keegan_leech's reviews
48 reviews

To use a coffee metaphor, Legends & Lattes is like a  cortado. It's light, simple, warm, goes down quickly, and doesn't have the bite or bitterness that you might find in another drink. I really blazed through it, and enjoyed myself the whole time. My edition even had a delightful short story in the back which, in this analogy, could be thought of as the complimentary biscuit that came with the drink (and that's as far as I'll be stretching that metaphor).

The book really delivers on the cosy coffee shop fantasy that it advertises. The stakes are low, the characters are charming, and everything works out just as you'd hope by the end. It has the feel of a fluffy, lighthearted one-shot your dungeon master threw together to give the party a break between more weighty, involved campaign arcs.

Which is all fantastic. But there's not much more to the book than it appears at first glance. The plot beats are all very conventional and while it's very thematically cohesive, there isn't much depth to that thematic content. From very early in the novel, its clear that this is a book about being able to change, or be something other than what is expected of you. Some very light (and very early) spoilers to give some examples:

The main character is a muscular orc brawler, but she's intelligent and caring and dreams of settling down to open a coffee shop. When she does, she builds the cosy, picturesque café in a building converted from a filthy, run down livery. The first employee is an academic, driven succubus who actively fights against an in-universe perception that all succubi are deceitful nymphomaniacs.

This pattern crops up so often that the book begins to feel a little one-note, but at least it's a pleasant note to listen to.

In fact, I rather appreciated the winking in-fiction explanation for why this was the case (this one's a real big spoiler for the end of the book):

They were magically drawn together because of a kind of empathetic connection with the feeling of being more than what's expected of them. I thought this was cute, especially the way that it frames empathy and community as a kind of magic or good-fortune. Although it's only one step removed from "The real treasure was the friends we made along the way."

All-in-all, this is a good book, and I'm looking forward to the sequel, but don't go in expecting it to surprise you. Ironically, considering its themes, this book is pretty much exactly what it seems to be.

I think pretty much everyone should read this book. Its one limiting factor is a focus on the UK, but it is an informative and extremely well-written exploration of the modern political landscape and its approach to trans rights. It's also a concisely-written argument for trans liberation being a necessary component of all modern social justice movements.

Read this book. It is an antidote to simplistic, anti-intellectual discussions of the "debate" about trans rights, and a history and overview of the modern trans rights movement. It is extremely worthwhile.

Shon Faye is clearly a very good writer, and manages to interrogate her subjects with an efficiency and clarity that makes them seem immediately straightforward. I can't say how accessible the book would be to someone with no exposure to concepts like queer and feminist theory, but like I say, it is extremely approachable, and I feel that it would appeal to people with just about any degree of experience with the subject. Similarly, while Faye is clearly writing from and for the left wing, I think her arguments are clear enough that this would be a good book to someone interested in trans politics, but who doesn't consider themselves a leftist.

I loved this. It's very relevant to my work and interests, but I get the feeling just about anyone would enjoy it. If you like Forensic Architecture's investigations, then this will definitely appeal.

Fuller and Wiezman explore knowledge-making, investigation, and modern media in a unique and fascinating way. They argue for combining disciplines like theatre, computer science, biology, art, and more to change the way that we think about sensing and communicating information

If that piques your interest at all, then this book is definitely for you. I found that it widened my perspective, introduced me to plenty of new concepts, and I'm still thinking about it months later.

A damn good book! Shelldrake immediately joins the ranks of the very best science writers.

Fungi are fascinating, but the primary draw of this book isn't the incredible science. It's the writing, which seems to drive always towards changing a reader's perspective. You'll almost certainly look at the world differently and be sharing facts about fungi with the people around you until they're sick of hearing it.

Shelldrake also avoids the trap of anthropomorphising his subject. He's constantly reminding us not to use human metaphors for the ways that fungi behave, but to imagine a way of being that's radically different from any human behaviours or ways of thinking

What an unusual book. I'm still thinking about it weeks later, so it's certainly something I would recommend, but it's hard to say what I found appealing about it.

I saw one review describe it as a deconstruction of a "sad girl genre" that I suppose I really enjoy (Fleabag was one example). And I did enjoy the way that it used a kind of deliberate emotional detachment that's present in many other stories I like to very different effect.

I'd recommend it if you think you'd enjoy an unusual, morbid story about being fucked up by your toxic parents and your subsequent toxic relationships. Although I'd add the caveat (or the extra recommendation, depending on who you are) that it's also an unsettling book, to some degree throughout the book, and then very much so as something happens right at the end.

This book was fine, but it felt like it could have been a lot better if Ngamije had just been able to cut about a third of it out completely. I kept thinking to myself that there was enough content for an excellent novella, or a dozen amazing short stories hidden in a bland and overly long novel. There is a lot to like though, so let's give credit where it's due.

The characters are all wonderfully real. I'm sure anyone who's been to a South African university will feel like they've met exactly these people, or someone like them. It's as if they're all really out there somewhere in the real world, and given the right chance you could look up from the pages and see the cast standing in front of you. Ngamije even has an uncanny ability to make you feel like you're in a place, rather than just reading about it. All with a characteristic wry wit.

Unfortunately, that wit works against the novel. While it's the sort of writing that makes for an excellent short story, over nearly 500 pages, it begins to grate. As does the personality of protagonist Séraphin. Much of the tone of the novel mirrors his own ways of thinking and telling stories, and for most of it, Séraphin is an arrogant bastard whose wry humour is a deflection from having to deal with his insecurities. And while he grows and changes in time, there's only so many pages of that arrogant, sardonic humour that a reader can put up with before the book becomes a chore.

There are many shining, brilliantly-written vignettes, and you might still love the novel if a witty, casual, university coming-of-age story sounds like your thing. But I felt exhausted by the time I reached the end, and wished that Ngamije had killed a few more darlings.

The biggest obstacle to reading this book is its density. Butler writes as an academic, for academics. While it's short and not totally impenetrable, her writing is certainly complex enough that this would make a slow read for just about anyone, and a slog for many.

That said, the content is interesting. I wasn't totally satisfied by it. I found Butler frustratingly inconclusive on many points, but the arguments she raises are worthwhile simply in that they've kept me thinking about them long after putting the book down.

There isn't much more to say though. This wasn't a book that totally changed the way I think, and I couldn't recommend it to everyone, but it has had an impact on me. I find looking back on it that Butler's writing has influenced the way I think, and that I can't quite shake this book, or the arguments it makes. I keep returning to them as I read other things, and as I go about my daily life or read the news.

To get the obvious out of the way, it's hard to recommend the first part of a two part series which will never be finished. Unfortunately, Stars in My Pocket... does not feel finished. There is clearly a lot being set up for resolution in the sequel, which simply won't come.

That said, the book is a fascinating experience. It's wonderfully creative. I was reminded often of The Left Hand of Darkness in part because (like Le Guin in that book) Delany uses gender in interesting ways. But also because of the way Delany uses his far-future multi-planetary setting to play with culture in really unusual ways.

On the one hand, if you don't enjoy novels heavy on world-building then this is almost certainly not for you. The book is dense with unusual cultural and technological concepts. It's introducing new ideas pretty much all the way up until the epilogue, and doesn't tend to explain them directly. This is another thing that makes more sense considering it was meant to be a part one. But as an exploration of culture, totally aside from its use as world-building, this is one of the novel's strengths. I never found myself bored or disappointed with Delany's ideas. Thick as the world-building comes, it's always inventive and unusual enough that I found it thought-provoking, even when it did little to advance the plot.

Partway through, I looked up the book, and learned not only that the sequel was never written, but that Stars in My Pocket was written before the AIDS crisis. The sequel was abandoned in part because AIDS changed how Delany felt he could write about queerness. My first thought though was, "Oh, that explains something about the tone of the book". There is a tone to the novel that is hard to place, and which tends to be absent from other older queer writing. I wouldn't call it "optimism" or "naivete", because neither one fits. But there is a kind of uncomplicated, queer hope which in other early queer writing tends to be understandably overshadowed by a tragedy like the AIDS pandemic. The uniqueness of the book is really something though. For all that it's hard to recommend, Stars in My Pocket is a unique and fascinating experience. I found the ending particularly moving, despite it being clearly a set up for more to come, and I can certainly say that I've never read anything quite like it.

If you would like something more complete though, and which touches on at least some of the same themes, The Left Hand of Darkness will scratch some of that same itch.

Binti is really dang good. Especially because the book flies by so quickly (I listened to an audiobook version but I get the feeling the physical novella would also be a quick read) I'd recommend it to anyone with even a passing interest.

It's an excellent showcase of what makes Okorafor's writing unique and encompasses far more than its length would suggest. Despite all that, it's a very quiet, straightforward book and not as complex as a novel like Who Fears Death (perhaps my favourite of Okorafor's work). This is a strength—there's absolutely no fluff or filler—but if you're looking for a novel to luxuriate in and take your time with, just be warned that this isn't it. It's a very efficient sort of storytelling.

Thematically, I found it wonderful to see science-fiction about migration, culture shock, colonialism, and conflict that treats all of these themes with appropriate seriousness without being pessimistic or miserable. Like the best sci-fi, Binti presents a situation which reflects real-world conflicts and histories with complexity and depth. Democratic solutions don't come off as naïve everyone-sang-kumbaya moments, but as difficult and important moments which require empathy and critical thought. Similarly, none of the conflicts in the story are between a species of "evil" aliens and plucky human enemies, or some variation on the theme.

Binti isn't unique in any individual aspects, but something about it feels fresh, exciting, and different. I hope to read many more books which have that same feeling to them, and once again I'd recommend it to everyone who gets the chance to try it.

A stunning book. Jemisin's writing is always and her characters feel alive. The story is a clever take on community, humanity, and HP Lovecraft's racism. Best of all, it feels honest and grounded. I really felt for the characters and there were moments when I wished everything would just work out already so I'd get to see them safe and happy. But the novel avoids trite, easy solutions. Every moment of danger or despair feels real, and the moments of lightness and hope feel all the more satisfying because of it.

That said, I was a little disappointed by the novel. It felt a little unfinished. I understand that this is the first in a series, but it felt like to many plot threads were left hanging. And rather than feeling drawn into the sequel, I just felt unsatisfied. The novel also doesn't manage to overcome the feeling that it is a novel for New Yorkers, and not really anyone else. Which isn't a bad thing, I certainly learned a lot about New York, but I don't think it resonated as strongly as it would have if I actually knew the city.