The Likeness, French. Yes. My librarian brought this home on spec, in the same delivery as What the Dead Know, and I’m quite grateful. The two mysteries share a plot element, but French’s work is much more solid than Lippman’s. Nothing struck me as filler, and even the segments that weren’t driving the plot were well-constructed and engaging. I am somewhat troubled by something that I can’t quite identify. It may be that none of the characters is all that sympathetic, but I could also argue that’s because they’re presented with human complexity, so I surely shouldn’t complain about that.

What the Dead Know, Lippman. No. There is plenty of very good writing in this book. Unfortunately, there is also a disqualifying amount of not-very-good writing. This is the second time Publishers Weekly has let me down, describing this in their Staff Favorites issue as an “outstanding stand-alone thriller.” I did not find it particularly suspenseful (by and large), much less thrilling, perhaps due to several sections that felt like so much filler. Toward the middle and end, I found myself reading it at every opportunity; not—as is the case with a book I’m loving—because I was burning to know how it would turn out, but just so I could get it over with and move on.

This Night’s Foul Work, Vargas. Yes. I hadn’t planned to read another Adamsberg so soon after the last, but I saw this on the library site, and it was the next after Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand, and translated by the same person, so I picked it up. I enjoyed it as much as I have become accustomed to enjoy them. I think I liked it even more than Wash This Blood, because the B story wasn’t quite so over-the-top.

Leviathan, Westerfeld. Yes. To start with my only substantive complaint, while Leviathan does not have the clumsiest exposition I’ve ever read, there were several rough patches. I don’t recall being as distracted by previous Westerfeld, but I fancy steampunk brings its own set of challenges (we’re at this point in history, and it splits from our history at this point, because this happened), and the writer doesn’t have the vast catalog of traditional sf shorthand to rely on. None of this excuses clumsy exposition, of course; it’s the writer’s responsibility to tell the story well.
And, by and large, Westerfeld does tell this story well. His viewpoint characters charmed me, and their adventures kept me turning the pages. I was a little disappointed that it is only the first in a series, though I could hardly have been surprised. Even as the first in a series, though, I might have wished for a more self-contained story. The end of the book was not unmitigated disapointment, however; I was pleased to find there an afterword, in which Westerfeld details which pieces of the historical framework were inventions. As one of the history-impaired, I found it very helpful, and its placement at the end keeps it from disturbing the proper unfolding of the story.

Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand, Vargas. Yes. I believe I enjoyed this book even more than I enjoyed Have Mercy on Us All, though I think I probably will continue not to seek out the other Commissaire Adamsberg books, as I fear possible disappointment (alternatively, I want to pace myself). I expect much of my warm feeling should be directed to Siân Reynolds, the translator, though I imagine the original French is as pleasing to those who can read it. It’s not quite enough to make me want to bring my French up to snuff, but I do sometimes want to have a copy of the original so I might see where a particularly interesting turn of phrase came from.
Things I like: Vargas does a great job with the settings, capturing the feel of diverse locations; she also creates a genuine desire—nearly a compulsion—to find out how things will unfold (which I’m pretending is a different thing from suspense, but it’s clearly related), which tempted me to just finish the book last night rather than getting any sleep (I resisted the temptation, since I had more than half the book remaining, but finished it today); and while I’ve read only the two books, I believe that Vargas has created in Commissaire Adamsberg a detective worthy of a franchise. I don’t know how much he’ll evolve, but I don’t know how much a franchise character should evolve. Russell Davies has done an excellent job with The Doctor in letting him change without letting him change, so it can be done.

Narrow Dog to Indian River, Darlington.  Non-fiction. This was a book club selection, and my first taste of the hilarious travel journal. I am apparently not the audience for the hilarious travel journal, though I did finish the book. Right off the bat, I found a couple things distracting: each chapter has its own title page, listing its sections with names. These names do not appear with their sections, and sections are indicated in any of three ways (three stars, first line in all-caps, or both); the former reduced the usefulness of the section names for me, and the latter just seems sloppy. Darlington also eschews quotation marks, though the affliction has not progressed to full-blown Cormac McCarthyism, so punctuation is intact. I eventually was able to tolerate the affectation, but it was quite off-putting at first.
My conclusion that I am not the audience for this work comes from my observation that most of the hilarity seems to derive from exaggerating for effect. This leads, in some instances to easy stereotypes and cheap mockery, and in all instances to difficulty in empathizing with what could well have been genuine peril along the voyage but is washed out by so much being played for laughs. I’d much rather be given a straightforward account and see the humor for myself.
There are some fine turns of phrase, withal: I was especially struck by

Tom Paine’s books were burned in England by the public hangman, and books don’t get much better than that.

and

Since I had accepted that we were crossing the middle of the lake there had been a sound in my head like a single note from a distant sporano saxophone, steady in pitch, but slight ragged—the sound of fear.

If you are a fan of the hilarious travel journal, you may very well enjoy this book.

Logan’s Run, Nolan and Johnson. Yes. I was given this book some months ago, and finally resolved to read it. I was surprised that it wasn’t awful, though I shouldn’t have been surprised that it is superior to the movie, in at least some respects. Most notably, Logan is a more active protagonist than the movie makes him.
The history and structure of the future society are naturally more fleshed out, but there are some disappointing inconsistencies regarding what colors happen at what ages, and it’s not entirely clear that the plot holds together.  Still, what it lacks in sense, it nearly makes up in brevity.

Last Exit to Babylon: Volume 4: The Collected Stories of Roger Zelazny, ed. Grubbs, Kovacs, Crimmins. Yes. I continue to enjoy this collection, and express my enduring gratitude to the NESFA team for putting it together. This volume contains the middle chunk of the Dilvish tales, and the three stories that constitute My Name Is Legion, which together give you your recommended weekly allowance of straight-ahead sf adventure. This volume also brought a couple things to mind about which I’ll go into in slightly more detail:
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Ultimate Fitness: The Quest for Truth about Exercise and Health, Kolata. Non-fiction. Kolata recounts several personal experiences in a multi-decade journey of discovery that leads her to the conclusion that we don’t know a whole lot about what kinds of exercise are good. (Disclaimer: my book club source indicated that I could extract everything I needed from chapters four and ten, so when chapter two ground to a halt for me, I took the out, though I did also read the epilogue) The bottom line seems to be that doing any exercise for a half hour (cumulative) a day several times a week generates the largest payoff (i.e., the difference between not exercising at all and moderate exercise is greater than the difference between moderate exercise and more (dare I say) extreme measures). As the child of a long-time runner, I am not at all surprised by her observation (though I don’t believe she puts it in quite these terms) that those who exercise heavily and frequently are addicted to the physiological response. I also found echoes of Michael Pollan: Pollan says to avoid any food whose labels include health claims; Kolata tells us that the only thing that matters for weight loss is calories in vs calories out, and anyone who says differently is selling something (though this doesn’t prevent her from being a devoted Spinning® enthusiast).
Several myths are punctured in the course of the book (even in the course of the few chapters I read), but I’d hate to think anybody will be too surprised to find that the benefits of exercise programs are supported by shaky or absent research, or that becoming a certified instructor takes nothing but money.
Finally, there’s a thing that irritated me, but I’ll spare the casual reader by putting it on the other side of a jump.
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