*ARC Alert*
Girl Genius Volume 9: Agatha Heterodyne and The Heirs of the Storm by Phil and Kaja Foglio was released July 13th, 2010 by Airship Entertainment (hard- or softcover, full-color, $22.95 soft, 144 pages).
I squealed when I got this book in the mail. Girl Genius has been a favorite of mine for years–I usually read it, as you can, thrice weekly at the comic’s website. This is less expensive than buying the books, but you miss out on all sorts of extra goodies like giant bathtub snails. And book-versions of webcomics make great gifts for our less-savvy loved ones.
But Ray, you say, what is Girl Genius actually about? Ho! I am so glad you asked. The cover should probably have tipped you off, but this is steampunk at its best. The slogan of the series is “Adventure! Romance! Mad science!” and it lives up to that, but I would also add “Hilarity! Irreverence! Tiny robot civil wars!” Seriously, guys, this stuff is… genius. They say that there is nothing new under the literary sun, but you have never seen anything like this. Down to the tiniest details of the art and dialogue, it’s off-the-wall fun of the type that won the series the Hugo Award for Best Graphic Story in 2008. Cheers, Professor and Professoressa Foglio–five years and counting, with hopes of many more to come.
Just as a last note, this is, of course, the ninth book in the series. All of the comics are archived by the authors on their site, and can be read there free of charge as I mentioned earlier. You can start with this volume if you like, but despite continuing the GG tradition of excellence, it won’t make much sense on its own.
Posted by Ray
Hello, my erudite darlings! I’m sorry for the lack of actual reviews of late– my supply of ARCs has more or less evaporated. I do have one that will be up as soon as I get around to finishing it. Also (possibly) in the works is my honest opinion of Twilight: The Graphic Novel, and reviews of the other Cybils graphic novel nominees. Today, though, I have a review for you of The Lacuna, by Barbara Kingsolver, which isn’t new, but did recently blow me away.
In 2008, Suzanne Collins’ dystopian novel The Hunger Games reached popular and critical acclaim for its compelling portrayal of the intricacies of love and loyalty when set against the human desire to survive. Its sequel, Catching Fire, moved seamlessly into the lengths to which an oppressive ruling power will stretch to maintain their fragile control, and what it takes to forge a revolution. In Mockingjay, the third and final chronicle of the Hunger Games, Collins takes us on a spare-no-glance tour of the cost of war on a nation and on the human soul, and of how far we are willing to go in defense of a fragile conception of moral right.
I have a particular habit which many people find, well, offputting. I carry a small but distinctly solid hammer in my purse, which comes everywhere with me. I could go through my whole rationale to prove that that doesn’t make me a crazy person– after all, who wants to mug the psycho bitch with the hand tools? –but really, all that is relevant here is that the practice was inspired by a heroine who is very uniquely herself and like no other character I have ever had the pleasure of reading: Lisbeth Salander.
These are the first words of The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin, book one of the Inheritance Trilogy. From this enigmatic beginning the story unfolds in a way that is both disjointed and arrestingly personal. In most books narrated in the first person, the narrator tells us what happened to them without mentioning any bearing that it has on them now– they relate the events of their story, occasionally offering insight, but never making it clear what has happened since it ended or why they are offering it. Yeine proffers her tale in tantalizing bits and pieces, mixed up and out of order, interrupted by distracted tangents that support the assumption that she is looking back on all of this with regret. She may be talking to the reader, or simply to herself, but from this jumble she draws pieces that she draws together more and more tightly, right up until the dramatic finish. I loved Jemisin’s bizarre but highly effective style.