Some books I’ve plowed through of late:
- Greywalker by Kat Richardson (2006)
- Realityland by David Koenig (2007)
- She Murdered Me with Science by David Boop (2008)
I got turned on to Greywalker through a novella in Mean Streets (which means that collection did just what it was intended). This is fairly standard “urban fantasy” stuff — plucky female detective in Seattle becoming, through a near-death experience, someone who can see ghosts and other manifestations of the supernatural, and so becoming a nexus for their needs — but Richardson pulls it off well. Harper Blaine’s continuous fear and vertigo regarding the Grey becomes tiresome a bit, and the supernatural danger level ratchets up a bit high for a first outing, and some of the casual coincidences seem strained, but the characters and setting are nicely done, and I was pleased enough to hunt down the next couple of volumes in the series. Recommended.
Koenig’s Realityland is a must-read for anyone with an interest in Disney lore or Walt Disney World, as it details the conception and crafting of that resort. While Disney as a company is known for “good show,” the building of both the Magic Kingdom and EPCOT were progressive series of hasty improvisation and compromise. The downgrading of Walt Disney’s dream of an “ideal city of the future” in EPCOT to a few core elements by his more conservative successors is a known and tragic one, but this rendition of the tale provides plenty of good details. Reading this books is not necessary to enjoy a visit to WDW, but neither does it detract from the magic to know how it was all done. Instead, it stands as a very approachable survey of the mingling of ideals, ideas, entertainment, education, business, and politics, and makes me both more appreciate the resort and recognize its limitations. Highly recommended.
The cover of She Murdered Me with Science sums up the book pretty well — a dusky singer at an old mic, a trenchcoated detective delivering a punch to some black-garbed techno-stormtrooper, an exotic mask with baleful eyes glaring outward. But this two-fisted 50s-era SF detective novel can’t decide if it wants to be more Mickey Spillane, Raymond Chandler, or Lester Dent, and the various blending of the various tropes tends to vary unevenly between gritty, glossy, and contrived. It’s an interesting book, and there were parts I very much liked, but ultimately I didn’t feel it lived up to its promise, and I don’t feel the need to race out and discover what else Boop has written. A fair read, with caveats.
I should mention that both I and, now, Margie, have finished ripping through Carrie Vaughn’s “Kitty Norville” series to date. Enjoyable fun, the books continue to evolve the character and her situation without the biggest flaws of the “Anita Blake” series — ever-escalating worstest-evilest-scariest menaces, ever-increasing compromises in the protagonist’s humanity and believability, ever-more-turgid prose, and ever-squidgier sex. Vaughn’s books remain tight and fast, interesting, and grounded, despite their supernatural setting. Well recommended.