  Evolution’s Child: Earthman is a mixed-bag that starts off with the breakneck speed of a thriller before morphing into little less than a series of conversation pieces between a growing roster of characters.

Longer Musings:

Evolution’s Child: Earthman starts with a deep-cover analyst, Lazarus, making a speedy escape from his current life on Earth where he lives with a cyborg-surrogate wife and a in conflicted existence. Written in the present tense the scenes unfold as if revealed by the shaky-cam of an expert thriller director. During these moments, and the aid of a helpful narrator, the reader gets to visit a world taken over by fundamentalist groups that hold each other in check by the power of their military might.

Lazarus is heading for The Republic of Luna — a society on the moon that believes in rational thought, science, democracy, and of course, a new strain of capitalism. It’s the perfect world for the emotionally torn Lazarus who has a complicated history of being part spy, part thinker and part expert liar. Conveniently, he also meets Lindsey, a seductive and sexually free woman who happens to be placed next to him so he can embrace his new lifestyle via the power of physical intimacy, and be granted with an audience with the person he needs to see.

Unfortunately, for me, this was the point in the novel where it started to deteriorate. Once the external threat of being captured by his repressive government disappeared, Lazarus had nothing to fear and moved into conversation mode. He talked about Luna’s culture with all those who were willing to speak to him. He made mistakes (because of his primitive mindset) and marvelled at the perfect society Luna was, and how vastly improved it was over his oppressive home world.

That isn’t to say Lazarus is some hillbilly without a charming trait. We learn, by the way of being told by anyone who meets him, that he’s a unique Earthman who’s different than everyone else. This is said to us not just by Lindsey, who makes love to him quicker than a space shuttle can land, but also via almost every other main character. Sure, he may’ve been raised in an oppressive environment, but he also had access to the great literature of the day such as Vonnegut and Homer. Which, naturally, he quotes whenever the moment calls for it.

And nothing happens. Nothing. Page after page after page of world building until the last 8% where an event occurs not because it’s been worked towards, such as in a Tom Clancy novel, but simply because the author decided it was time for a change of pace. So we have another action sequence where Lazarus, despite his obvious limitations in this new environment, gets to show off his heroic side and win the hearts and minds of his new comrades.

By the end of Evolution’s Child: Earthman, the hero has become less complicated human being and more Mary Sue. His warts are smoothed over and the other-side’s faults are highlighted as he steps into the role of glowing champion for the race that needs a little help.

As for the writing, it was solid. It was written in present tense, but with an omnipresent narrator advising us what was happening. There were times when Charles Lee Lesher wrote about future events and what was going to happen which took me out of the story and destroyed any sense of emotional tension in certain scenes. Your mileage, however, may vary. Also, there was a significant amount of head-hopping where the reader would suddenly be told what someone was thinking despite the fact we’d been in another character’s head for 90% of that section. It wasn’t as jarring as the predictions, but they still made me wince. Even more so when it was only to tell me how great Lazarus was once more.

There were two other strange inclusions in the book: hand-drawn pictures of the characters and a timeline about major events. At the start of the novel, there’s a massive info-dump about the history of humanity and what led to the world splitting apart. The section added nothing to the story except to make me flick through a stack of pages so I could get to what I wanted to read: the narrative. And then each chapter started with a picture of a character. I’m not against using pictures in works, however, they have to be at a certain standard. These were not at that standard. They were not the quality an author should be happy with because all they did was detract from the novel. Essentially, these two inclusions made it feel as if Charles Lee Lesher had thrown everything he had into the work so that it was full, instead of choosing what was necessary to propel the tale along.

Overall though, Evolution’s Child: Earthman was competently put together and made for a solid read.

Conclusion

This is one of those novels that I started on a bad foot with because of the info-dump sections and present-tense prediction, but began to enjoy after getting into its rhythm during the chase scenes. Then, just as I commenced liking it, the author stalled the narrative so he could explain how great the main character and the new society he’d created was. By the time the action started again (for no real reason except the text was running out of pages), I’d lost interest and the ending didn’t wrap up any of the main arcs.

As such, I’m on the fence about this work. Halfway through I wanted to read the next book, at the end I didn’t want to read anything in this series again. My recommendation is to read Harmony by Project Itoh or purchase Evolution’s Child: Earthman with cautious optimism.

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Elis Royd — Ron Sanders — Book Review

 

One-sentence summary:

Elis Royd is a one-dimensional romp through colonisation and man’s arrogance with an uninspired story and eye-rolling conclusion.

Longer Musings

I feel there is no better way to start this review than with parts of the author’s own promotional blurb:

At last: science fiction for grown-ups!

…

No vampires here. No superheroes, wizards or werewolves. No talking dragons, no zombies, no flying bespectacled British schoolchildren. Sorry. Elis Royd is solely for thinking adult readers.

So, big promises, huge premise…does it deliver?

Elis Royd serves as the name of the novel and the name of the asteroid it’s based on. It takes us to the last few months (weeks?) of the colonised-rock’s existence and shows us how the empire falls. Part narrative; part faux-history; part science text, the work is designed to challenge our assumptions of intergalactic colonisation and how we would react as we spread out across the stars.

Essentially, there’s two cultures–humans and Royds. Royds are a sort of an advanced insect labourer that has less developed cognitive functions than homo-sapiens. They are trusting (conveniently) and easily manipulated by the devious and scandalous administrators of the Earth compound. There’s also a whole host of other evolved species such as leeches, giant roaches and things that go bump in the night. But don’t worry about them, they only exist to mysteriously appear and kill the characters whose arc has finished.

On the human side, we learn about the three masters of the Earth Administration: The Commander, The Arbiter General and The Elder. They are presented as a trio of old men desperately besotted with dreams of a vast mountain of gold hidden in the Royd camp. They will torture, cheat, lie and steal their way to it. If it exists at all. And of course, despite their immense intellect, they will come unstuck because the are unprepared for any deviation from their plans.

Then there’s Emra, the Queen. She’s the first Royd who shows the mental capacity to fight against the Earth Administration. After a series of tragic events, Emra discovers her emotional strength as well and gathers her forces to charge forward and remake the world how she wishes. Along the way she finds a general (who just appears and has a brilliant strategic mind), another Royd who is also full of cunning despite having done nothing with it, and an uncanny ability to get herself into trouble.

As the story is mostly vignette, it jumps from character to character to give a complete picture of the upcoming war on both sides. In many ways, it’s similar to the historical narratives now written by historians about past battles. Unfortunately, for me, that’s where the positive parts of Elis Royd end.

Firstly, I didn’t care about anyone. I had plenty of time to be made to care, there’s lots of pages, but no one was complex enough for me to worry about. The Elder was motivated by greed. That’s it. Emra only cared about defeating the humans. Finish. The characters didn’t think or reason or strategise. There was no doubt. They simply travelled along a series of pre-set rails until they reached their final destinations.

As for the secondary characters, they were all the same. Arrogant Guard 1 shows up, dies. Then he (always a he) is replaced by Arrogant Guard 2. And so on. In the Royd camp, there was Trusting Civilian X. As such, even the number of named people in the novel didn’t matter. They were cutouts to replace the same type of person who had existed previously.

There’s no doubt the book has big ambitions — showing the fall of a culture in a novel — but the end result is not a highly-developed think piece for ‘adults’. A think piece for me is one that cuts deep and makes you question your basic assumptions about the world. Elis Royd fails that. Firstly, its humans are white, male and American. Ron Sanders seems to realise this is a problem about halfway through and info-dumps Earth’s history on us. This isn’t a complex, nuanced info-dump either. It’s basically, the Earth was filling up and the Americans innovated their way to success because, y’know, they’re Americans.

Also, for some reason that’s never explained, people in the colony are Christians although there are no theological discussions about what that means. Generally, what happens in the novel is that when a character needs to commit a terrible act, they invoke the almighty power of God. Who knows why. God becomes a sort of author-invented motivating force to remove any questions about actions that have had no foreshadowing.

Finally, at the ultimate climax, Ron Sanders tosses in a twist that makes no sense. The more I think about the ending and its logical conclusion, the more I scratch my head. It’s supposed to be profound, but all it did was make me wonder if the author had considered what technology would be available to those in that situation.

Which brings us to the writing… it was ok. Mostly it was fine, although a little dry for my tastes. There were some odd uses of idioms that didn’t make sense when placed in a sci-fi novel. Some dialogue was less cultural specific that it should’ve been and more ripped from today’s vernacular which warped the characters into a sort of time vacuum. Where did they come from? What is their culture? Just simply things that took me out of the story. Otherwise it was fine, but not quite electric with excitement.

Conclusion

I can’t recommend Elis Royd. It paints itself as an adult novel for the intelligentsia of today who are bored of genre-based stories; yet, it trades in one-dimensional characters and strange cultural underpinnings. What it aims to do — analyse the complexities of colonising another life form — it completely fails at. By making 90% of its characters white; male; American and Christian, it takes away the diversity of humanity for no reason and then fails to take advantage of the differences of opinion people have about things. There are long info-dumps that are as interesting as recipe-book instructions and lifeforms which serve as deus-ex machina tools so they can conveniently kill off the unneeded characters.

Overall, I left bored and was counting the pages to the end.

For those looking for thought-provoking, I’d suggest Irradiated by S. Elliot Brandis.

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Once Upon a Time at the End of the World (Part 1) — S. Elliot Brandis — Review

One-sentence summary:

Once Upon a Time at the End of the World (Part 1) is a post-apocolyptic novel with a spaghetti-western twist that trades heavily in outdated cliches and is enjoyable only because of the brilliant writing by S. Elliot Brandis.

Longer Musings:

S. Elliot Brandis, author of Irradiated and Degenerated, switches up his love for the end of the world by replacing Australia with America, and a technologically bankrupt society with a technology rich one. In Once Upon a Time at the End of the World, Earth has been flattened by nuclear and anti-matter strikes, leaving society to eke out an existence in a desert-filled land. Darwinism has taken ahold with the strongest, toughest and most violent men being able to inflict wanton destruction on whomever they wish.

Enter the android, a relic of a bygone era that was freed from its do-not-harm programming to fight in an ancient war. He wanders Earth with no name and seeks to bring justice to those who commit the most villainous of sins: cannibalism to woman, enslavement of children. With an old-fashioned six-shooter and a super-advanced internal processor, he picks his way through several encounters with various bigots while musing about the meaning of life to his unlikely companion, Sierra.

For a book that concerns itself so heavily with existential philosophy, it seems strange that Sierra’s allocated occupation (until she makes other choices) starts as an enslaved sex-worker. This book isn’t set in the 1800s, it doesn’t need to revisit or re-promote the themes of females being nothing less than property. Yet, it does. Men kill other men, women get raped and parents are butchered. Why? No reason is given (yet) for why people have reverted to social norms that are already outdated in today’s world, and I assume, will be even more so in the future when the apocalypse comes. As such, the debates between Sierra and the android, for me at least, rung hollow because the novel subjected its characters to the same social programming as the ones they condemned.

Asides from the flashy trappings–the android, a few ray guns–the story retreads well worn territory. The android is the mistrusted outsider, Sierra is the voice of humanity, small towns are bigoted and sheriffs are indifferent to society’s evil. People accept things as they are and bunker down, as long as their kind aren’t disturbed too much. If you’re looking for a deeper twist or an update on the western genre, this isn’t it. Unforgiven‘s exploration of age is missing, Trigun‘s dissection of the pacifistic lifestyle is absent, Firefly‘s unique towns and locales are gone, and True Grit‘s analysis of the cost of revenge has no place on the pages. It’s essentially a spaghetti-western with philosophy debates instead of bar-room comedy, or male-bonding through extended punch-ups in a saloon.

What makes this novel work, and it does work as a genre piece, is S. Elliot Brandis’ brilliant writing. It’s written in the present tense and the way he uses words to create sounds and evoke atmosphere is some of the best I’ve read. Also, its fast-paced action sequences and whistling winds ensure a good yarn if you’re simply in it for the ride.

Conclusion:

Once Upon a Time at the End of the World is a (relatively) derivative take on the western with a few shiny new ideas sprinkled in for good measure. Long on internal philosophy while covering similar ground as most tomes in its genre, it works well because of S. Elliot Brandis’ writing style. A quick easy read that, although it doesn’t finish, leaves plenty of room for expansion.

I’d recommend it for people who enjoy westerns with a touch of science-fiction. However, for a more developed and complex assessment of a technologically advanced western-style world, I’d suggest watching Trigun.

Or viewing this short movie based on Penny Arcade’s comic, Automata.

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Invasion of Kzarch — E.G. Castle — Book Review

One-sentence summary:

In Invasion of Kzarch, E.G Castle mixes marines, space pirates and a living Diabolus Ex Machina to create a by-the-numbers military novel topped off with wooden characters.

Longer Musings:

Menacing pirates, a dash of intergalactic politics and an inexperienced marine lieutenant seem to set the stage for an exciting genre romp with the USF. Unfortunately, for this reader, the execution left a lot to be desired.

The story is relatively straightforward: a simple operation goes horribly askew due to faulty intelligence. As always with this setup, the heroes (marines) are vastly outnumbered by the enemy (pirates) and have to overcome them with their wits, firepower and technical superiority.

In charge of the marines, there’s Lieutenant Frank. He’s a rookie officer who’s out of his league and has to rely on his Sergeant for advice. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Frank’s indecisiveness creates less empathetic human and more blank slate. His internal monologue is one of humility, but he never seems to pick any fights with the higher ranking officers. When he mulls over decisions privately, he doesn’t come up with new ideas or fresh solutions. He simply exists to (humbly) continue a losing war. As for his dialogue, well, it sounds less military (even stylised Hollywood-military) and more akin to a young adult lost in life’s tides.

On the other side is Bloody Jack. The sociopath. The remorseless, brilliant Moriarty of pirates with a touch of Captain Jack Sparrow thrown in. Unfortunately, his sociopathy stretches beyond the realm of possibility. He murders, kills and mutilates his crew in such a quick fashion it’s impossible to imagine him ever gaining such a large cohort. The odds anyone, especially someone skilled, would belong to his crew are simply too long. If they were that smart, they wouldn’t put themselves under the constant threat of death by a madman. He essentially becomes a raging cartoon who only does things that will propel the novel forward and antagonise the marines.

Not that it’s short on drama: there’s treachery, an off-book romance and gun battles galore. Unfortunately, all of the scenes play out as if they are silent movies under glass and blurred by thousands of pounds of water on top of them. They happen because they happen. And asides from the two main leads (and one pirate named Mad), the rest of the characters merge into a single mass of humanity that struggles and fights because it has to.

Along with the forgettable deaths, similar sounding dialogue and walking plot-creation device, E.G. Castle also tosses in a number of info-dump sections. They explain the world, the history and the backstory, which is great, if only something happened during these moments. Or the information was used in some way later on in the novel. It is used and then forgotten, brushed into the margins as soon as the battle is over, decision made or speech delivered.

What saves Invasion of Kzarch is E.G. Castle’s writing style. It’s simple and easy to read. The world and people are sufficiently detailed to imagine and the sentences flow from one to the next. So despite the plot holes and lack of incentive to keep reading, I didn’t find it frustrating and finished it in two 40-minute train rides.

Conclusion:

Invasion of Kzarch is a simple story with a lot of great elements that are not used to the extent they could’ve been. Most of the characters are forgettable, and the few that consume most of the book’s reading time are so far removed from their real (or traditionally stylised) counterparts that it’s hard to imagine them being in those roles. What saves it from being a throw-across-the-room novel is E.G. Castle’s easy-to-follow writing style.

Recommended for those who love pirates and are looking for a filler novel because they’ve read all the big releases. If not, I’d suggest Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein or Old Man’s War by John Scalzi.

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