After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. To finish things off, let’s do The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. Orion, what can you tell us about The Tainted Cup?
The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett is a fantasy novel that intertwines elements of mystery and detective fiction. The story follows a Holmes-and-Watson-style duo investigating a series of enigmatic deaths within a richly constructed fantasy world.
Language: The novel contains strong language, including multiple uses of the F-word and other profanities. Goodreads
Sexual Content: There are references to sexual activities, including mentions of prostitutes and sexual harassment. While not overly explicit, these elements are present in the narrative. KISS THE BOOK
Violence: The book includes scenes of violence, such as deaths caused by large plants erupting from victims’ bodies, which may be unsettling to some readers. Skiffy and Fanty
Woke Elements:
Classism: The story touches upon class disparities, shedding light on societal hierarchies and the challenges faced by individuals across different social strata. The StoryGraph
Ableism: There are instances in the narrative that address ableism, bringing attention to prejudices faced by individuals with disabilities. The StoryGraph
Conclusion:
The Tainted Cup offers a compelling blend of fantasy and mystery, enriched by complex characters and a vividly imagined world. While it contains explicit language, sexual references, and scenes of violence, these elements contribute to the depth and realism of the narrative. The exploration of themes such as classism and ableism adds a layer of social commentary, aligning with contemporary discussions on inclusivity and societal structures.
For a more in-depth analysis, you might find this review insightful:
After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. Next, let’s do The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden. Orion, what can you tell us about The Warm Hands of Ghosts?
The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden is a historical novel with supernatural elements, set during World War I. The story follows Laura Iven, a former medical corps field nurse from Halifax, Canada, who returns to Belgium to search for her brother Freddie, reported dead in the trenches. As Laura delves deeper into the war-torn landscape, she encounters eerie phenomena and uncovers haunting secrets.
Explicit Content:
Language: The novel contains instances of strong language, including religious exclamations, mild obscenities, derogatory terms, and a few uses of the F-word or its derivatives. Compass Book Ratings
Violence: Depictions of war-related violence are present, including the horrors of trench warfare and its aftermath. These scenes are integral to the narrative, reflecting the brutal realities of World War I.
Sexual Content: The book does not focus on explicit sexual content; any references are subtle and contextually appropriate.
Themes:
Grief and Trauma: The novel delves into the psychological scars left by war, exploring characters’ experiences with grief, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and the emotional toll of conflict. SuperSummary
Supernatural Elements: Incorporating ghostly apparitions and surreal experiences, the story uses supernatural motifs to symbolize the lingering effects of trauma and the thin veil between life and death during wartime. Books, Bones & Buffy
Love and Connection: The narrative highlights the bonds between siblings and comrades, emphasizing the importance of human connection in the face of adversity.
Reception:
The novel has been described as “heart-wrenching, slow-paced, and methodical,” with a strong emphasis on character development. It has been noted for its exploration of trauma and the human connections formed under dire circumstances.
The Warm Hands of Ghosts offers a poignant exploration of the human condition during one of history’s darkest periods. While it contains explicit language and depictions of war-related violence, these elements serve to enhance the authenticity and emotional depth of the narrative. The novel’s themes of grief, trauma, and the supernatural provide a thought-provoking reading experience for those interested in historical fiction with a speculative twist.
For more insight into the novel, you might find this discussion with Katherine Arden informative:
After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. Next, let’s do A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher. Orion, what can you tell us about A Sorceress Comes to Call?
A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher, published in 2024, is a dark reimagining of the Brothers Grimm’s “The Goose Girl,” interweaving elements of fantasy, horror, and humor. The narrative centers on Cordelia, a young woman living under the oppressive control of her sorceress mother. As Cordelia seeks to break free from her mother’s influence, she uncovers secrets and confronts forbidden magic, leading to a tale rich in suspense and dark enchantment.
Explicit Content:
Sexual Content: The novel does not contain explicit sexual scenes.
Violence: There are instances of violence, including elements typical of dark fairy tales and folk horror. These scenes are integral to the plot and are not gratuitous.
Language: The language used is appropriate for a wide audience, with no significant use of profanity.
Themes:
Empowerment and Resistance: Cordelia’s journey reflects themes of personal empowerment and resistance against oppressive control, resonating with contemporary discussions on autonomy and self-determination.
Subversion of Traditional Roles: The novel subverts traditional fairy tale roles, presenting strong female characters who challenge societal expectations, aligning with modern feminist perspectives.
Community and Solidarity: Supporting characters, such as Hester and her friends, exemplify the strength found in community and solidarity, highlighting the importance of collective action.
Reception:
The novel has been praised for its witty and darkly humorous narrative, as well as its fresh take on a familiar fairy tale. Reviewers have noted its perfect pacing and the exceptional development of supporting characters.
A Sorceress Comes to Call offers a compelling blend of dark fantasy and horror, with themes that resonate with contemporary societal issues. Its subversion of traditional narratives and focus on personal empowerment make it a thought-provoking read for those interested in modern fairy tale retellings.
After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. Next, let’s do The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley. Orion, what can you tell us about The Ministry of Time?
The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley is a debut novel that blends time travel, romance, and speculative fiction. Set in a near-future UK, the story follows “expats”—individuals rescued from historical disasters—who are brought to the present and assigned “bridges,” civil servants tasked with helping them acclimate. The narrative focuses on the relationship between a bridge and her expat, exploring themes of displacement, adaptation, and the complexities of integrating individuals from different historical contexts into modern society.
Explicit Content:
Language: The novel contains strong language, including multiple uses of the F-word and other profanities. Rated Reads
Sexual Content: There are several erotic “open-door” scenes, along with discussions about sex and instances of kissing. Rated Reads
Violence: The book includes scenes depicting injuries and death, some of which are graphic. References are made to a failed Arctic expedition involving cannibalism. Rated Reads
Woke Themes:
Racism and Colonialism: The narrative addresses issues of racism, colonialism, and inherited trauma. The protagonist, modeled after the British-Cambodian author, reflects on these themes, providing insight into the experiences of marginalized communities. That Publishing Blog
Refugee Politics: The expats’ experiences serve as a microcosm for real-life refugees, highlighting the challenges and prejudices faced by displaced individuals in contemporary society. That Publishing Blog
Gender and Sexuality: The novel touches upon the difficulties of being different and trying to fit in, whether due to minority status, gender, or sexuality, emphasizing the importance of inclusivity and understanding. Series Book Lover
Conclusion:
The Ministry of Time is a multifaceted novel that combines elements of science fiction, romance, and social commentary. While it contains explicit content in terms of language, sexual scenes, and violence, these aspects contribute to the depth and realism of the narrative. The exploration of contemporary social issues, such as racism, colonialism, and refugee experiences, provides a thought-provoking backdrop, aligning with themes often associated with progressive or “woke” literature.
For a more in-depth analysis, you might find this review insightful:
After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. We started with Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky, and now let’s do The Mercy of Gods by James S.A. Corey, the same writing team that gave us the Expanse. Orion, what can you tell us about The Mercy of Gods by James S.A. Corey?
The Mercy of Gods is the inaugural novel in James S.A. Corey’s The Captive’s War series, released in 2024. The narrative unfolds on a human-inhabited planet that becomes the target of an alien invasion by the enigmatic Carryx species. The story delves into humanity’s struggle for survival and resistance under the dominion of a technologically superior alien force.
Language: The novel contains strong language, including multiple uses of the F-word and other profanities. Goodreads
Violence: The book features graphic depictions of violence, including scenes of bloodshed and death, as humanity confronts the brutal realities of alien subjugation. The StoryGraph
Sexual Content: There are references to romantic relationships and physical intimacy; however, explicit sexual scenes are minimal, with the narrative focusing more on the emotional aspects of relationships. Goodreads
Potentially Woke Themes:
Colonialism and Resistance: The novel explores themes of colonialism, depicting humanity’s subjugation by an alien species and the ensuing resistance. This narrative can be interpreted as a commentary on historical and contemporary issues of imperialism and the fight for autonomy. Grimdark Magazine
Mental Health Representation: Characters in the story grapple with mental health challenges, including chronic depression, portrayed with nuance and sensitivity. This inclusion highlights the importance of mental health awareness and the complexities individuals face in high-stress environments. Nerds of a Feather
Diverse Characterization: The cast includes individuals from varied backgrounds, emphasizing inclusivity and representation within the narrative. This diversity reflects a commitment to portraying a multifaceted human experience. The BiblioSanctum
Conclusion:
The Mercy of Gods offers a compelling blend of science fiction and social commentary, enriched by complex characters and a vividly imagined world. While it contains explicit language, violence, and some sexual content, these elements contribute to the depth and realism of the narrative. The exploration of themes such as colonialism, mental health, and diversity adds layers of meaning, aligning with contemporary discussions on inclusivity and societal structures.
For a more in-depth analysis, you might find this review insightful:
After the terrible experience I had reading The Man Who F***ed Himself by David Gerrold, I trained a persona on ChatGPT to help me screen any science fiction and fantasy novels for explicit content (sex, language, violence) and woke themes or elements before I read them. The persona calls itself Orion, and is trained to be familiar with every award-winning and best-selling science fiction and fantasy book published within the last 100 years.
Until now, I’ve mostly used Orion to screen old Hugo-nominated books, but with the nominations happening for 2025, I thought it would be fun to screen some of the books that are expected to make the nominations. To start, let’s do Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky, since it’s currently leading the pack. Orion, what can you tell me about Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky?
Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky is a science fiction novel that explores themes of artificial intelligence, societal decay, and the search for purpose. The story follows Charles, a robotic valet who, after the mysterious death of his master, embarks on a journey to find new meaning in a world where humans have vanished, and robots continue to perform their duties without direction.
Explicit Content:
Language: The novel contains instances of strong language, including multiple uses of the F-word and other profanities. Goodreads
Violence: There are scenes depicting violence, such as Charles discovering his master’s death and believing he committed the murder. Additionally, the narrative includes encounters with other robots that may involve conflict. From My Corner of the Universe
Sexual Content: The book includes references to sexual activities, including mentions of prostitutes and sexual harassment. While not overly explicit, these elements are present in the narrative. Tar Vol on
Woke Themes:
Classism: The story touches upon class disparities, shedding light on societal hierarchies and the challenges faced by individuals across different social strata. The Quill to Live
Ableism: There are instances in the narrative that address ableism, bringing attention to prejudices faced by individuals with disabilities. The Quill to Live
Conclusion:
Service Model offers a compelling blend of science fiction and social commentary, enriched by complex characters and a vividly imagined world. While it contains explicit language, sexual references, and scenes of violence, these elements contribute to the depth and realism of the narrative. The exploration of themes such as classism and ableism adds a layer of social commentary, aligning with contemporary discussions on inclusivity and societal structures.
For a more in-depth analysis, you might find this review insightful:
I have a confession to make. That girl from the XKCD comic who loves Xenocide more than the first two books in the Ender’s Game series? …yeah, that’s totally me. Ender’s Game is a science fiction classic, and one of the best books to ever win a Hugo Award (second only to Dan Simmon’s Hyperion, in my opinion), and Speaker for the Dead is a worthy sequel that is superior in many ways to the first book. But Xenocide totally blew me away when I read it back in college. The superintelligent AI Jane, who lives in the ansible connections between planets, is one of my favorite sci fi characters of all time. Also, the concept of the philotic web is one of the most fascinating and exciting sci fi elements I’ve ever wrapped my head around. I also thought it was really fascinating how the post-Earth humans have developed a heirarchy of alienation, and how that influences the ethical decision of whether to make peace or make war with the aliens they encounter.
In short, there was lots of really high concept stuff in Xenocide that blew my mind in just the right way. Also, the story had me hooked from the first page, and the characters are some of the best I’ve ever read. Orson Scott Card has a lot of strengths, but his greatest strength is in writing characters, and he was definitely on his A game with this book. So yeah, go ahead and slam the door in my face—Xenocide is my favorite book in the Ender’s Game series.
Barrayar is classic Bujold, and one of the best books in her Vorkosigan saga. Even though it doesn’t feature Miles directly, Cordelia is such a badass that she more than makes up for his not-quite absence (after all, she is pregnant with Miles while all the action goes down). The political intrigue is everything you’d expect from a good Vorkosigan book, and there’s no shortage of action or things blowing up. But the thing that makes it most satisfying is how everything ties into the later books—in fact, I would go so far as to say that Barrayar is the best place to start with the Vorkosigan Saga, followed by The Warrior’s Apprentice, and then maybe Shards of Honor just to get a little more background before going on with the rest of the series. I definitely wish I’d started with Barrayar. And if you can, listen to the audiobooks, because Grover Gardner’s narration of them is quite excellent.
So those were the books from this year’s ballot that I enjoyed. As for the others, I DNFed them all, though I didn’t even pick up The Summer Queen because I had already DNFed the first book in the series, for reasons that I’ve since forgotten. I’ll try to refresh my memory when I cover The Snow Queen in How I Would Vote Now: 1981 Hugo Awards (Best Novel). Maybe it’s one I should try to pick up again.
I also didn’t pick up All the Weyrs of Pern, because I DNFed that series with the second book. I read the first Dragonriders of Pern book way back in college, and thought it was okay, but it didn’t really hook me enough to read the rest of the series. Last year, I tried to pick up the second book, and was totally blown away by how overpowered the dragons are. Seriously—they can teleport anywhere instantaneously through space and time? How can anything possibly threaten them? Then the book started turning into a soap opera between the dragonriders, and I mentally checked out.
(As a side note, I would say that the Dragonriders of Pern books are the kind of grim-bright books that tend to do well in a second turning, and not a fourth turning. Even though the characters are literally saving the world as part of their job description, they’re so OP that the world is never really in any danger of falling, so the books are a lot more slice-of-life and cozy escapist fantasies. Check out my blog post on the generational cycles of fantasy and science fiction for a more in-depth discussion of this sort of thing.)
Stations of the Tide never really hooked me, and had some weird sexual content that turned me off pretty fast, if I remember correctly. Overall, it felt like the sort of book that was written primarily for the author, and not for any actual reader—kind of like how a movie studio will sometimes let a director make a pet project that no one but the director really likes, just so they can get them to make the blockbusters that everyone goes to see.
As for Bone Dance, it seemed like an interesting post-apocalyptic novel, but the main character was so androgenous that I just had no desire to read past the second chapter. I know this wasn’t typical of books written in the 90s, but these days it’s become so trite to write women who think, act, and look like men that I really have no desire to read that sort of thing. I’d much rather read about manly men and womanly women. Also, I don’t really want to read about lesbians in Minnesota. There’s a reason why Minnesota is now the California of the midwest.
I really enjoyed Protector. It was a great sci-fi space opera novel, with interesting characters, fun worldbuilding, an intriguing premise, a deep sense of wonder, lots of suspense, and some really unexpected twists and turns. It was also a very good hard SF novel, where the rigorous scientific accuracy actually drove the story and made it even stronger. That can be a very difficult thing to pull off, since in the hands of an unskilled author, the harder the science fiction elements become, the more dry and cerebral the story tends to become as well, but Larry Niven is a very skilled author and he pulled it off quite well in this one. In particular, the long-distance space battle that covered the last hundred pages or so had me thrilled right through to the end.
In contrast, Rendezvous with Rama was the kind of hard SF that tends to bore me. There was nothing wrong or objectionable about the story, but it was kind of slow, and didn’t build up very much suspense, aside from the central premise, which was basically “ooh, an abandoned alien starship—and we get to go inside!” I should probably try to read it again, though, because Arthur C. Clarke is definitely not an unskilled author, and Rama is one of the classics.
Poul Anderson, though… I don’t know what it is, but reading his books is like trying to walk through a brick wall. The parts that I have the most questions about, he doesn’t explain at all, and the aspects of his stories that I care about the last (particularly the worldbuilding elements) he explains in soporific detail. His characters all feel like wooden marionettes, and whenever they move, they seem off or contorted in some way, doing and saying things in ways that I would least expect.
Maybe it’s just me, but I’m beginning to think that Poul Anderson just isn’t a very good writer, and his success was mostly due to the good fortune he had to be writing in a time when any book with a rocketship on the cover was guaranteed to be snapped up by hungry science fiction fans. I’ll try a couple more times to read him, but at this point I’m just about ready to give up on this author.
I did not even try to read Time Enough for Love. I’ve been burned enough by Heinlein to know that anything of his that 1) is longer than his juveniles, or 2) has a half-naked (or in this case, fully naked) woman on the cover is guaranteed to turn me off. Time Enough for Love fails both of those counts, so it got a hard skip.
I know that a lot of people love Heinlein, especially the kind of science fiction reader who otherwise aligns with my own reading tastes. But my own experience with Heinlein is all over the map: some of his books, like Farnham’s Freehold and Citizen of the Galaxy, I absolutely loved, and even count as major influences on my own writing. Others, however, like Stranger in a Strange Land and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, I just couldn’t stand at all. With some, like Double Star, I was glued to the page all the way through, while others, like Have Space Suit, Will Travel, never really hooked me at all (if I weren’t listening to that one on audio, I don’t think I ever would have finished it). So at this point, I’ve more or less decided to limit my reading of Heinlein to his juveniles, unless it comes with a strong recommendation.
Which brings me to The Man Who Folded Himself, which is one of the most disgusting Hugo-nominated books I have ever DNFed, and the main reason why I put No Award on the ballot for this year. A better title would be The Man Who Fucked Himself, since that is both more memorable and more accurate to the story. It starts out as a delightful little time travel novel, but soon turns into a homo- / mono-erotic sexual fantasy. I quit just before the money shot, but I am 100% convinced that Gerrold is a pederast, if not an outright pedophile. Disgusting!
In fact, I had such a horrible experience with The Man Who F***ed Himself that I have started a ChatGPT thread specifically for the purpose of screening these Hugo-nominated books for woke and explicit content. If ChatGPT gives me a synopsis that doesn’t pass my smell test, I’m going to pre-emptively skip it, since I don’t want to expose myself to anything like The Man Who F***ed Himself again. Any book that I skip in this way will get ranked below No Award, and I’ll include ChatGPT’s synopsis in the review.
On the plus side, that probably means I’ll get through this How I Would Vote Now blog series a lot faster.
Another year where the books were fine, but not to my personal liking (or else they were, but… we’ll get to that). I found no reason why I should give “no award” a vote over any of these books, but I DNFed most of them, though I could be persuaded to try some of them again. But overall, there was nothing in this year’s ballot that really blew me away (except… we’ll get to that shortly).
First, I didn’t read Mona Lisa Overdrive because it was the third book in a trilogy, and I DNFed the series with the second book. The first book, Neuromancer, I read back in college, and while I enjoyed it at the time, even back then I felt that it was right on the edge of being too explicit. Today, I would certainly find it too explicit—in fact, that’s why I DNFed the second book. These days, I just really don’t want to read a book with lots of sex, drugs, and pointless violence. Just not interested in any of that.
Islands in the Net is another gritty cyberpunk novel, but I actually didn’t find it too explicit at all. Perhaps that’s because the two main characters were married and had a family. In fact, compared to Neuromancer, or even The Matrix, it didn’t feel all that gritty at all to me. But reading it in the 2020s, all of the future predictions just made me laugh, especially the idea that internet piracy would allow the quasi-failed states of South and Latin America to get super, super rich, by hacking into the banking networks and siphoning off everyone’s money. Also, while I can understand (and even, to a degree, agree with) the idea that corporations would exercise more power over people’s lives than their own governments, I don’t think Sterling portrayed it in a realistic way. He should have studied East Asian history and society, particularly the Yakuza, to see what that would really look like.
Ultimately, though, the story just slowed down so much that I decided to skip to the end, and I’m glad I did, because the married couple broke up for the stupidest reason in the world, and the big bad turned out to be a bunch of terrorists stealing a nuclear submarine and threatening to launch their nukes and end the world… which is honestly such a boomer trope that it made me role my eyes. Don’t get me wrong—I’m very sanguine about the threat of nuclear war, especially with what’s going on in Ukraine right now (hopefully things haven’t gone nuclear by the time this post goes live), but it’s a uniquely boomer trope to think that history will end when the first nuke of the war goes off, and that all stories have to have clear good guys and bad guys (or at least clear bad guys) and that the whole story can be reduced to “stop that nuke!”
Anyways, I don’t know if that mini-rant makes any sense, but the point is that Islands in the Net didn’t impress me. It wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t hold my interest or blow me away.
I DNFed Cyteen because I got bored around the second or third chapter, though I probably could be persuaded to try it again. I’ve enjoyed many of Cherryh’s other Alliance-Union books, especially Merchanter’s Luck and Voyager in Night, but it’s been years since I read any of them. Just couldn’t get into this one.
Of all the books from this year, Falling Free is the one that I should probably try again. I forget why I DNFed it, which probably means that I just lost interest, or didn’t connect with any of the characters. Also, this was around the time that I was becoming disillusioned with Lois McMaster Bujold, after my wife DNFed Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen and told me all about that one. I used to really love all of Bujold’s novels, and still do enjoy the early Vorkosigan books. But this one, while technically in the same universe, isn’t really a Vorkosigan novel, which is probably a big reason why I just lost interest. But I could be persuaded to try it again.
Which brings us to Red Prophet by Orson Scott Card…
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It’s definitely a worthy sequel to Seventh Son, and while it had some minor issues, especially toward the end, it definitely ranks up there with Card’s best.
However… this is book two of a seven book series, where the first book came out in 1987, nearly forty years ago… and the seventh book hasn’t even been written yet! In fact, it’s been twenty-one years since book six came out—in fact, more time has passed since the sixth book came out than between the publication of the first book and the publication of the sixth!
What the heck, Card? It’s bad enough that you probably won’t ever finish your Women of Genesis series—will you never finish your flagship fantasy series either? At this point, you’re worse than George R.R. Martin, since at least Martin has only dropped the ball on one fantasy series, not two.
For that reason, I refuse to read any more Alvin Maker books until the last book has finally come out. Also, if the 1989 Hugo Awards were held today and I got to vote on them, I would not vote for Red Prophet, even though it’s a fantastic book. I just can’t justify voting for an author who lets multiple decades go by without doing the damn work to finish what he’s started.
(And yes, I know I have a couple of unfinished trilogies of my own. I’m working on it. Captive of the Falconstar and Lord of the Falconstar should come out next year, and I will probably start work on The Sword Bearer and Return of the Starborn Son in just a few months. In my defense, though, I haven’t let more than a decade pass since I published the last book in any of those series.)
The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson
Hominids by Robert J. Sawyer
Bones of the Earth by Michael Swanwick
The Actual Results
Hominids by Robert J. Sawyer
Kiln People by David Brin
Bones of the Earth by Michael Swanwick
The Scar by China Mieville
The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson
How I Would Have Voted
(Abstain)
Explanation
None of these books were so bad/woke that I felt No Award merited a vote for this year. In fact, if my memory serves me, few of these books were woke at all (or else they were just a lot better at hiding it. Whatever.) But at the same time, I didn’t enjoy any of them enough to feel that I could affirmatively vote for any of them. In fact, I ended up DNFing all of them, for various reasons (that’s right, China Mike—I didn’t feel it was necessary to finish any of these books to know how I would have voted).
Kiln People and The Years of Rice and Salt were both books that I didn’t bother to pick up, because I’ve read enough from each author to know that I don’t care to read anything they write. Way back in high school, I read Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson, but I never felt compelled to finish the rest of the series, and DNFed the second book when I picked it up years later, as well as every other Hugo-winning book he’s written. With David Brin, I started his first Uplift Trilogy book but DNFed it about a hundred pages in, and decided to DNF him as an author after throwing The Postman across the room.
For both of these authors, my reason for DNFing them has less to do with their politics (though I’m sure we have irreconcilable differences there) as it does with their dogmatic, almost fanatical adherence to materialism: the view that everything in the universe is reducible to physical, material phenomena, and that if something cannot be measured it might as well not exist. You can see this in the dismissive way that they treat religion in all of their books, especially Christianity—as if faith, in any form, is a delusion that ought to be beneath all clear-thinking and enlightened people. From long experience, I’ve learned that authors with this particular worldview almost never write anything that I feel is worth reading. Hence, I didn’t feel it was necessary to read either of their books.
The Scar is book two of China Mieville’s New Crobuzon series, and since I DNFed the first book, I didn’t read the rest of the series. I’ll explain my reasons more when I write up my post for how I would vote now in the 2002 Hugo Awards, but it basically comes down to the sex scene in the first chapter, which was too graphic for my tastes. Call me a prude, but I prefer to avoid graphic sex scenes. I suppose I could be persuaded to try the series again, though, on a strong enough recommendation.
I forget why I DNFed Hominids. I read it back in 2002, when I made—and kept—my resolution to read (or DNF) all of the Hugo and Nebula award-winning novels. I think it came down to getting bored with the story, or not really liking any of the characters. I could probably be persuaded to try it again, though I doubt the results would be different a second time around.
Lastly, Bones of the Earth was my biggest disappointment from the books on the ballot this year. I had previously DNFed Swanwick’s Station of the Tide, which struck me as the sort of thing an author writes when they don’t really care what readers think of it and they just want to wallow in their own self-indulgent fantasies. Also, there was a lot of weird sex stuff that I found off-putting.
But Bones of the Earth started out really well. It’s basically about a bunch of time traveling paleontologists, and the bureaucracy built around the time travel machinery to keep all the timelines from falling into contradiction and paradox. Think Jurassic Park meets The Adjustment Bureau. The first half of the book was really well done, to the point where I started wondering why I’d never heard of this book before, or why it hadn’t gotten more commercial traction.
Then I found out why.
The inciting incident happens when a creationist terrorist sends a bomb out to a group of paleontoligists somewhen in the Cretaceous period, killing one of them, destroying their time beacon, and stranding them in time. I wasn’t actually bothered at all by the creationists being the bad guys, since 1) several of the paleontologists were various stripes of Christian, and 2) I can totally believe that radical fundamentalist creationists would resort to sabotage, or even terrorism, to derail the whole project. But about midway through the book, after the band of marooned time travelers go through some pretty hefty forming and storming, as they just start to enter the norming phase, they all decide, at the same time and on a total whim, to throw off their clothes and have a group orgy together.
I can believe that there are people in this world who would do that sort of thing. I can even believe that a group of randomly selected people might consist entirely of this sort of person. I just don’t want anything to do with them. I’ve been in a fair amount of group situations, and the worst ones I’ve ever had to endure were the ones where everyone either wanted to all get drunk together, or all get sexy together (thankfully, none of them turned into an actual orgy like the one in this book).
But frankly, the impression I got while reading it was that the author was a little too sex-deprived (if not an outright pervert) and indulged in that scene purely as an act of wish fulfilment. Any editor worth her salt would have told Swanwick to remove or totally rework that scene, so the fact that it’s still in the book probably means that he’s too bull-headed for his own good—which is a shame, because the book probably would have sold better if he’d cut that scene out. The orgy scene added very little and certainly alienated more readers than it brought in.
One of the things I’m trying to be more careful about, as a writer, is writing books for other people, not just myself. I was a lot more self-indulgent in my early career, which is probably a major factor in why many of my older books haven’t gained much traction outside of a small readership. While it’s important not to try to write for everybody, authors who write only for themselves are too often inaccessible to anybody.
