Blog

To summarise: I think you might like this book if you

• like Ken MacLeods earlier work
• are interested in history, or big political questions
• want realistic female protagonists (not superwomen)
• enjoy reality leakage and sense of wonder in your fiction

Through most of The Restoration Game you can safely allow yourself to believe that you are reading a kind of contemporary spy thriller, although kind of light on the action and violence and heavy on the personal history of the geek girl protagonist Lucy.

Lucy works for the small computer game company Digital Damage, located in Edinburgh. The company gets drawn into complicated international conspiracies through Lucys mother, Amanda, who used to be a CIA "asset". Lucy becomes an important person for the big game of power and economic control because of her knowledge of the language and national myth of the small (fictive) Georgian province of Krassnia, where she grew up.

Ken MacLeod here continues his exploration of ideologies and economy post communism, a theme that you can recognise from earlier books. The intrigues around Krassnia are interesting on their own, and a reminder that there is a world geographically really close to us which we in our corner of Europe tend to know little about. Most of the story takes place in 2008, but the focus on Krassnia and the lack of any hints of terrorist scare gives it a subtle alternate history feeling. The war between Russia and Georgia over South Ossetia actually took place in our reality, so in any case it's very close to the reality we know.

Lucy is talked into making a Krassnian version of a Digital Damage game, which then plays a role in the political plots. The topic of using online games as a means for organising protests is already science fictional (in the spirit of that William Gibson quote: "The future is already here — it's just not very evenly distributed"), but in this book it's also a tool for the hunt after a secret hidden in the Krassnian mountains.

Still, as I mentioned, there is not much to remind the reader that this is SF. As if compensating for the lack of gosh wow SF elements through the early parts of the book Ken MacLeod is flirting a bit with the science fiction fans and computer geeks among the readers. Lucy is both. The number of people in Sweden who recognize the atmosphere among SF fans meeting in a pub might be few, but I guess there are many Ken MacLeod readers who will smile at a UNIX/eunuchs misunderstanding. I'm easily charmed by injokes like these, which might pass by unnoticed by readers who don't share the frames of reference.

Someone who does not feel included by these things might still appreciate that Ken MacLeod makes Lucy a really cool person. She is very far from the "kick-ass" heroines we have often seen way too much of. She is interested in many things, but she doesn't know any martial arts. Her life is full of work and flat mates and cat and new boyfriend and preparations for the wedding of a close friend  a normal person, who just happens to get involved in crazy big things.

At the centre of the things that happen around Lucy is the "secret of the Vrai". This is the MacGuffin as they say in the world of cinema, the object that drives the plot. Something ancient hidden on a mountain, surrounded by rumors and guarded with firearms and superstition. This secret fails to catch my interest for a long time, hidden behind the political machinations and the things Lucy discovers about her own background. Suddenly, at the very end, this changes.

It's wonderful when an author manages to play with your assumptions and turn them on their heads. This is a really old trick, and in some kinds of science fiction nearly compulsory, but often enough it still works. After turning the last page there is no doubt that this story was pure science fiction all along.

I'm not going to say more than this, and telling you that there are surprises is already a bit of a spoiler. Although it's now scientifically proven that knowing a lot about the plot doesn't spoil the experience, I prefer not giving away too much.

If you read the book, find me and we will talk about the ending and some philosophical implications. That could be fun.

This is a book about the technologies that will shape our lives in various ways in the near future and in the coming 100 years. It's all extrapolated from the current front line of technology and from new knowledge that is anticipated to be exploited soon. Michio Kaku is a physicist who has made a name as a popularizer of science, through his books and as host of various TV shows. Physics of the Future is based on interviews with scientists and people who are involved in developing and trying out the discussed technologies.

The title is a bit misleading – it's clearly chosen because the book is in some ways a sequel to Kaku's Physics of the Impossible, which discusses seemingly impossible things people do in fiction and what it would take to make some of them possible. Physics of the Future is not about what we will learn in physics in the future. Not even only about how physics will be applied in the future. It's about computers, robots, medicine, economics, energy and, yes, about space travel. Every chapter is divided into three parts: the current state of the art, what we might be able to do around mid century, and visions for the "far future" in about 100 years.

Many of the ideas are discussed in the light of two principles: Moore's law and "the caveman principle". Moore's law states roughly that computers double in capacity every two years. At some point in the not so far future Moore's law will break down because it meets the physical limits of how small we can make our integrated circuits. The caveman principle is just that people are basically the same as in the stone age. Our preferences and needs are rooted in that human nature, and this will shape how we implement our technologies and shape our future.

Of course things will not play out exactly the way described in the book, and this is discussed in the introduction. The book is about what we might do, based on what we know now, and this is the available information that we need to work with when imagining the future. A reader of popular science magazines might already be familiar with most of the things and ideas discussed here (I found this especially true for the chapter about space travel), but here a lot is collected in the same place in a nice package where you can start to appreciate how various advances can work together. Someone who is new to all of this might find the book fairly dense, but still readable.

Michio Kaku is clearly enthusiastic over the subject, and very optimistic. It's a mostly bright future he describes, where we use our collected wits and deal constructively with the problems caused by global warming and the end of oil. I actually feel that the positive picture he paints sometimes borders on the naive, when he glosses over the ethical problems with some of the inventions he describes. Yes, there are problems with creating entities with minds and make them serve us. And what responsibilities do we have to our "designer babies"? (As a friend of mine stated it: how fun is it 30 years later, when your genes are really out of fashion?) I understand that these discussions may be beside the point and that Kaku doesn't want to fill the book with them, but I miss acknowledgments that ethics can be relevant and important in shaping the future.

Some comments about economics, history and other relevant subjects far from physics also seem a bit oversimplified. I'm sure that Michio Kaku has done his research and that he has fact checked everything against experts, but being one myself I know that physicists are not necessarily experts of everything, and I reserve the right to be a bit skeptical about his historical analyses. Nevertheless I enjoy the enthusiasm and the optimism, because it makes it easy and entertaining to read the book. I put many question marks in the margins of the discussions about for example how exactly Europe came to be more successful than China and the Ottoman empire, but that doesn't spoil the rest of the book.

Perhaps the least successful chapter is the last one, "A day in the life in 2100", which is intended to illustrate what life might be like when we have access to all of the things described in the preceding chapters. It reads like science fiction from the 1930's, only with updated gadgets, and leaves me feeling unsatisfied when I put the book down. Michio Kaku is a good writer of popular science, but not as talented at fiction, and for this story did not add anything of value.

I have read enough good SF to have little patience with bad SF. This brings me to my real problem with reading this book, which is not a failure of the book but rather of me as a reader. My reading mind is shaped by decades on a high-SF-diet. The thing that keeps nagging me through the book is that the author seems to be completely unaware of science fiction literature after about 1982 or so. I know, it's very unfair to judge a book because it fails to do something the author didn't intend at all in the first place. (Actually, I hate it when people do that. I stopped reading reviews on online bookstores because of that.) I just cannot help it.

You see, I keep thinking of the perfect examples of how everything mentioned in this book is discussed in science fiction, new and old. If you talk about super intelligent mice I want to mention Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. If you talk about recreating Neanderthals I want to mention Neverness by David Zindell. If you talk about regrowing lost limbs I think of Have Space Suit, Will Travel by Robert A. Heinlein. If you talk about augmented reality (digital information superimposed on your senses) I think of The Golden Age by John C. Wright and The Quantum Thief by Hannu Rajaniemi. If you talk about extended life spans I want to mention the treatment of that in the Mars trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson. When it comes to nanotechnology, why not mention The Dervish House by Ian McDonald, which I recently reviewed here.

This list just goes on forever.

Michio Kaku instead takes most of his examples from ancient mythology and talks about "the power of gods". The rest of his illustrating examples come from Star Trek and SF blockbusters, which he seems to like but not take very seriously. That is fair enough but leaves me feeling a bit frustrated. I think I personally would have preferred to read a book about technologies in fairly current science fiction literature with discussions of if and when these might be available in reality, and the science behind. The book I wish I had is an updated version of the classic The Science in Science Fiction, edited by Peter Nicholls. It was published in 1983 and is still readable, but it's too old to contain cyberpunk, new space opera, and a lot of cool scientific ideas which have been commonplace in SF recently – such as many of the things discussed in Physics of the Future. I wish someone would write an updated version of The Science in Science Fiction. I actually wish that I could write it myself (something that I could not do alone, that's for sure).

It's not Michio Kaku's fault that I feel frustrated by this. Physics of the Future is entertaining and I think the author succeeds with what he has set out to do: discussing future technologies. Thinking about it, I wonder if it would not also be a nice source of inspiration for SF writers.

(By the way: yes, it bothers me that my quick list of science fiction examples contains no works by women. That is something worth discussing.)

This is so brilliant. Beautiful. At the moment I think this is the novel I'm going to recommend everyone to read for a long time to come.

As I have probably said before, it's a little bit risky to review a book before I have really digested it. I never know when I turn the last page what I will think of it in a week or a month. Still, I have now waited way too long to read this book, considering that I wanted to review it before the coming weekend.

Perhaps I'm just dazzled at the moment, but one thing that is safe to say is that I'm going to remember the wonderful opening scene. Some books have a catchy first sentence ("It was the day my grandmother exploded." The Crow Road, Iain Banks. Or, by now well worn cliché: "The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." That's Neuromancer by William Gibson, in case that you don't recognise it.), but The Dervish House has a little movie in the beginning. We follow a stork, riding the rising air above Istanbul, The Queen of Cities, which is just waking up for another day of unusually hot weather in the year 2027. For half a page I am the stork, I can see it all! It's like a spell, pulling me into the book to keep me locked in between the covers for at least a couple of hours straight. It fits my way of reading perfectly: visual, sensual.

I have read things by Ian McDonald before, but I cannot remember being captivated this way. Brasyl was good in many ways, but did not resonate well with me at all. (Too much quantum physics, perhaps – I cannot make myself believe in magical quantum computers.)

The story in The Dervish House is very fast paced, very compact – it all takes place within five days – and very clear, but has room for a lot of science fictional ideas. It is centered around the people living in the old house of the title, which used to be a place where dervishes gathered but is converted to affordable housing. When a suicide bomber blows her head off on a tram passing by the area, some of the people of this dervish house are pulled into a plot which is much bigger than it first seems. Their paths cross the paths of their neighbours, and we get to know them all a little. I especially like the nine year old boy, who plays detective with the help of his bit-bot robot toy.

These people are very different, and show us very different aspects of Istanbul.

One of the central ideas is the use of nanotechnology in the form of some kind of nanorobots to temporarily or permanently rewire the nervous system. You can snort some nano to help you stay focussed on a task, or induce a certain state of mind. There are more experimental versions, that can do more specific things to your brain also. Istanbul is a centre of nanotechnology in this future, and there are ideas for applications that could change the world in ways that for most would be drastic and unexpected.

Another theme is economics, and we are shown the stark difference between the game with large sums of virtual money and the science of describing the behaviour of people. I recall that Paul Krugman – Nobel price, remember? – is supposed to have said that he went into economics because it was the closest he could come to psychohistory, as in the Foundation series by Isaac Asimov. Kim Stanley Robinson said in his speech at the Worldcon last year that "economics is a pseudoscience; the astrology of our time". Perhaps it is, but some economists also seem to be very aware of the advances in psychology, and perhaps this field also is becoming a part of a general wave of discovery of what is to be human. Time will tell, and in the meantime we play with ideas and visions.

The central theme of Ian McDonalds writing has to be that not only Europe and America are important in the future. More and more of the rest of the world makes itself noticed, and some people feel threatened when they notice that our part of the world is not the only place that matters. It hurts when you notice that you have been holding a privilege which depends on keeping other people out. Ian McDonald has recently shown us futures in India, Brazil and now Turkey, and I think it helps people lift their eyes a bit and see parts of the world they barely knew were there. Who needs other planets when we have so much to learn about our own?

In The Dervish House we get a very broad picture of Istanbul, and also a glimpse of the rest of Turkey. It's in the near future, and there is no glossing over the tension between ethnic groups. So we get to see some really ugly prejudice and discrimination (and worse) against kurds, but also the problems facing Greeks, Armenians, and other minorities. The Russians just seem to float on top of everything (but they are always just outside the frame of the picture in this novel). But there is more to the city than that: history, art, trade, food, and gas pipelines. Even science fiction. In passing, the only science fiction author of Turkey is mentioned, but not by name – I suspect this is a real person. (Burak Eldem? My best guess.) Perhaps there are also ancient hidden secrets, secrets that can only be uncovered by luck, dedication, and the eye of a trader in antiquities.

"All Istanbul is celebrating," one of the characters reflects at the end of the book. "And Istanbul is mourning, and Istanbul is dreading and Istanbul is hoping. Istanbul is everything."

Now, time to get ready to meet Ian McDonald himself, among other authors. Eurocon is this weekend (June 17-19), in Stockholm. Elizabeth Bear will be there! Charles Stross will be there! Hannu Rajaniemi will be there! Amanda Downum will be there! And many more.

And so will I, non-author as I am, and perhaps you too. Let's find each other and talk about books.

In his debut novel A Good and Happy Child, Justin Evans explored themes as hefty as memory repression, demon possession, and parental anxiety. Now, he is back with a brand new novel that at first glance seems a bit too good to be true.

1. It is a ghost story.
2. It is set at a prestigious English public school (which, by the way, the author attended himself in 1988!).
3. Lord Byron, aka the first literary rock star, plays a major part in the unfolding of the story.

Now, I adore a good old haunting, as most of you already know – almost as much as I love novels with an academic setting. After all, you're talking to the girl who read Donna Tartt's The Secret History at the tender age of fifteen and had my entire world – my literary world, that is, which, at fifteen, pretty much was my world – rocked by Tartt's inimitable cast of characters, all of whom I still consider some of my best friends. And, oh, the gorgeous settings, so irresistible to a young bookworm! One section of the book that has really stuck with me throughout the years is the bit where Richard Papen, our narrator, has just arrived at Hampden College and, woken up from a slumber, walks around the campus and is positively awestruck by what he sees. The red-cheeked girls playing football in the golden afternoon light; the smell of apples, smoke, and early autumn in the air, the famous Vermont foliage all ablaze, everything so completely different from the humdrum, suburban feel of Richard's upbringing... She had me at hello, Donna did, and even though I have re-read The Secret History more times than I can count – and even though the actual plot, though advertised on page one, takes off a bit further into the book – there remains something magical about the chapters depicting Richard's first days at Hampden. I remember feeling something quite similar during my first – but far from last – stay in Oxford. The air seemed to be electrically charged with the very promise of knowledge, and me every bit as starstruck by the city of dreaming spires as Richard Papen of Hampden (”did Oscar Wilde stroll across the same meadow as I am right now?”). So yes, I'm a sucker for a decent cademic setting and actively look for books that may whet that particular literary apetite. (Read on for more scholarly tips in my top 5 of the month!)

Speaking of appetites, I just can't seem to get enough of novels featuring historical, cultural, and/or (preferrably all of the above!) literary icons. So, when I found out that not only will The White Devil cater to my supernatural and academic needs, Lord Byron will also be a major player... well, obviously I was thrilled, in an anxious, wide-eyed ”OMG, must read now!” sort of way. But with great expectations come the possibility of a great letdown. Upon hearing of Justin Evans' new endeavour, I couldn't help but wonder how he would manage to pull it all off.

The good news is, he does pull it off. An intensely spooky, richly atmospheric page turner, The White Devil is virtually impossible to put down once you've started reading it. It is a delightfully scary ghost story, but Evans also impresses me with his honest and real portrayal of what it's like to be eighteen, far away from home, and nearly broken down with expectations and self doubt. And yes, the Lord Byron parts seem well-researched and go well with the contemporary setting. I may be revealing too much here, but if you, like me, have a strange fascination with 19th century terminal illnesses, you will LOVE the premises of the haunting! Oh well, enough said.

Something slightly less vague and sweeping about the plot. After having been expelled from his school in his native Connecticut, Andrew Taylor (no relation, one would assume, to the novelist) is to spend his senior year at the prestigious public school Harrow, once home to the great Lord Byron. No sooner has he arrived in the UK than things – mysterious, startling, inexplicable things – start to happen. Following the death of a fellow student, Andrew starts to sense a malevolent presence. Someone – or something – wishes him ill, and it would appear that whatever is haunting Andrew is related to him playing Lord Byron in an upcoming school play. When a classmate falls ill, Andrew reaches out to his housemaster, a former literary genius turned alcoholic, for help. As the true motives behind the haunting begin to unravel, Andrew and his friends soon find themselves fighting for their lives.

You've probably already caught on, but I will say it just in case: yes, do read The White Devil! If you are into literary ghost stories with an innovative twist, and if your heartbeat goes up a notch by the very thought of drafty old English boarding houses – look no further! As for me, I will read A Good and Happy Child – which, if it is half as good as this one, is sure to please this hopeless lover of all things supernatural and scary – and then eagerly await the next book by Justin Evans. Methinks I've found a new favourite!

HELENA'S TOP 5 OF THE MONTH: NOVELS WITH AN AN ACADEMIC SETTING

	1. The Secret History (Donna Tartt) You didn't think I'd leave it out, did you? If I hadn't already read it (and re-read it, and re-read it...) I would probably feel slightly hesitant towards this 1992 cult classic. It is, I believe, a book best experienced when you're as young and impressionable as the main character. Perhaps, ideally, even younger. Reading it with adult eyes might result in a less lovestruck interpretation. But then, it's just a theory...
	2. Beasts (Joyce Carol Oates) The ever so prolific Oates is nearly always flawless when she writes short prose. Everything I love about her writing style - the dark undercurrents, the beautiful language, the overall disturbing feel - is enhanced in her shorter pieces of fiction. In this 138 pages long dark gem of a novella, a young girl falls in love with a much older professor and his bohemian lifestyle - with dark, Oatesian consequences...
	3. The Rules of Attraction (Bret Easton) This is modern literary history by now, but I'm going to tell the tale anyway in case some of you have missed it: Bret Easton Ellis and Donna Tartt went to college together at Bennington and both turned their college experience into literary form. Tartt, of course, wrote about Hampden College in that little book I seem to have forgotten to mention in this blog post, while Ellis' second novel takes place at Camden, a WASP-y New England liberal arts college with more than a passing reseblence to Bennington. It is not Ellis' finest hour in my opinion, but still worth reading. In a "blink and you'll miss it" passage, reference is made to some of the characters of The Secret History!
	4. Prep (Curtis Sittenfeld) New to the world of Curtis Sittenfeld? I envy you! Not to build up impossibly high expectations or anything, but Prep truly is a gem. So many authors try to be relatable, readable, and literary at the same time. Sittenfeld, unlike many of her colleagues, is a tremendous success on all three accounts.
	5. The Anatomy of Ghosts (Andrew Taylor) Historical suspense, don't you love it? One of my favourites within the genre is Andrew Taylor, whose latest novel The Anatomy of Ghosts is set in 18th century Cambridge. Not as thoroughly captivating as The American Boy and Bleeding Heart Square, but I still give Taylor an A for atmosphere and effort.