Chuck

It's a classic and it's easy to see how influential it was and how intelligent it is, and it's refreshing to read actual science fiction after spending a lifetime surrounded by science fantasy. But man is it dry and corny! The science is probably timeless, but the book feels like it must've been dated even when it was written.

This is a wonderful book! The only reason I didn't give it five stars is because the voice of Middle America in 1950 finally overwhelms everything in “The Silent Towns,” when Bradbury's attempt to be light-hearted just comes across as mean-spirited, misogynistic, and fat-phobic. Knowing what I know of Bradbury, I'm skeptical he intended any real malice behind it, but it's the part that aged even worse than any of the analog technology, or the assertion of canals and atmosphere on Mars.

The rest of it, though, is a fantastic collection of prose-as-poetry from someone who has little interest in real science fiction or futurism. It's ultimately a story about America from someone who is still optimistic about the promise of America, even though he's pessimistic about humans' ability to realize that promise.It reminded me, strangely and a little sadly, of Epcot — an old-fashioned optimism and faith in humanity that we've lost.

I think this book is a work of genius and instantly made Chiang one of my most respected authors. Reading it made me feel like when I'm having a conversation with someone clearly smarter than me, and right as I'm able to make myself feel better by saying that they're just “book smart,” they reveal themselves to be more creative and perceptive as well.

The main reason I didn't give it 5 stars is unfair; the stories worked too well on me, so each left me feeling sad or unsettled in a way I couldn't shake for several days. I still don't understand “Division by Zero” at all, for instance, but it left me feeling shaken for reasons I don't understand and can't explain.

It's an interesting concept (Dashiell Hammett style stories in a London filled with ghosts, zombies, and loup garou) but the book's tics and affectations make it too annoying to be excellent. The main character is frustratingly dense, failing to make the most obvious connections, but all the while talking down to the reader as if he's a grizzled expert. And Carey has the maddening habit of using an expression and then apologizing for it as hackneyed or corny.

There's enough here to have me interested in other books in the series, and the plotting of this one was compelling enough to keep me engaged, but I can't help but think how much better it could have been.

I feel like maybe if I'd read this in 2001, it would've blown me away. Now, it all seems familiar, probably because by now it's become a “famous” book. And because all of its core ideas about gods and faith and belief have been explored repeatedly in some of my favorite books, like Small Gods and Good Omens. It also seemed that there were several revelations that were supposed to surprise me throughout the book, but almost nothing was genuinely surprising.

There's probably a metaphor built in, about the “aura” around this book building up over the years and developing some kind of power on its own, beyond the quality of the book itself. I'm still a big fan of Gaiman's, and still consider Good Omens to be my favorite novel, but reading all the supplementary material in the 10th anniversary edition (which is already 8 years old at this point) has tempered that a little bit. A lot of the conversational writing that I found incredibly charming in the late 80s now comes across as affectation. I definitely liked American Gods, but I can't help feeling like it's gone past its read-by date.