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So. Storytime. In my country, children are separated into different high schools at twelve years old, based on academical aptitude. At the highest level, there are two types of school, gymnasium and atheneum, with the only difference being that at a gymnasium they also teach Greek and Latin. That's the one I went to (not bragging, I was a very mediocre student). As you might imagine, the type of twelve-year old that chooses to go to a gymnasium usually isn't just smart, but also very driven to prove themselves academically. Many of us staked a lot of our self-esteem on our intelligence, especially if we didn't have a lot else going on, like also being athletic or socially gifted. We were all kind of used to being the smartest kid in the room, and then suddenly we weren't. Worse, there were always a couple of stand out, near genius level students who were really only in that school because there wasn't anywhere higher for them to go to. So, what you get, is an entire school full of teenagers all simultaneously realising that the one trait they thought gave them value isn't actually all that special, while also dealing with the hormonal hell that is puberty.

Basically, what I'm saying is, I knew a lot of Quentins. Quite frankly, I was Quentin at times. I related very heavily to his character and really empathized with his struggles. Not because I thought his self-absorption, entitlement and disgust with mundanity were justified, but because I so deeply understood the insecurities those traits all stemmed from. I've been there, man.

And then I went online and found out that many readers absolutely hated his character and his personality ruined the books for them.

Well.

Always good to get an outside perspective.

But yeah, I really loved this book. Most of the characters are all kind of assholes with few redeeming traits (they get better in the sequels!) and magic isn't the fun escapism it usually is. It's an excellent deconstruction of both the worlds Hogwarts and Narnia present, which I honestly think is worthwhile for all fantasy fans to kind of ruminate on. Why do we so badly want to be whisked away to a school for special people with special powers that they very pointedly do not share with the rest of the world? Why do we want to live in a parallel world where we get to be kings and queens, and close personal friends with Jesus? We're not bad people for having these fantasies of being special and amazing, they're pretty much universal. But they're also something you need to let go of at a certain point in order to be happy as what you most likely are; an ordinary person with just as much of a right to rule a kingdom as anyone else. Taken as a whole, the series is a manifesto on the necessity of finding value in the life that exists when the adventure is over, to be happy with stability and mundanity, because nothing is so special you don't ultimately get used to it, and you can't find life satisfaction in continuing to chase the next big thrill. Satisfaction is not about getting everything you ever wanted, but about how to stop wanting when you have enough, which is what takes so long for Quentin to fully understand.

Expect only questions, no answers from this book.

Have you ever read one of those stories where after the apocalypse, or maybe on an uninhabited island, one person is left, seemingly the only person left alive at all? And the whole story arc is about them dealing with loneliness and trying to find another human? Usually they do, usually one of the opposite sex, the implication being that they'll procreate, thereby solving the loneliness problem for at least two generations. Have you ever thought about that second generation? The siblings who will either have to resort to incest or dying out one by one? I often did. I wondered what it would be like for the last sibling, truly the last person on earth now.

I Who Have Never Known Men is about that last person, an account of her life, and it's as bleak as you would expect it to be. Everywhere this is grouped as a feminist novel, which I think is a bit shallow. Sure, the topic of gender comes up, and all the characters are women, but it's one of those stories were if the genders were flipped, if it was about a sole male surviving the apocalypse, no one would see that as a statement on gender. Really, in my opinion, it's about the meaning of life, and how much would be left of it without the rest of humanity. What use are the women's attempts at rebuilding a semblance of their previous lives, at finding out why what happened to them happened to them, at passing down knowledge to the one child among them, if there are no other people to share it with, no next generation to pass it down to? The pointlessness is soul-sucking. And it never abates.

It takes a special kind of person to enjoy a book like this, but if you like bleak, questioning, open-ended narratives, with the grace to be short reads, you should definitely give this one a try.

The novella makes an odd counterpoint to Little Fuzzy: In this case the humans recognized the natives' sapience right away -- barely -- but decide to enslave them and clear-cut their world anyway.

It bounces between several viewpoints: one of the natives who has escaped from slavery, a sympathetic human scientist...and the villain, a gung-ho military type who thinks he's the best of humanity, but shows himself to be among the worst.

It's a tragedy, a train wreck, a slow-moving avalanche, and yet every time there's a chance to pause and maybe resolve the situation, Davidson chooses to escalate things instead.

While it's directly a response to America's actions in the Vietnam War, the themes of colonial exploitation, dehumanization, psyops, asymmetrical warfare and environmental degradation are still very topical.

It's not nuanced. It won't make you think about new ideas like The Left Hand of Darkness, The Dispossessed, or The Lathe of Heaven. (The Athsheans' dream state is interesting, but not explored deeply and not the point of the story.) But it will make you angrier at the people who are still doing the exploiting.

Cross-posted from my website, where I go into a bit more detail on the Terrans' dehumanization of the Athsheans, and current events.

The cover blurb makes it sound like a cautionary tale about our highly-tech-dependent world (even in the 1990s!), but it's not the technology that's the problem. It's the homogenization of culture, and the insistence that there be one perspective, and only one perspective, that really matters.

Think of how we travel and find the same chain stores, chain restaurants, the ISO standard Irish Pub with its bric-a-brac decor, and how our TV and movies are full of endless reboots, spinoffs and sequels.

We see it first in Sutty's memories of Earth, controlled largely by a theocracy until contact with alien civilizations kicks their support out from under them. And then in the world she's trying to understand, one that's undergone a complete transformation in the time it took her to travel there at relativistic speed. She knows there were flourishing cultures here before she left Earth. She studied the few fragments that made it offworld during first contact. But she finds a world that has discarded its past and modeled itself on the one she left.

It's largely a story of discovery: Sutty, frustrated and depressed, trying to figure out what the heck "The Telling" actually is and what it means, and the government agent shadowing her also discovering what it is he's trying to suppress and why. A lot of it takes place in small villages, but there's also a long trip through mountains that feels like counterpoint to the glacier expedition in The Left Hand of Darkness.

Well worth the read!

(Slightly condensed from my website.)