A provocative story about the relationship between the humans on a British airbase and the AI security system that guards that base. When a group of humans are killed, the question is who is responsible and why.
After I finished reading Elyne Mitchell’s The Silver Brumby, I had an irresistible urge to find out if there was a movie. Sure enough, there was, and it was a Prime Video option: The Silver Brumby, aka The Silver Stallion. 1993. I dived right into it.
What I wanted out of it was visuals. The landscape. The animals and plants. I wanted to know what a snowgum looked like, and what kind of mountains Thowra ranged through.
I got that. I also got insight into what makes a film likely to succeed, versus a book which can go much deeper into detail and—significantly here—can offer viewpoints that might not sell so well to the wider audience of film. Mitchell’s book belongs to Thowra’s—his viewpoint for the most part, and he is the protagonist. It’s all about him. If you use the term gaze, what you get here is the brumby gaze. The eyes and mind that tell the story are primarily those of the wild horse.
Flying onto shelves on November 6th is Brandon Sanderson’s Skyward: book one of his newest young adult series. Our hero is Spensa, a girl who has dreamed her whole life of being a pilot like her father. More than anything, she wants to prove herself brave and strong, and do her part to defend what’s left of the human race. When she was young, however, her father mysteriously deserted his team—leaving Spensa labelled as the daughter of a coward, with her chances of attending flight school uncertain.
Checking in from Beta Flight to provide a non-spoiler review and discussion are Darci Cole, callsign: Blue, and Deana Whitney, callsign: Braid.
We will not touch on the pre-released Skyward material, so if you are waiting for the whole book to be out, this is a safe place and we salute you. A few comments about Sanderson’s other YA series, The Reckoners, are included, so consider yourself warned!
I’m going to start off by saying that Daredevil season three is a masterpiece, and I desperately want a season four. I went into the new season worried that the magic had faded—Defenders was only okay, Daredevil season two had a lot of issues, and the recent cancellations of both Iron First and Luke Cage puts the Netflix corner of the MCU on shaky ground—but from the opening scenes the show had me hooked. Honestly, as far as a continuous piece of tightly-woven, cohesive storytelling, this might be even better than the first season of Jessica Jones. It also might be the first of the Marvel/Netflix shows that has earned its thirteen episode roster for me—while not every episode is perfect, I don’t think there’s a dud here, and if anything I think it could have used another hour.
So with that out of the way, on with the non-spoiler review!
It’s been three years since we met Baru Cormorant, the brilliant, ruthless, compelling protagonist of Seth Dickinson’s debut novel The Traitor Baru Cormorant. Not unlike Baru’s tenure in Aurdwynn, it has been a long, hard wait for the sequel. Don’t remember what happened in Aurdwynn? Unclear on when the star Imperial Accountant went from savant to Queen to traitor to The Monster Baru Cormorant? Author Seth Dickinson has provided a handy refresher for everything from the fates of Aurdwynn’s rebel dukes to Cairdine Farrier’s meta-game to a helpful list of dramatis personae for Baru’s next heartbreaking adventure!
Hello friends, and welcome to the end of the world! My name is Meghan and it is my utmost pleasure and privilege to reread Good Omens with you. Written by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Good Omens is a delight of a novel and has been a fan favorite for decades. It will soon be a six-part series airing on Amazon Prime in 2019. To prepare for that momentous occasion, we’ll be reading the book together over the next ten weeks and discussing what makes it so wonderful.
Without any further ado, let’s get started. This week’s discussion covers the first 35 pages of the novel (going by the 2006 paperback edition published by William Morrow).
Series: Good Omens Reread
After reading the entire Throne of Glass series in six weeks, I am extremely ready for Kingdom of Ash—maybe more ready than I can remember being for the last book in a series, ever. And by “ready” I largely mean “armed with many details and about a thousand questions, approximately one for each page of the massive final book.”
Here are 10 of the biggest questions—from the mysteries of barely-seen countries and tricksy villains to the question that hangs over every final book in a series packed with conflict: Who’s going to make it out alive?
The entirety of Throne of Glass up through Tower of Dawn is discussed below, so enter here only ye who have read the books.
I was lucky enough to get my hands on a copy of The League of Regrettable Sidekicks by Jon Morris, a gorgeous technicolor reference tome that documents some of the worst comic book characters to grace the racks of local grocery stores and dusty comics shops. It occurred to me—these would make superb Halloween costumes, especially if you’re the sort who loves to explain yourself all night to strangers (you know who you are). So here are a few suggestions, if your usual go-tos have failed you.
We’re excited to share Richard Anderson’s cover for The Red-Stained Wings, coming from Tor Books in May 2019! Set in the world of Elizabeth Bear’s Eternal Sky trilogy, book two of The Lotus Kingdoms takes the Gage into desert lands under a deadly sky to answer the riddle of the Stone in the Skull…
By nature of the genre, the premise of every fantasy novel asks “what if” questions. What if magic was real? What if children went to school to learn it? What if a pantheon of gods walked among us? As an archeologist and anthropologist, Steven Erikson asked questions about the clashing of cultures and classes, about climate and capitalism, about the relationship between gods and mortals—and not just if magic existed, but if it was available to anyone. What if magical abilities could be learned by anyone, regardless of age, gender, intelligence or skill? As Erikson states, “It occurred to us that it would create a culture without gender bias so there would be no gender-based hierarchies of power. It became a world without sexism and that was very interesting to explore.”
In the same matter-of-fact, almost mundane way that magic simply exists in the Malazan universe, so too does equality among the sexes. It just is—and that’s refreshing.
There’s no pulling punches when your season’s first trip back to the past is to examine the actions of Civil Rights hero, Rosa Parks. So Doctor Who did not pull those punches. And we are left with a testament to the life of one of the bravest women in American history.
[This review contains an episode recap, so suffice it to say there are SPOILERS.]
It’s nearly impossible for me to choose five favorite horror novels. I simply can’t name a favorite (except in one case, as you’ll see below). But I can narrow it down a little and compartmentalize my preferences. In that way, even though I’m certain I’m forgetting something, the slight won’t seem too terribly egregious.
I grew up in rural North Carolina, amidst tobacco fields and scuppernong grape orchards, and in the Missouri Ozarks, amidst scorpions and tarantula herds. Living in those areas, I developed an appreciation for the folktales and ghost stories that run rampant among country folk. That upbringing has wormed its way into many of my own stories. With books like Harrow County, from Dark Horse Comics, I’m able to revisit some of my old haunts, if you’ll pardon the pun.
There’s a point midway through Dale Bailey’s novel In the Night Wood wherein protagonist Charles Hayden ventures out to the forest around the English manor where he and his wife Erin have relocated following a tragedy on the other side of the Atlantic. In his exploration, Charles discovers a part of the forest that seems somewhat different from the rest: some of that can be chalked up to a sense of fundamental wrongness, and some of that can be be ascribed to a difference in temperature. But the sense of two places bordering one another, similar but with fundamentally different properties underlying their very nature, is a convenient metaphor for this novel as well, which is both a story about literary obsession and a story whose twists and turns may well lure in literary obsessives.
In 1940, the United States hadn’t yet entered the war after the War to End All Wars, but two comics creators didn’t like what they were seeing. Two young Jewish men, who were born Hymie Simon and Jacob Kurtzberg, but who changed their names to Joe Simon and Jack Kirby to better assimilate, saw what the Axis powers were doing to Europe in general and to their fellow Jews in particular, and were angry and frightened.
And so, in December 1940, Captain America #1 debuted. Dressed in a costume with a flag motif and carrying a red-white-and-blue shield, the cover of the first issue had Cap punching Adolf Hitler in the face. The character was very polarizing—Simon and Kirby got several death threats interspersed with the avalanche of fan mail, as there were plenty of people in this country who wanted to stay the hell out of the fighting overseas—but ultimately proved hugely popular, especially after the bombing of Pearl Harbor a year later put the U.S. in the war.
After an awful movie serial in 1944, two terrible TV movies in 1979, and a 1990 film that never got (or deserved) a theatrical release, Captain America finally got a proper feature film seventy years after Pearl Harbor.
Happy pre-Halloween, Tor.com! In celebration of the encroaching Pumpkin Spice Day, please accept this humble offering of one of the Butler Sisters’ all-time favorite holiday movies: 1993’s Hocus Pocus! Whoo!
Please note that as with all films covered on the Nostalgia Rewatch, this post will be rife with spoilers for the film.
And now, the post!
Has this ever happened to you? You’re living on a perfectly good planet in orbit around a perfectly acceptable star—and then suddenly, the neighbourhood goes to crap and you have to move. For a lot of people, this means marching onto space arks.
Recapitulating Noah on a cosmic scale is such a pain, though. All that packing. All that choosing who to take and who to leave behind. And no matter how carefully you plan things, it always seems to come down to a race between launch day and doomsday.
Why not, therefore, just take the whole darned planet with you?