Cyberpunk meets George Bernard Shaw in this engaging SF tale.

PERILS OF IMMORTALITY

In a future when people live longer by inputting their minds into artificial bodies, an insider in the trade meets a magnificent girl who tries to convince him she is a real human, not a replica.

Lloyd’s latest work of SF takes place in the same universe as his earlier novels, like A Place To Stay Forever (2019), but can be read as a stand-alone. The tale slyly relocates George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion to an SF setting. The year is 2792 in Cascadia, formerly Canada. Ever since the 21st century, technologies pioneered by legendary inventor/hero/godhead LaPorte have allowed elites to prolong their lives indefinitely via inserting their minds into cybernetic “husks” of varying sophistication. More than 700 years in his “LaPortan” exterior, narrator Harry Higgins, though not of the very first wave of would-be immortals, enjoys prestige as a top “carnationist,” creating custom husks of the utmost quality. But Higgins also suffers ennui in his advanced years, more so now since he is at a mental mortal limit (LaPortans could once recharge neurologically but lost the therapy in an ill-defined incident). He finds diversion in collecting techno-novelties. The latest: Kora, a beautiful girl sold to Higgins as a robot (illegally), installed in a deluxe husk. While Kora vainly tries to convince everyone that she's completely human—though she has no memory—Higgins accepts a bet with his friend Melbray that he can pass her off as a masterpiece of carnation at a big LaPortan social event. (By the way, Higgins has a niece named Eliza.) Other works that crossbreed classic material with fantastic fiction tend to either be silly mashups (Lynn Messina’s Little Vampire Women) or YA titles (Marissa Meyer’s Cinder). In this enjoyable story, Lloyd remains faithful to the voice and the sometimes insufferably smug brilliance of Shaw. This on occasion may make reading through Higgins’ thicket of storytelling an arduous expedition, as the material is (of course) verbose, obdurately intellectual, and often repetitious and hectoring. In addition, Higgins may well be an unreliable narrator (he claims chronic victimization by “Big Blue,” a talking bird that may or may not exist), and key elements of the setting go undeveloped. The author may provide more embellishments in future volumes of the series.

Cyberpunk meets George Bernard Shaw in this engaging SF tale.

Pub Date: Feb. 24, 2020

ISBN: N/A

Page Count: 329

Publisher: Self

Review Posted Online: April 3, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2020

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A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

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DEVOLUTION

Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

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A haunting fable of a lonely, moribund world that is entirely too plausible.

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KLARA AND THE SUN

Nobelist Ishiguro returns to familiar dystopian ground with this provocative look at a disturbing near future.

Klara is an AF, or “Artificial Friend,” of a slightly older model than the current production run; she can’t do the perfect acrobatics of the newer B3 line, and she is in constant need of recharging owing to “solar absorption problems,” so much so that “after four continuous days of Pollution,” she recounts, “I could feel myself weakening.” She’s uncommonly intelligent, and even as she goes unsold in the store where she’s on display, she takes in the details of every human visitor. When a teenager named Josie picks her out, to the dismay of her mother, whose stern gaze “never softened or wavered,” Klara has the opportunity to learn a new grammar of portentous meaning: Josie is gravely ill, the Mother deeply depressed by the earlier death of her other daughter. Klara has never been outside, and when the Mother takes her to see a waterfall, Josie being too ill to go along, she asks the Mother about that death, only to be told, “It’s not your business to be curious.” It becomes clear that Klara is not just an AF; she’s being groomed to be a surrogate daughter in the event that Josie, too, dies. Much of Ishiguro’s tale is veiled: We’re never quite sure why Josie is so ill, the consequence, it seems, of genetic editing, or why the world has become such a grim place. It’s clear, though, that it’s a future where the rich, as ever, enjoy every privilege and where children are marshaled into forced social interactions where the entertainment is to abuse androids. Working territory familiar to readers of Brian Aldiss—and Carlo Collodi, for that matter—Ishiguro delivers a story, very much of a piece with his Never Let Me Go, that is told in hushed tones, one in which Klara’s heart, if she had one, is destined to be broken and artificial humans are revealed to be far better than the real thing.

A haunting fable of a lonely, moribund world that is entirely too plausible.

Pub Date: March 2, 2021

ISBN: 978-0-593-31817-1

Page Count: 320

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: Nov. 27, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2020

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