Author: grant

That was a close one. I only managed to hit my reading goal on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. While I did spend more time on photography and exercise this year, I think the main issue was that I got stuck on a few dull pop psychology books (I continue to be unable to quit a book partway through), and I cut into my audiobook time with a few too many podcasts.

Fiction

The Other Valley by Scott Alexander Howard [2024]

A Canadian doctoral philosopher wrote an unexpected debut novel that lived up to the buzz. The Other Valley is a neat coming-of-age tale that surprised me by feeling so satisfying and cohesive despite the vagueness of the mechanics of its world (Sci-fi? Magical realism? Are they in a simulation?). The last stretch of the book was real page-turner territory.

I’m Starting to Worry About This Black Box of Doom by Jason Pargin [2024]

A madcap, extremely online romp with a surprising amount of heart and thoughtfulness. So much of the internet subculture dialogue and characters in this book are dialled up to 11, but it all rings very true. My enjoyment of the book was greatly enhanced by Ari Fliakos delivering one of my favourite audiobook performances in ages.

Orbital by Samantha Harvey [2024]

This one popped up in so many “best of” lists with such effusive praise that I couldn’t help but be disappointed. At times it’s a little too poetic and vibes-based.

But, and this is a very big but: the prose is positively luxuriant, yet rarely feels obtuse or unapproachable. It should please both contemporary literature readers and sci-fi fans.

It’s one of the rare audiobooks that has a strong narrator, yet still makes you feel like you’re missing something by not reading it in print. I’m sure I missed some great material from moments of inattention here and there.

I Cheerfully Refuse by Leif Enger [2024]

Another very hyped read, this one was populated by more of the standard apocalypse fare and tropes than I was hoping for (oh look, another precocious survivor child who is crafty beyond their years, for example…)

However, it’s a sad and bittersweet story, often beautifully written without being dense. The book is pointed in suggesting that there will not be a showy, exciting sudden collapse of civilization, but rather that things slowly weather and wear down over time, and life still moves on and can remain worth living.

The Sequel by Jean Hanff Korelitz [2024]

A fun, beguiling, and more than a bit meta read that’s a worthy sequel to The Plot (which I’d say is mostly required reading to really enjoy it, even if it’s entirely comprehensible without it).

While it’s not as distinctive as the first book, I found myself entertained by the villainous Anna, who remains largely one step ahead of everyone throughout much of the book. The novel’s protagonist is motivated by somewhat understandable desires to severe ties with the past and to have agency over her own life’s story, but she achieves this through completely disproportionate and inexcusable violence. 

Non-Fiction

The Cabin: Off the Grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman by Patrick Hutchison [2024]

Dudes rock: the book.

This was a thoroughly pleasant, self-effacing story that made me, a similarly unwed, childless, non-home owning, un-handy Millennial in a marketing profession, feel very seen and, to a degree, inspired.

How the World Ran Out of Everything: Inside the Global Supply Chain by Peter S. Goodman [2024]

Some of the stories here are very familiar from other books on COVID’s effects or about the supply chain, and especially so if you came across his pieces in the New York Times. Goodman uses the journey of a single product as a sort of core narrative throughout the book to tie the topics together in a way that makes things easier to grasp. He expertly underlines the fundamental faults and sacrifices of global logistics and how COVID-19 perfectly stressed their weak points.

Black Pill: How I Witnessed the Darkest Corners of the Internet Come to Life, Poison Society, and Capture American Politics by Elle Reeve [2024]

There are so many good journalists devoting books to the overlapping circles of the alt-right, MAGA right, QAnon/modern conspiracists, etc. that the books can tend to blend together or yield diminishing returns. I think Elle Reeve bucked this trend with her impressive access and boots-on-the-ground reporting. While many of the figures in the book are familiar, I found myself learning new things or getting a more fulsome sense of their character: this iteration of Fred Brennan’s story is the most surprising and touching, for example.

I don’t think the book yields a prescription or that it necessarily unlocks a key part of the puzzle, but it’s thoughtful, satisfying, and superbly narrated by Reeve in the audiobook version.

The Bill Gates Problem: Reckoning with the Myth of the Good Billionaire by Tim Schwab [2023]

Tim Schwab is Hater of the Year, hot damn. In this meticulous takedown of Bill Gates and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and to some degree billionaire philanthropy in general, Schwab lays out detailed and compelling arguments about the Foundation’s failings and self-serving dealings. He does a good job centering people in low- and middle-income countries and their perspectives, and he does more than criticize: Schwab is careful to point out the opportunity costs of the Foundation’s choices, how they could choose better paths, and how governments could rein them in. It’s an impassioned but deeply reported book with moral clarity. I wish it had been more widely read and discussed.

Fat Leonard: How One Man Bribed, Bilked, and Seduced the U.S. Navy by Craig Whitlock [2024]

A fun and well-constructed read about a scandal by a swindler whose exploits you almost have to admire in a certain way. I knew the broader details going in, but I had not realized the breadth of Leonard’s co-option of the fleet, nor his preposterously easy escape. 

It’s shocking how many of the corrupted officers got off with nary a slap on the wrist, and how much they risked for modest reward.

Reign of Terror (2021)

Spencer Ackerman’s Reign of Terror is not a blow-by-blow account of any particular battle or war that comprises the War on Terror, nor does it offer gritty or poetic on-the-ground reportage. For that kind of thing, there are some wonderful books like Anand Gopal’s No Good Men Among the Living or Elliot Ackerman’s Places and Names. 

Instead, Reign of Terror is a thematic, loosely chronological history and analysis of the War on Terror, from its origins to the ways the war ultimately came home in the form of the surveillance state, persecution of undocumented migrants, and militarization of policing. Trump has a place in the book, but largely only as an outcome created by the failures of Bush and Obama. I don’t have the quote in front of me, but Ackerman draws a really interesting corollary about the War on Terror being an utter catastrophe created to guard against what were seen as otherwise ‘inevitable’ deaths from terrorism, while at the same country lost over half a million citizens to COVID-19, deaths that should have been anything other than inevitable.

The way Ackerman links themes and concepts together means the reader doesn’t necessarily get a lot of details about specific events or characters, but ultimately his big picture approach is compelling and effective. I’m biased as a lefty Canadian, but I felt Ackerman was very objective–in interviews he’s been very blunt about mistaken pro-war sentiments early in his career–and this is not a capital “D” Democratic rant about Bush and Trump, nor is it a right-wing hitjob on Obama. It’s damning and occasionally acerbic, but the criticism always felt fair and justifiable, not preachy or melodramatic. There’s a reason this book ended up on a lot of ‘best of’ lists by actual critics.

The Secret Life of Groceries (2020)

I felt like this book has slipped a little under the radar. It’s a wonderful series of personal profiles and reportage that brings a surprising amount of humanity, wry wit, and writing panache while sketching out the supply chain behind the modern supermarket. Benjamin Lorr profiles people and reports on everything from the hard life of truckers, modern sea slavery, making it onto the shelf with marketing, the secrets of Trader Joe’s, and his own ‘undercover’ turn behind the fish counter.

This is How They Tell Me the World Ends: The Cyberweapons Arms Race (2021)

The New York Times’ Nicole Perloth has compiled a thorough and very approachable exploration of the dangerous game nationstates are playing with cyberweapons. Perloth eschews a lot of the technical detail to focus on people and introduce little vignettes and journalistic slice-of-life scenes. This tradeoff won’t satisfy those with deep familiarity of the subject matter, but it’s very appropriate for the general reader or those with a passing interest. I was familiar with the broad outlines of a number of the topics Perloth covers, but she brings a lot more humanity to it by interviewing the players on the ground. 

In many ways, the book shows American hubris and how a “the best defence is a good offence” mindset leaves the public incredibly vulnerable. This book encourages one to think of Stuxnet not exactly as a Sputnik moment, but as more of a Pandora’s Box or a tipping point.

I’d also suggest Andy Greenberg’s Sandworm (2019) for a great, full-length read specifically relating to industrial control systems, the Ukraine situation, etc. discussed in Perloth’s work.

Between Two Fires: Truth, Ambition, and Compromise in Putin’s Russia (2020)

I’m so glad I finally got around to reading this. Instead of a Russiagate polemic or reheated Cold War leftovers, Joshua Yaffa’s Between Two Fires presents a series of strongly reported vignettes of people torn by uneasy compromises–and sometimes doublethink, willful ignorance, and hypocrisy–as they try to navigate life in modern Russia. Although most of the book’s profiles are not about a typical 9-5 office worker or tradesperson (Yaffa’s subjects include human rights workers, clergy, the creative class, and business owners, among others), they do shade in a lot of detail about life and the character of the country. I suspect fans of Peter Pomerantsev’s work will find Yaffa’s approach to be familiar and of high quality.

I find it difficult to fully articulate the message of the book, but it does a really good job of detailing and meditating on those compromises that must be made to succeed in a society like 21st century Russia, and of exploring the country’s vast moral grey areas. 

Dying for an iPhone: Apple, Foxconn, and The Lives of China’s Workers (2020)

As an Apple fan and someone who aspires to be a reasonably progressive and thoughtful person, I’ve been living with some cognitive dissonance for awhile. I’m not entirely certain what to do differently going forward, but I do feel this book from Jenny Chan, Mark Selden, and Ngai Pun highlights some important things.

I’ve largely skimmed big articles and exposes about Foxconn and Apple, in part because I felt like perhaps they were unfairly targeting one company when the issues are endemic. However, given Apple’s leading role in the consumer electronics space and its gobsmacking profits, Chan et al give strong reasons for focussing on Apple, and they make a point to acknowledge that this is not simply an Apple problem, especially since Foxconn itself manufacturers products for numerous other industry giants.

The book explores several angles that I hadn’t encountered before. The exploitation of student labour in particular is disturbing, and I hadn’t been fully aware of the dynamics of internal migration (and the lack of rights associated with it) in China, nor of phenomena like the captive ‘unions’. I knew Foxconn workers are largely migrants from other parts of the country, but I was (I suppose ignorantly) taken aback by their lack of rights to public services in their new cities, and how these workers have uprooted their lives and sacrificed their health not even for what would be considered a ‘decent factory paycheque’ in relative terms, but rather basically minimum wage.

At its heart, the book conveys one of the simple truths that we have to get through our head when it comes to Silicon Valley, the tech industry, and consumer electronics: these products don’t get made without people being exploited. Full stop. And for all the talk of corporate social responsibility and gradual, iterative improvement, not nearly enough is being done. It’s hard to look at the industry-leading profit margins Apple enjoys and its unparalleled hoard of cash and consider these labour problems unsolvable. It would take relatively little effort and seemingly minuscule corporate sacrifice for Apple to ensure its subcontractors are at least treated with the dignity and the safe working environment they deserve.

It wasn’t a banner year for fiction reads for me. For whatever reason, a lot of what I tried just didn’t quite click, and I didn’t find as many trending/hot novels that I loved. With that being said, I haven’t gotten to many of the critic’s choice reads of the year, and still found plenty I loved.

Project Hail Mary (2021)

Andy Weir’s (The Martian) latest is a fun page-turner, full stop. Although many of the broad strokes may feel familiar (problem-solving! in space!), it doesn’t feel derivative. The flashbacks blend effortlessly into the action, and the lovable dynamic with Rocky (*jazz hands*) really livens things up and lifts some of the comedic burdens. 

In addition to The Martian, I found myself comparing the book to Claire Holroyde’s The Effort, where a multinational science initiative also must create a spacecraft on short notice to avert a catastrophe. Weir pays lip service to the bad things that could happen in such a situation, but they never really feel like an immediate danger, whereas Holroyde’s book really stays with the notion of what the end of the world would mean and the kinds of things this sort of scientific mission would entail. I certainly understand Weir was going for a different tone and the heart of the action is onboard with Grace, but I found Holroyde’s depiction more grounded and realistic.

A Gentleman in Moscow (2019)

An aristocrat ends up locked in house arrest in a Moscow hotel by the sudden onset of the revolution. What ensues is charming and, at times, quite witty and insightful. Count Rostov was a deeply endearing character in a way that few are. Just a splendid read. In some respects, it felt like a more upbeat version of The Remains of the Day.

The World Gives Way (2021)

Marissa Levien’s debut book grew on me more and more as it reached that bittersweet ending. The World Gives Way is a strong read with very well-realized protagonists and some climate change metaphors that it doesn’t necessarily bonk you over the head with. The worldbuilding was a slightly mixed bag for me, being both both entirely complete yet sometimes incongruous in the minor details of the oddly anachronistic technologies.

The Ministry for the Future (2020)

Kim Stanley Robinson’s latest is a fascinating book, almost more about vibes than plot. That’s not to say there’s a lack of plot, but this book really conveys a feeling that although it’s incredibly difficult, and it will never be perfect, we can, right now, start repairing the grievous damage wrought by both climate change and neoliberalism. 

There’s a palpable battered, hard-fought optimism to this book that is oddly rousing. The worldbuilding is impeccable, and it’s both inspiring and all the more galling when you consider that most of the interventions Robinson describes are within the grasp of today’s technology and economics, but out of reach thanks to today’s politics. 

The use of ecoterrorism, or climate change Black Ops at best, was quite striking. The book envisions a world where drones have essentially democratized and anonymized assassination and sabotage, and it seems to posit “Ecoterrorism: it’s good, actually!” if aimed at the 1% and sufficiently dirty infrastructure. I found a followup interview with Robinson clarifying, in which he points out that several of these segments are presented through the characters’ own biased perspective, and he also asks a sticky question. Revolutionary acts and violence are often judged to be fair or acceptable with the benefit of hindsight. If the various dirty industries and oligarchs are already committing large-scale crimes against today’s populace and ruining the planet for generations to come, is violence against them terrorism, justice, or proactive self-defence? 

I found the book slightly overstayed its welcome, yet I’m not sure what I would have suggested to excise. I found that the collage-like mix of poetry, meeting notes, prose, etc. was interesting, but sometimes the meeting transcripts in particular read like very transparent info dumps.

Day Zero (2021)

What a fun and at times harrowing read. C. Robert Cargill’s Sea of Rust prequel falls a little shy of its predecessor, but I’m not at all disappointed. 

To pompously quote myself, “Are there tropes and plotlines you’ve seen before in Sea of Rust? Absolutely. Did I care? No.” I felt much the same way with Day Zero, Cargill’s prequel to that post-apocalypse robot western. There are pieces here that are familiar, there are pieces that are maybe a bit hokey (I mean, we’re talking about a robot stuffed animal nanny wielding heavy weaponry), but it’s still darn good and surprisingly gritty.

One of the things that I loved about Sea of Rust was a fantastic audiobook narration by Eva Kaminsky, and Vikas Adam at least matches her skill. This is an absolutely all-in audiobook performance, with a repertoire of women’s and children’s voices that are effectively differentiated and, most importantly, a perfect narrator/lead character voice for Pounce. Adam crafts this kind of vaguely Tony the Tiger/Smokey the Bear voice that sounds exactly like what a children’s tiger robot nanny would probably sound like. He wields it to great effect, striking surprisingly maudlin and sober tones when called upon. 

Hench, Natalie Zina Walschots (2020)

“Hench” is a refreshing take on the superhero genre that has proper reverence while also appropriately taking the piss out of it. Toronto-based writer and poet Walschots puts a Millennial gig economy spin on things by following some put-upon contract workers struggling to make it as temps and entry-level professionals hired out to supervillains. At times it’s a bit too twee, and I feel obliged to put a body horror warning out there for the end of the book, but overall I found it really compelling and a lot of fun. There’s a surprising amount of depth and a number of commendable choices, including a number of LGBTQ characters whose sexuality is a routine fact of their lives, not a gimmick.

I’m not sure I would have enjoyed the book quite as much in print, however. Alex McKenna puts in a bravura audiobook performance. She skillfully handles an eccentric array of characters, heaps of wry dialogue, and a surprising number of more maudlin scenes. I particularly enjoyed Leviathan’s slow, crackly voice.

Leave the World Behind, Rumaan Alam (2020)

One of the most hyped books of the summer, in which a bougie white family from NYC is renting an Airbnb in the Hamptons when a slow-rolling disaster unfolds and the owners hurry home. 

I found it a gripping read and an indictment of the learned helplessness of those of us who aren’t really prepared for things really going wrong, or coping with a sudden dearth of information that a massive disaster would entail. 

Alam is constantly twisting the dials, turning up the tension and then slowly dialing it back so it doesn’t overwhelm. Marin Ireland also turns in a strong performance as the audiobook narrator. She ably differentiates the six main characters’ voices, and she’s particularly strong at bringing Alam’s sardonic descriptions of bougie Amanda and Clay’s activities and inner monologues to life.

Providence, Max Barry (2020)

I don’t re-read books these days, but this one would be one of the first I’d re-visit. There are elements that may be familiar on first blush–an alien bug species, a trigger-happy tactical officer, AI, etc.–but they’re often imparted with a fresh spin, and it all gels together quite well. 

The worldbuilding really appealed to me. The protagonists are the crew of a warship that is basically a juggernaut with surprisingly limited amenities, and they’re along for the ride largely to create social media content and present a veneer of human control. I really loved the idea presented of AI not being HAL 9000, or Alexa, or dealing with overt issues of sentience and communication like is en vogue these days. Instead, the idea of AI in Providence is that it sufficiently advanced AI will be utterly inscrutable to us. We can’t communicate with the AI and the AI can’t really communicate with us because we’re so different. The humans are supposed to trust the AI, but the lack of trust in its utterly opaque algorithms and actions sometimes undermines things. 

A Children’s Bible, Lydia Millet (2020)

A very compelling read that doesn’t overstay its welcome, A Children’s Bible is a sort of a yuppie apocalypse tale explored in terms of intergenerational conflict, climate change, and myth making. Even if some of the apocalypse elements feel de rigueur these days, they’re not really central to the plot–they’re a stage Millet uses to explore the real concepts.

I have to plead ignorance to the actual bible in a lot of ways, so some of the allegories and allusions were lost on me, but I don’t think belief or deeper familiarity is at all a requirement.

Superb audiobook narration by Xe Sands.

The New Wilderness, Diane Cooke (2020)

Cooke crafts a world in which climate change and strife have led some normal North Americans to flee to a sort of cordoned primitive life in a wilderness reserve. My feelings are slightly soured by the final chapters, which felt kind of wonky to me, but generally, this is a gripping and very well-written read. There’s a lot about motherhood in here that was powerful in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

What I liked the most was the way Cook kind of shaded in primate behaviours among the human tribe, usually in a relatively subtle fashion. It added a sort of depth to people’s actions, because they were following sort of base instincts and innate social conventions, not just people making decisions.

Emergency Skin, N.K. Jemisin (2019) ^{*short story}

N.K. Jemisin’s entry in Amazon’s “Forward” short story collection is a very cheeky, subversive that plays around with a few expectations of how these stories usually go. I interpreted “Emergency Skin” as a fun and well-earned “go to hell” rebuke of the Silicon Valley libertarian techbro/Elon Musk/1% mindset of ‘Earth is already doomed, we’ll make a new world in our own image’. A refreshing palette cleanser.

Radicalized, Cory Doctorow (2019)

This Canada Reads-nominated quartet of short stories is incisive and very well done, with “Unauthorized Bread”, which deals with DRM, right-to-repair, etc., being perhaps the most perceptive and high concept.  

Infinite Detail, Tim Maughan (2019)

Cyberterrorism has irrevocably broken the internet and left devastation in its wake. “Infinite Detail” is a near-future novel that feels increasingly prescient given the increasing scrutiny of Big Tech and how COVID-19 has exposed the frailty and vulnerability of international supply chains.

I appreciated how Maughan paints an ever so slightly advanced, eminently believable landscape of future tech, and the book doesn’t overstay its welcome. Really solid work.

Recursion, Blake Crouch (2019)

While they’re completely unrelated stories, I can’t review this novel without drawing a lot of parallels to “Dark Matter”, which I loved. In both cases, Crouch explores ‘roads not taken’ from the perspective of an underachieving middle-aged everyman, and he humanizes lofty sci-fi concepts like time travel and alternate dimensions by tying them deeply to the brain and the human experience.

Fans of “Dark Matter” will find a book that’s not dissimilar. While I didn’t enjoy “Recursion” quite as much, it’s a fun read, especially when it really picks up steam in the last act, and I found Crouch’s characterization of time travel and carefully tamed technobabble was refreshing. Helena’s perspective really bolsters the book and perhaps gives it a better balance than “Dark Matter”. I think Crouch really demonstrates growth as an author in comparison to the Wayward Pines books—he’s now handling similar themes and emotions both more efficiently and with more nuance.

The River, Peter Heller (2019)

The writing style will not be for everyone, but I found The River to be engaging and, at times, urgent or gripping, culminating in a gut punch of an ending. 

‘Wilderness adventure turned survival story’ is a genre that comes with tropes, but I liked how the story didn’t leap immediately into them: Wynn and Jack are young but experienced outdoorsmen and are equipped for just about anything (or so it seems). I also enjoyed the characterization, with, Wynn and Jack seeming in sync and sort of interchangeable in the beginning, growing much more distinct and nuanced as the book progresses.