Books: The Map of Time by Felix J. Palma (2011)

I’m a sucker for time travel stories, as I’ve written about before. But after reading Connie Willis To Say Nothing of the Dog some years ago, I discovered that my time travel stories must be literate as they are entertaining. Another words, an author who actually understands time travel and tries to explain its potential paradoxes and does not use it as a mere prop to their stories.

Part of the enjoyment of Spanish author Felix J. Palma’s The Map of Time is how much enjoyment he gets out of making time travel work in 1896 and then pulling the rug out from under his readers. 

The book is essentially three novellas connected by The Time Machine author H.G. Wells. It begins in 1896 with a character named Andrew Harrington –an annoying personality of utter self-pity that made the early chapters tedious to get through-who is planning to kill himself 8 years after his prostitute girlfriend is last victim of Jack the Ripper (even though this is science fiction, I find the idea of some upper crust person that Harrington is supposed to be would’ve fallen in love –and paid again and again- to spend time with a prostitute with a heart of gold not to be that believable). But is prevented by doing so by his cousin Charles, who tells Andrew there is a way to save his beloved. And that way? Time travel via Murray’s Time Travel company.

In the wake of the success of Wells’ The Time Machine, many publishers are trying to capitalize on the fascination of time travel along with a man named Gilliam Murray, who can open a portal to the 4^th dimension and travel to the year 2000 and witness the final battle between the humans and the automatons that have enslaved the future. But Murray informs Andrew that his “machine” can only travel to the future –May 10, 2000- and not the past. But while Andrew is disappointed, Charles then hatches an idea that includes a visit to H.G. Wells, who for reasons that will not be explain until later, has that same time machine he described in his book sitting in his attic. 

The second part deals with a woman who feels out of time in Victorian London and dreams of a future where she can choose whom she wants to be –and it’s clear that Palma is riffing on The Time Traveler’s Wife and even the Terminator in this segment. Meanwhile, the third part tells a tale of a Scotland Yard inspector who is trying to find a killer who seems to be offing his victims with something that looks like a heat ray. Which then begs the question, how do you arrest someone who hasn’t been born yet?

Yes, the book is extremely metafictional, which may dissuade hard core science fiction fans, but Palma writes with such zeal and panache, I ended up enjoying the book way too much. I mean, where else can you read a tale where Victorian characters spout off about parallel universe, about how and if you can change the past, and what would you do if you continued to go same time in future, would you eventually meet a version of you? Palma also references Doctor Who, Time Bandits (and Terry Gilliam), Jules Verne and even Planet of the Apes. There was even a part towards the end where I thought Palma was going to drag out a certain Doc Brown and his time traveling car.

Books: The Prisoner of Heaven By Carlos Ruiz Zafón (2012)

“For Fermín Romero de Torres, who came back from among the dead and holds the key to the future 13.”

With those words written in the pages of Semperes & Sons copy of The Count of Monty Cristo, the mystery of Fermín Romero de Torres is about to begin. In the third book of Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, the book is once more narrated by The Shadow of the Wind’s hero Daniel Sempere – now married to Bea and with a young child, and who is running the bookstore alongside his father.

It’s 1957 and business is not good and the two Semperes are struggling to make ends meet. Happiness is on the horizon though, as their close friend Fermín Romero de Torres is about to wed Bernarda, the love of his life. But there is something bothering Fermín and he is not his usual upbeat self. And when he learns of the visit of the mysterious man who left the note in the Dumas book, Fermín recounts to Daniel his involvement with David Martín, the man who was a dear friend of his late mother, Isabella, and who (might) be his actual father some 17 years earlier. The vast majority of this book is his account of his prison time at the infamous Montjuïc castle where during the days of Franco’s dictatorship (in the 40s), political prisoners where held and “disappeared”. The depiction of the prison and how the prisoners suffered was horrific and affecting. It is also here where de Torres encounters David Martín, who narrated The Angel’s Game. 

I’ve read a few reviews that criticize Ruiz Zafón of connecting all the characters together like this, that Fermín Romero de Torres (always the most enjoyable rouge) has been part of Daniel’s life forever. That it also brings into more questions about the unreliable narrator aspect of David Martín’s tale told in The Angel’s Game.  

I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by reading too much, that I’m fine with Ruiz Zafón’s attempt at linking the narrative of this four-book series like he’s done. Some reviews say he cheapened the series by doing this (which calls into mind from me, how George Lucas tinkered with his Star Wars saga), but I think this may have been his intention all along. After all, you don’t write a quartet of tales set in the same universe –connected by Cemetery of Forgotten Books- and not interact with characters from the other books. Perhaps they were expecting something else? Still, I can understand some peoples criticism of this short, almost novella, type book. Perhaps when the author was outling this series, he saw a flaw and tried to course correct it with this book? Or maybe, in some pulpy way, this was his intention all along, that despite his love for literature, he is writing popular fiction that tends to live on the corner of Convenience and Consequence?

I do feel that Ruiz Zafón treatment of women is very old school annoying; they’re prostitutes with the heart of gold or beautiful women who must be pursued by other men, making their husbands jealous. The subplot about Daniel suspecting his wife of extramarital affair is dubious at best and really, it seems, designed to add another mystery for a concluding book.

Still, the writing remains captivating and Ruiz Zafón’s love of literature endures. If anything, a reader might be tempted to forgo the rest of this author’s tales and pick up the tomes of Alexandre Dumas, Dickens and Balzac and discover their own variation on a cemetery of forgotten books.

Books: Red Rising by Pierce Brown (2014)

Though in his debut novel, Red Rising, author Pierce Brown cobbles together themes from Ender’s Game, Gladiators, The Hunger Games, Captain America and even 300, the idea that it could be horrible is far from the truth. 

And while found in the science fiction section (instead of Young Adults), most of the book reads like it’s set in some variation of George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones universe –with castles, horses and one betrayal after another. 

Red Rising is set about 700 years or so in our future, where the inner planets and outer moons have all been terraformed (which also reminded me of James S.A. Corey’s The Expanse series). But somewhere in the past (and borrowing another sci-fi trope) while  technology has progressed, humanity has regressed back to almost Roman times (Brown uses many Roman and Greek names for characters and cities); the solar system is ruled many powerful families, and all are competing to be on top. 

And like all those born with a silver spoon in their mouths, they don’t go into the difficult task of terraforming themselves, but use other people, low-born folks (frontline workers I would say), to build your world. The gist of the story is set on Mars and we learn early that society is graded by colors (which is not a new plot element either, but I believe Brown chose this particular color-coding for a reason that is not fully explained until you learn about the authors background), Gold are at the top and Reds are at the bottom (author Jasper Fforde does a variation on this in his 2010 novel Shades of Grey). 

Our hero is 16 year-old Darrow, who is a Red. Worse, he's a lowRed, working the mines of Mars, never allowed to see the surface. LowReds are told they are pioneers working to make the planet bloom, but it's a lie. The planet has bloomed already. But like Ender, like Katniss, Luke Skywalker, Darrow is the Chosen One, though he –of course- does not know that. He’s better and quicker than all of his fellow workers and family, and he’s smart and asks all the wrong questions, which puts him on the radar of the Rebel Alliance; I mean the Sons of Ares, a mysterious group of freedom fighters who have deep pockets and plans to over throw the ruling families of the solar system. 

With the death of his wife (yeah, life in the mines is short –mid 30’s is considered old), Darrow loses what happiness he had, and with one little rebellious act, he’s hanged (and like The Expanse, Brown pays a bit of attention to science and ignores a bunch of other stuff), but  due to Mars low gravity, a hanged person must be pulled by the ankles to complete the neck breaking. 

But, as you can guess, this was all a ruse. Now in the hands of the Sons of Ares, Darrow goes from skinny, but swift emo teenager into a Captain America body that screams Aryan (which means no actor of color will be cast in the movie version of this book). The idea is that with the boys temperament and his idea of hurting the ones who allowed his wife to die, they can disguise him as a Gold and make him eligible to compete in games for promotion. 

As plans move forward, Darrow (which is an unusual name for a Gold apparently, as it’s mentioned by others many times through the book, and I wonder if there is pay-off in subsequent books) must fight and kill, first in a cage-fight called The Passage (which really is another word for culling) then an epic game on the surface of Mars where dozens of Houses fight for control of a wilderness reserve. 

I liked the book, even though it gets off to a clunky start. The last half, however, moves very fast. And as it’s the beginning of a trilogy, Brown does not explain much about how society fell backwards. Of course, either he’ll explain this in later novels or maybe he’ll just assume no cares about that tedious aspect and just get wrapped up in the story. 

Still, what bothers me –again this is not explained- if the games (which lead to apprenticeships and other high-end goals) are not about wholesale slaughter of rich and powerful Golds –then what is the endgame (beyond what Sons of Ares want)? I mean we see these teens acting ruthless, being treacherous and trying to enslave others, but Fitchner (this novels variation of Hunger Games Haymitch Abernathy) keeps pointing out that while torture is deemed okay, wholesale murder is not. Yet that goes on multiple times throughout the book. 

Then again, perhaps we can find some of what Pierce Brown is foisting on us by looking at his background, especially his time as an aide on U.S. Senate campaign (along with stint as a page at NBC and a “peon” on the Disney lot). Perhaps he’s taken those years working for these sometimes ruthless people and upped the ante here. It makes some sort of sense. But in the in the end, if one person has to go all through this shit just to be an apprentice to some high and mighty folk, the person who hires them has to be more evil than them.  

Books: Every Dead Thing By John Connolly (1999)

Since Thomas Harris sort of created the serial killer novel with Silence of the Lambs back in 1988, readers have been inundated with many, many people hopping the bandwagon to fame. And like Tolkien and Grisham, who both are credited for creating a popular genre, the many books that have been released in those categories go from badly written (James Patterson) to gruesome, yet well written literature (Gillian Flynn, Stephen King) thrillers.

The reason I picked up John Connolly's Every Dead Thing was I just finished his young-adult series featuring Samuel Johnson and his trusty dog Boswell as they battled demons trying to kill him and take over Earth. And wanted to see what his adult fiction was like. 

And to be honest, I was rather turned off at first. Part of it was violence, something I have a huge issue with, and the detailed description of what serial killers do. While the profiler's who deal with these folks need to see all the details, I sometimes feel as a reader, the authors take too much joy in describing the butchery. And in Connolly’s debut here, death appears on almost every page and it’s like watching a Quentin Tarantino movie where all the deaths are shown and all accompanying story aspects have been excised. But eventually I got caught up in the story.

We meet Charlie “Bird” Parker, a former NYPD Detective, who is searching for the killer of his wife and young daughter. Parker is filled with guilt as the night of the killing, he had had a fight with his wife (police work was talking its toll on him and their marriage, and he was on the verge of becoming a full alcoholic) and had ventured to a bar to hide the pain. What comes clear after he discovers their bodies is that his wife Susan and his daughter Jennifer were victims of serial killer - their faces removed and their mutilated bodies arranged in a position that (Parker would later discover) is meant to mimic Estienne's Pieta.

But months later, Parker in no closer to solving the crime, though he has made contact with Tante Marie Aguillard, a New Orleans mystic who tells him the killer, whom she calls the Traveling Man, has struck before, and has buried a previous victim in the bayou near her home. And while many –including some of Parker’s former police officers –don’t think he should get his hopes up, he believes her. Still, frustrated, he is given a missing persons case by an old police friend. Catherine Demeter is the girlfriend of a wealthy Manhattan socialite, and his leads eventually bring him to the small town of Haven, Virginia, where (predictably) his outsider status and insistent questions open wounds long thought closed. 

As he comes closer to solving that case, he realizes, however tenuously, that Demeter’s disappearance and murder of his wife and child are connected. And as wheels move forward, Parker is confronted by the evil in the world and one killer who believes a nation, a world, does not understand death.

What I liked about the novel was the grasp Connolly –an Irishman who lives in Dublin- had on America. He certainly did his research and it may surprise some that he is Irish. Also, some have called his style in the vein of Ross McDonald, Andrew Vachss and Thomas Harris, in which we meet mean, unapologetic people (both good and bad) who represent a side of America most generally never see, but understand exist.  

Still, Connolly does not stray too much from the typical expectations of private eyes in this genre, as Parker is sullen, often depressed, but, even so, is always ready with a witty comeback (which was shown in the Samuel Johnson books; Connolly is pretty funny). And even though he trudges into the same area that James Lee Burke made famous, New Olreans (and a witty, throwaway line about Ann Rice), Connolly makes this thriller his own. 

And while I could do less with deep description of death (and it’s cheapness of life his characters seem to subscribe to) his closest allies are two tough, black gay men. Which is, for me anyways, interesting. There are many more novels featuring Parker out there, and I may, from time to time, pick one up. He’s a good writer, and Every Dead Thing is more literate than most in this genre, so we’ll see.

Books: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (1937)

After putting it off for a while, I re-read J.R.R Tolkien’s The Hobbit. After seeing the first two films from Peter Jackson, and reading many long-time fans criticism of him taking a book that is less than 300 pages and turning it into a trilogy of films, I wanted to see –as I read along- whether the criticism was truthful. 

I very rarely re-read books, but then I first read The Hobbit back in the late 1970’s. And by the time the 1980s had begun I had read The Lord of the Rings and then was reading one fantasy novel after another by authors who were inspired by Tolkien. But the original, the grandfather of all epic fantasy, was one book I only read once. I will admit part of the reason was that Gandalf disappears for such a long time, and I grew bored with Bilbo’s adventure with dwarfs. I sort of just did not want to bother with it again. 

When Jackson’s film adaptations of LOTR came out in 2001, I began to re-read those, but quickly found myself gravitating to other books (and by the early 90s I had read so much fantasy, I was sort of finished with the genre). But I started with The Fellowship of the Ring and not The Hobbit, getting about a 120 pages in before abandoning it. And since then, since The Return of the King came out in 2003, I’ve been tempted to re-read the entire series again, but they always lost out to the other stuff I wanted to read first. 

The idea of re-reading The Hobbit came up again when Jackson was still filming the first movie (which was then, at the time, only to be two films). It was just after Borders closed in September of 2011 that I toyed with the idea of reading The Hobbit again. And for a time, I did start it. But, as always, things got in the way. Part of it was I was looking for work and part of it was I had started to read George R.R. Martins Game of Thrones. As I noted earlier, I had somewhat given up the fantasy genre, so Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series was going to be the first time in a decade I was reading fantasy again (though I was only able to get through the first three books in that series).

As 2011 drifted into 2012, the prospects for me reading The Hobbit grew thin. I still wanted to read the book before the film came out in December of 2012, but that never happened. And I had all of 2013 to read it as well, but again, other works I wanted to read stole me away. Then I saw part two of The Hobbit and then began reading all the comments about what Jackson was doing to the book, how he was expanding it more for money than artistic merit.

Anyways, as I began to re-read the book, I noticed that the first movie –beyond the additional material- actually hews to the plot. Obviously the prologue Bilbo narrates is not in the book per se, but it goes a lot of ways to explaining plot points for the rest of the book. And yes Frodo is not in it as well, and yes, a lot of sequences in the book –like the encounter with the Trolls to name just a few (which happens around page 40 in the novel and takes place an hour into the film) - were expanded, but to be honest, I think it works better. As I read, I realized for the first time that Tolkien was very lite on explaining things (and its obvious as the popularity of the book grew and then the 16 years or so between the 1937 release of The Hobbit and the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, he became aware of some of the short comings within that prequel book and added a ton of material at the end of The Return of The King). And what Jackson expanded seems fairly logical (like actually showing us what Gandalf was up to during his missing times with Bilbo and the dwarfs) and actually makes the film –which eventually- will be seen as one massive one when adding The Lord of the Rings into it, make more sense. 

So the first movie essentially covers the first 111 pages of the novel (in its mass market form, but may be different depending on what format the book it that you have), while the second movie covers the next 110 pages or so. This is where a lot of the second movie deviates from the novel (though, in essence, it does follow it still, except the adventures in the book take scant pages). The whole Lake-town is hugely expanded, with Bard introduced much sooner in the film than the book.  And we are given an expanded view of the elves (along with the obvious inclusion of Legolas and the new character of Tauriel) with the Elvenking –as written in the book- given his full name of Thranduil (which Tolkien confirmed later in other writings). With the added sub-plot of Azog (mentioned briefly in the beginning of the novel and again towards the end) that was introduced in the first film and continued into the second film (which gave the whole barrel escape from the elves a bit more weight) I see where people might have issues with what Jackson is doing. 

But given that the Tolkien Estate was not pleased with LOTR and was not releasing any more work by the late author (The Silmarillion would’ve helped, as it contains the backstory to the earliest events of Middle-Earth that predate The Hobbit, but also contains bridging information between The Hobbit and Fellowship of the Ring) to any of the studios, what material that Jackson, Warner Bros., New Line Cinema and MGM did have and were not using was going to go to waste. And assuming that it’ll be a generation or more before anyone attempts to remake these films (depending on what film will look like 20 years or so down the line) by Jackson doing it this way you’ll have one tale, essentially, told through six films. And unlike George Lucas and his six Star Wars films, Jackson has made these prequels –despite being made ten years after the first trilogy- so they will weave together more uniformly. Maybe, somewhere down the line, people will always assume The Hobbit came first in the film series because it matches so seamlessly with The Lord of the Rings. 

So we know that most of the third film will expand the last 75 pages of the book with added material from the appendix’s featured at the end of The Return of the King book. The Battle of the Five Armies, which seemed to end as quickly as it began in the book, will probably be the greatly expanded (and I’ll be interested in seeing how the battle between the folks of Lake-town and Smaug is enhanced), even though I feel it contains an deus ex machina ending.