A sleek, absorbing tale of motherhood, feminism, and the potential dangers of technology.
A woman in near-future America slowly realizes that her life may be under someone else’s control in this SF novel.
Vera Elpis lives what many would describe as a typical life. She has a steady job digitizing medical files at a document processing center and seems to prefer quiet solitude. Yet something is missing; she longs to be a mother, but regular fertility treatments have all failed. In the meantime, she revels in being an “Auntie” to her cousin Jennifer’s son and her friend Sarah Bennington’s three kids. Jennifer is the only family Vera knows; in fact, she can’t recall much before a car accident that resulted in an apparent brain injury. She’d certainly like to know more about who she had been. How, for instance, does she know the name of every plant in a garden? She’s a highly intelligent woman, so why does she have an “impulse to hide” among others who barely acknowledge her existence? One day, Vera’s hunt for answers as to why she’s unable to get pregnant finally turns up something—and it’s a shocker. Vera’s life may not truly be hers, as people have intentionally kept her in the dark concerning her foggy past. This big reveal has a tie to the tech company Perilaus Bionics, where Jennifer works and Sarah did, too, before she became a stay-at-home mom. As Vera continues to dig, she unearths ugly truths but also finds a way, however grim it may be, to regain the personal control that some have stripped away.
Woodsey delivers a hard–SF tale heavily steeped in metaphor. For starters, there are copious signs of realistic tech. Bots pop up almost everywhere, delivering food or cleaning windows, and Perilaus pioneered the use of microfilaments in prosthetics. As the title suggests, who or what has control is constantly in question, whether it’s advanced technology or simply a person. Vera has a manageable life; she excels at work and has no financial woes thanks to an inheritance. But she faces countless daily hurdles, especially as a woman. A male co-worker mocks her for being an exceptional employee, and she gets so much unwanted attention from male colleagues that she tries drowning it out with music in her headphones. Woodsey stylizes this narrative as Vera’s journal, which she begins at a doctor’s behest and maintains for personal reflections. As such, readers will sympathize with her, a woman who craves love while struggling to comprehend the affection Sarah has for her insolent husband. Vera’s intimate perspective likewise makes her perpetually simmering anger understandable as she fights to control it. Her fury stems from both global troubles (for example, massive cyberattacks) as well as things that are seemingly innocuous. As the story progresses, intrigue and a discernible SF element amp up. A highlight is Vera and Sarah’s conversations inside the latter’s makeshift Faraday cage—a basement tent of “metal mesh” and plenty of tinfoil blocking nosy transmissions. It perfectly suits the novel’s growing conspiracy, which leads to a gleefully dizzying final act that, while providing closure, is open to interpretation.
A sleek, absorbing tale of motherhood, feminism, and the potential dangers of technology.Pub Date: Dec. 20, 2022
ISBN: 978-0997333978
Page Count: 414
Publisher: Self
Review Posted Online: Jan. 3, 2023
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
BOOK REVIEW
A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.
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. 9, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK TO SCREEN
A well-written if elusive treat for fans of modern mythologizing.
In which the Angel of Death really wants to take a holiday.
“Memory is a labyrinth.” Or perhaps a matrix. Actor Reeves teams up with speculative fictionist Miéville to produce a tale that definitely falls into the latter’s “weird fiction” subgenre. The chief protagonist is the demi-divine Unute, known as B. He’s not nice: “That man does not kill children anymore, when he can avoid doing so, but still, leave him alone,” warns one of the narrators, whose threads of story are distinguished by different typefaces. B is a killer—early on, he explains to a psychiatrist, “I kill and kill and kill again,” adding that he’d really rather be doing something else. B is also curious about the way things work, which leads him to experiment on unfortunate deer-pigs, the babirusa of Indonesia, to try to suss out what allows him to die but then come back to life, learning that he’s not so much immortal as “infinitely mortal.” B, as one might imagine, isn’t the life of the party—and the reader will be forgiven for being a little grossed out by his experiments, which are infinitely grisly (“A gush of cream- and rust-colored slime sopped out and across the gurney and onto the floor to mix with soapy water”). The structure of the story is both metaphorical (albeit B professes little patience with metaphor), with Unute morphing into Death itself, and rather loose, the plot picking up hints dropped earlier. It’s not always easy to follow, but it’s clear that Reeves and Miéville are having fun with the tale and its often playful, even poetic language (“the huff-huff of horny hard feet on the scuffed corporate carpet, a stepping closer, an incoming, a meeting about to be”).
A well-written if elusive treat for fans of modern mythologizing.Pub Date: July 23, 2024
ISBN: 9780593446591
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Del Rey
Review Posted Online: May 17, 2024
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2024
SEEN & HEARD
© Copyright 2024 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
