I will not finish this post before one or more children need me.

Nevertheless.  Finished reading Men in Space while on break last night.


Seven hours later.  (Don’t try this at home!)  Yeah – Tom McCarthy.  Am I as impressed as I was with Remainder?  Hmmm.  Well, let’s be clear: McCarthy states himself, in an afterward, that this book

started as a series of disjointed, semi-autobiographical sketches written in what seems like another era, and grew into one long, disjointed document from which a plot of sorts emerged from time to time to sniff the air before going to ground again.

That’s about right.  Remainder was a sword – all of one piece, focused, about something; this one’s more like a centrifuge, with a number of things tossed in – art forgery, the mafia, the end of Russia and the beginning of the European Union, expat life, a police officer in mental collapse, among other elements – and left to mix themselves up before McCarthy turns the speed up to eleven and it all gets spun out in different directions by the end.  (And a couple of those items get smushed up sort of unpleasantly by the G-force.  Meaning, I was less than satisfied with the smush, but should expect no less from a centrifuge.)  Don’t go into it expecting anything like Remainder (though he continues to have a very precise eye for details – like the narrator of Remainder, everything is exactly described and set out) and you’ll likely find this book very satisfying, as it’s very well written – one particular sequence, a questioning in police custody, is described so perfectly, it’s just right. 

It’s really a fantastic book; I’m just in a mindset lately of preferring swords to centrifuges. 

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I will not finish this post before one or more children need me.

Nevertheless.  Finished reading Men in Space while on break last night.


Seven hours later.  (Don’t try this at home!)  Yeah – Tom McCarthy.  Am I as impressed as I was with Remainder?  Hmmm.  Well, let’s be clear: McCarthy states himself, in an afterward, that this book

started as a series of disjointed, semi-autobiographical sketches written in what seems like another era, and grew into one long, disjointed document from which a plot of sorts emerged from time to time to sniff the air before going to ground again.

That’s about right.  Remainder was a sword – all of one piece, focused, about something; this one’s more like a centrifuge, with a number of things tossed in – art forgery, the mafia, the end of Russia and the beginning of the European Union, expat life, a police officer in mental collapse, among other elements – and left to mix themselves up before McCarthy turns the speed up to eleven and it all gets spun out in different directions by the end.  (And a couple of those items get smushed up sort of unpleasantly by the G-force.  Meaning, I was less than satisfied with the smush, but should expect no less from a centrifuge.)  Don’t go into it expecting anything like Remainder (though he continues to have a very precise eye for details – like the narrator of Remainder, everything is exactly described and set out) and you’ll likely find this book very satisfying, as it’s very well written – one particular sequence, a questioning in police custody, is described so perfectly, it’s just right. 

It’s really a fantastic book; I’m just in a mindset lately of preferring swords to centrifuges. 

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