Elio Vs. KPop Demon Hunters – What’s In A Name?

So right now, two animated original stories have recently been released. One is Elio, a Pixar movie about a kid who gets abducted by aliens and… well, the plot doesn’t seem to have much more than that. The other is K-Pop Demon Hunters, which… is about K-pop stars who are also secretly demon hunters.

Now, I cannot speak to the quality of these two movies, since I haven’t seen either in full, except to say that the reception I’ve seen to Elio has been very mixed. Some people think it’s great, some people think it sucks. K-Pop Demon Hunters seems to have gotten overall a much more positive reaction despite a very silly premise, and as far as I can tell, that’s due to two things. One, it’s a well-written movie, from the clips I’ve seen. Two, it’s a genuine movie made out of someone’s culture and passions, not a soulless corporate product.

But I think one big contributor to the downfall of Elio and the rise of K-Pop Demon Hunters is the titles.

KPDH has a title that tells you, upfront and openly, what it’s about. It’s a movie about K-pop and demon-hunting. The premise is silly, like I said, but it doesn’t care how silly it sounds. You will probably know right out of the gate if this is a movie you are interested in. Furthermore, the title is eye-catching. It’s bold, it’s brash, it’s unapologetically different from every other title out there – and that makes it both memorable and attractive. It makes you want to know more.

On the other hand… what does “Elio” tell you?

Honestly, to me it sounds like the name of an indie dramedy about an older man (I keep imagining Tom Hanks) whose wife died and he’s been depressed ever since, but then he adopts a stray dog and it teaches him how to live again or something sappy like that. That dramedy would ultimately be trying to get an Oscar, but everybody would have forgotten about it by the time Oscar season rolls around.

That is what the title Elio says to me. It doesn’t say “wacky children’s space adventures with slug aliens.” It doesn’t say ANYTHING about the movie it’s attached to, or what to expect, or WHY you should see the movie. It’s just… a name. The movie could just as easily be called “Wally” or “Sean” or “Jake” or “Mike.” It tells you nothing except that it has a character named “Elio” in it, and that’s… not enough to really attract attention and interest.

And yes, I know that there are some very successful movies that are just the characters’ names – John Wick comes to mind. But there are also ones that definitely weren’t done any favors by their titles, like Salt.

I’m not saying that Pixar has to go full out K-pop Demon Hunters in their titles. But they really need to stop with the really bland, nondescript titles that are either names (like this and Luca), or they show a minimum of effort (like Soul). Their movies have been struggling for the past few years, for varying reasons, but the titles certainly don’t help.

Oh, and ditch the current art style too. The bean-mouth thing is tired.

It’s bad to be an advanced reader?

So, watch the above video before reading more. Be sure to see other videos by KrimsonRogue – he’s one of the few Booktubers I follow religiously, and watch every video he makes.

I am not entirely sure what this man he’s talking about is on. I have personal experience in this, because – not to boast – I was a pretty advanced reader as a young child. In first grade, I read The Hobbit. The next year, I read The Lord of the Rings. I read so quickly and at such a level that my teacher effectively stopped expecting me to read the books supplied by the school for a book club, because I blew through them too fast. Then she tried to hold me back from surpassing my peers, but that’s a tale for another day.

And then there was the library. I went there at least twice a week, and over the next years, I was able to find plenty of books that were appropriate for kids, but advanced enough for my reading skills. Just in the kids’ section, there were the Chronicles of Prydain, the Dark is Rising Sequence, Diana Wynne-Jones, the Riddlemaster trilogy, the Green Sky trilogy, the Earthsea books, and so on.

And I did not restrict myself to the adult section – I prowled through the teen section and the adult sections as well, and picked up a number of authors that I still read – stuff like Arthur C. Clarke. Not just in fantasy and sci-fi either. I developed a love for murder mysteries then, thanks to Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Elizabeth Peters, etc. I also checked out biographies of various people who sounded interesting. And, of course, I checked the new arrivals religiously, in case there was something there that I might be interested in.

And the options for reading for kids were far, far more limited back then. There was no Rick Riordan, no Five Nights at Freddy’s, no Shannon Messenger, no Marissa Meyer, Garth Nix was early in his career, etc.

I’m sorry, but I don’t buy for a second that there’s some sort of shortage of books for children who read at a more advanced level. It doesn’t make sense logically, because a child who can read above their grade is capable of reading books for older readers… AND FOR KIDS. The pool of available books is not diminished, it’s INCREASED. I was capable of reading books like Lord of the Rings, sure, but I still read plenty of high-quality, intelligent, challenging books aimed at kids.

I can think of a number of books for younger readers that are as complex and well-written, if not more so, than many adult works I’ve read. Take Marissa Meyer’s Lunar Chronicles – I would have eagerly devoured a series about a cyborg Cinderella. Such books are usually aimed at young adults and kids not because they lack the qualities supposedly required by adult fiction, but because their protagonists are young.

Evidently this guy didn’t learn the lesson that the Harry Potter franchise supposedly taught us – that you’re not locked into a particular age group’s reading material. Adults can read kids’ books, and kids can (if properly screened) read books for older readers. I read books for 9-12-year-olds, young adults AND adults – and I do not have a dearth of books to read these days. Even though a lot of the new releases don’t appeal to me, I still have a to-read pile that is dauntingly huge.

And yet, with countless people telling him how wrong he is, that kids are not doomed to have nothing to read if they’re more advanced readers… he still is willing to die on this hill. Insisting that having kids who are academically advanced – especially in reading – is bad for them and is only inflicted on them by borderline-abusive parents. Considering that the American school system is a global joke that regularly churns out illiterate adults with no skills or relevant knowledge, we could use a lot more kids who are not just learning, but learning beyond what could be expected of them.

And as KrimsonRogue points out, the professed cost of constantly obtaining books is easily offset with a library card. Fun fact: library cards are free. So is checking out anything with them. For a bookish child, there’s nothing more delightful.

Despite protestations to the contrary, I have to wonder if he truly has kids who are ahead of their grade, or whether they’re dead average… and that bothers him, so he insists that it’s actually better for kids to NOT be smart and advanced to offset his discomfort. Maybe I’m wrong. But he seems very insistent that this is the case, and not willing to listen to anyone else’s perspective.

Recommendation: Godzilla Singular Point

I didn’t really expect a series about Godzilla to go into detail about the nature of time.

In fact, the series has a distinct lack of Godzilla about 90% of the time, which my brother found to be its biggest flaw – if you’re going into it to watch kaiju punching each other in the face, you will be sorely disappointed. There are kaiju, sure – there are a bunch of pterodactyl-like Rodans, there’s an Anguillas, there are some sea monsters and giant monster-spiders and so on. But they are more like unstoppable forces of nature whose origins and nature are a mystery, and who scare the pants off us feeble humans.

About 90% of the time, the story is divided between dealing with various non-Godzilla kaiju, and examining nonlinear timestreams, such as receiving information from the future, and particles that can’t be detected, and artificial intelligence. It’s a very intellectual series with Godzilla as the primal draw and the ultimate culmination of everything it’s building towards, so if you just want Godzilla in particular punching monsters you are not going to enjoy it. There’s a lot of talking.

Also red dust. Sooooooo much red dust. It makes sense in context.

The rest of the 90% is divided pretty evenly between trying to unravel the mysteries of time and trying to stop kaiju in creative ways. Especially since there are different people with different motives, and different knowledge, sometimes working together and sometimes kind of undermining one another. The story mostly revolves around a small group of oddballs – a nerdy girl majoring in imaginary creatures (now THERE’S a complete sink for your student loans), a crazy old man building a giant robot to save the world (because Japan), and a young man who seems to have a real knack for figuring out the kaiju and programming artificial intelligence.

It also takes notes from Shin Godzilla by having Godzilla evolve through different forms over the course of the series. In fact, sometimes you can only tell it’s him because of that classic Godzilla musical sting. His final form has a mouth that could eat an entire meatball sub in one bite.

Also: my brother noted that the female lead reminded him of Velma from Scooby-Doo… and I kinda see it. Nerdy, clumsy, chin-length hair and glasses, into weird esoteric stuff… she’s like Velma turned into a cute anime girl, only her interest is insects who are their own grandpa instead of the occult.

I’d say that its biggest flaw, aside from a lack of Godzilla, is that it probably takes a few viewings to understand the theories behind it. The concepts and theories are a bit dense at times, and it sometimes treats viewers as if they are already aware of the science, or the explanations sort of dart by so fast that you might not notice.

If you like thinking-style anime like Steins;Gate and a hefty dose of kaiju chaos, then Godzilla Singular Point is something you might enjoy. Even if you don’t know if you might like those things, it’s worth checking out simply because it is such an unusual beast.

Review: Godzilla Minus One (2023)

Sometimes, a classic franchise needs to get back to its roots.

And after a highly unconventional outing in “Shin Godzilla,” Toho and director/writer Takashi Yamazaki, decided to do just that in “Godzilla Minus One.” This may be the best Godzilla movie ever made – an emotionally deep, historically-rich tale of disaster, loss, grief and guilt, which just happens to center around a giant nuclear reptile.

Kōichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki), a young kamikaze pilot, stops at remote Odo Island with the claim that his engine is malfunctioning… but the truth is, he just doesn’t want to die. That night, a large hostile reptile nicknamed Godzilla comes ashore and kills all the engineers, and Shikishima believes it’s because he froze up instead of shooting the creature. More guilt, on top of his belief that he failed his country instead of dying for it.

After returning to Tokyo to find his parents dead, Shikishima finds himself living with a young homeless woman named Noriko (Minami Hamabe) and an orphaned baby, Akiko (Sae Nagatani). He gets a job as a minesweeper to support the three of them, though his guilt and feelings of worthlessness keep him from explicitly forming a family unit. And he’s still haunted by what happened on Odo Island, and vivid dreams of the men he didn’t save.

Then a vast, mutated creature ravages U.S. ships on its way to Japan – and Shikishima realizes that it’s none other than Godzilla. Not only is he vast and strong, but he regenerates from almost any injury, and he’s able to shoot a nuclear blast from his mouth that can vaporize a heavy cruiser. With only the slimmest chance of success and very few resources, the chances of destroying Godzilla are virtually nonexistent – but if Shikishima can overcome his demons, Japan’s people might have a chance.

It may be a controversial opinion, but I feel that “Godzilla Minus One” actually tops the original 1954 classic, which spawned the entire Japanese kaiju genre. That’s because it’s not merely an outstanding kaiju movie with a slow-simmering allegorical message about the horrors of nuclear war, much as the original was, but a deeply personal story about survivor’s guilt, PTSD, love for one’s people, and what a government owes to the people who serve it.

Director/writer Takashi Yamazaki weaves together all these threads without being heavy-handed or slowing down the story. The slower-paced, more personal parts are never boring because they’re so richly characterized (including the parts with real-life Japanese military ships and aircraft). And the parts with Godzilla are electrifying, like when he monches on a train or chases the minesweeper ship with a look of pure hate on his face. This is a Godzilla who wants the human race dead, not the lovable world-saver of many other Godzilla films.

Much of the movie rests on Kamiki’s shoulders, and he gives an absolutely stellar performance here – he embodies the painful guilt, the fear, the terror, the trauma, the longing for love and fatherhood that he can’t bring himself to embrace because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of happiness. The other characters are drawn with equally loving complexity, such as the sweet-natured Noriko played by Minabe, tormented engineer Tachibana, Shikishima’s lovable fellow minesweepers, and Sumiko, a neighbor who initially blames Shikishima for the deaths of her children but helps care for Akiko despite that.

And since “Godzilla Minus One” won an Oscar for best visual effects, it would be unfair not to praise them. The effects on a movie that cost a mere $10-12 million are absolutely superb – Godzilla has rarely looked this good, and the widespread destruction looks painfully realistic. Even without being compared to the kind of half-baked VFX that currently comes out of companies like Disney, this is a masterpiece.

“Godzilla Minus One” is a movie that is deeply, richly satisfying, both as a kaiju movie and as a human drama – a triumph for Toho and the Godzilla series, and an outstanding film overall.

Review: A Quantum Love Story by Mike Chen

Disclaimer: I received this book in exchange for a review from Netgalley. All opinions are my own.

Ah, time loops. An old sci-fi trope, but a good one – you relive the same short period of time, over and over, until you can find some way out of it. Such a loop forms the backdrop of “A Quantum Love Story” by Mike Chen, a clever and warmhearted little sci-fi tale with an oddball romance blooming at its heart, and a message about the importance of really living life instead of just existing.

Tennis-player-turned-scientist Mariana Pineda is grieving over the loss of her best friend/stepsister, and decides to quit her job at a facility with a revolutionary particle accelerator. But on that fateful day, she has a weird encounter with a technician named Carter Cho, gets hit with a beam of green energy… and awakens on the previous Monday morning. She’s now in a four-day time loop alongside Carter, who has already relived the same few days several times.

The two of them put their heads together to try to figure out a way to break the loop and return to regular life… even though Mariana discovers that there’s a kind of freedom and joy to spending time with Carter, free from worries about money, personal problems or cholesterol. The two of them begin to fall in love as Carter teaches Mariana about how to really live her life… but when his memory starts to disappear, their only chance for happiness is to break free once and for all.

There’s a kind of warm, quirky, friendly, comfortable quality to “Quantum Love Story,” despite the well-worn sci-fi premise. Mike Chen takes his time not only handling the scientific aspects of the story (Mariana provides a lot of the technobabble and theoretical substance) and the mystery of how the time loop occurred, but the slowly blooming relationship between the two lead characters as they get to know each other.

And the titular quantum love story is pretty charming, although not overwhelming or mushy – honestly, the story would work just as well if the characters were just friends. Chen depicts the relationship between Carter and Mariana as one that enriches both their lives, especially since Mariana has lived a rather sterile, staid, lonely life. Her blossoming connection with Carter is about teaching her how to live – mostly through his lusciously sensual love of food, which he has a natural gift for.

Since the story revolves around the lead characters almost exclusively, Chen has to make them very likable, or the titular love story would be torture. And fortunately, they ARE likable. Mariana starts as a tightly-closed bud of a person who has encountered happy free-spirited people, but never been one herself; it’s only with Carter’s influence and the freedom afforded by the loop that she starts to unfold. Carter is her opposite – a man who, despite the disappointment of his parents, seizes every opportunity to be happy and enjoy life. And food. So much food. Food food food.

“A Quantum Love Story” is a charming intersection between a light romance and a sci-fi mystery – a story about not only breaking out of time loops, but out of the ruts where people live their lives. Thoroughly enjoyable in every dimension.

Review: Sky’s End by Marc J. Gregson

Note: I received a free copy from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

The Skylands make for some interesting world-building – vast floating islands, vast metal-plated sky-dragons, and seeming nothing below. 

But the biggest danger might come from your fellow trainees and/or friends in “Sky’s End,” the first book in a new sci-fi series by Marc J. Gregson. It’s reminiscent of books like Pierce Brown’s “Red Rising,” where tragedy hardens and propels a young man into seeking power, even as Gregson’s spare but evocative prose propels the story into a more epic, suspenseful territory.

After his uncle murdered his father, Conrad and his mother were reduced to Lows, living in grinding poverty while he tried to scheme a way to get his sister back from their uncle. But when his mother is killed in a gorgontaun attack, he decides to do the unthinkable: he will become his uncle’s heir by entering the Selection of the Twelve Trades, attain greatness in the Meritocracy, and be able to get in contact with his sister.

Turns out, Conrad is Selected for the most dangerous Trade: Hunter. Hunters dedicate themselves to hunting and killing gorgontauns, then harvesting what they need from the corpses. To make things even worse, his large, violent arch-nemesis Pound has also been Selected, and he’s just as hungry to Rise as Conrad is.

The first big challenge of these Hunters-in-training is the Gauntlet, a rigorous gorgontaun-hunting expedition that puts the noobs in command of their own vessels. Conrad quickly finds himself the lowest on the totem pole, serving first Pound and then the vicious, manipulative Sebastian. But he quickly discovers that Rising may not be the biggest problem he’ll face, as a new threat looms over the Gauntlet – one from a place he never dreamed existed.

“Sky’s End” uncoils its world-building as the story unfolds – at first we’re just introduced to floating islands and a society based rigidly on one’s ruthless ability to “rise” at all costs. But as the story unfolds, Gregson scatters in elements that raise questions about how this world came to be, such as the matter of how the islands float and whether the gorgontauns and other metal-plated predators are a natural part of the ecosystem.

All this is woven through a well-paced, brisk story with leanly-muscled writing reminiscent of Pierce Brown for a younger audience. Gregson also juggles various subplots and shifting character relationships, with people becoming hostile or friendly based on circumstances. At the same time, he spatters it with some solid action scenes, usually involving gorgontaun attacks on a wooden airship, and weaves in a brewing conspiracy that threatens the Skylands.

Conrad is a pretty complex hero as well. After his mother’s death, he’s a hardened, coldly-determined lone wolf who sees everyone else as obstacles to his rise to the top, but some of his fellow trainees and choice criticisms by one of the older Hunters forces him to see that nobody can rise if they isolate themselves. He doesn’t instantly become a “friendship is magic” type, but he does begin balancing human friendships with necessary political alliances and plots. And the supporting cast is pretty well-developed, including the brutish Pound, the mysterious Bryce, quiet mastermind Sebastian, and so on.

“Sky’s End” is a clever, complex skypunk novel that weaves solid world-building into a complex, well-written thriller – and it leaves plenty of space for further adventures. Definitely a good read.

Review: The Meg 2: The Trench

Do you want to become stupider? You probably don’t, but I have an excellent method for lowering your IQ, should you want to do so. It would involve watching “The Meg 2: The Trench.”

Obviously the original film wasn’t exactly cerebral cinema meant to make you think about… anything. It was a fun dumb movie about a giant prehistoric shark causing mass mayhem and carnage. But “The Meg 2: The Trench” is almost criminally stupid – stupid enough to shatter your suspension of disbelief – and it lacks any kind of self-awareness about how stupid it truly is.

The story begins with a prehistoric glimpse of various animals eating each other, climaxing with a megalodon swimming into perhaps ten feet of water to gobble down a T-rex, and then popping right back into the ocean. That was pretty much when I knew the movie was going to be bad.

Fast forward to present day: Jonas Taylor (Jason Statham) has inexplicably become a James-Bondian eco-vigilante who singlehandedly beats up dozens of criminal waste-dumpers. How and why he started doing this when he was a rescue diver in the first movie, I don’t know. His love interest from the previous movie has also died – presumably Li Bingbing didn’t want to reappear – which means Jonas is raising his precociously annoying maybe-stepdaughter Meiying (Sophia Cai), and hanging out with his maybe-brother-in-law Jiuming Zhang (Wu Jing). Oh, and Jiuming has a captive megalodon that he’s clicker-training. Not kidding.

But a dive into the trench goes horribly awry, leaving Jonas, Jiuming, Meiying and a handful of characters we don’t really care about at the bottom of the sea. But escaping back to the surface won’t keep them safe for long – not only do they have the minions of a poorly-written evil billionaire attacking them, they also have been followed to the surface by more megalodons, a giant octopus, and these air-breathing lizard creatures that apparently have not evolved at all in all those millions of years. And of course, all of them want to eat the partying tourists who happen to be nearby.

Hollywood sequels usually follow a certain pattern – they have to be bigger, more bombastic… and much dumber than the first. “The Meg 2: The Trench” follows this pattern from the very beginning, and never manages to even briefly transcend its witlessness – it’s crammed with explosions, bloodless violence, suspension-of-disbelief-snapping action stunts (Jonas is able to prop the body weight of a Meg over his head with a piece of metal) and random bursts of Marvel-style comedy.

Yes, the first “Meg” movie was a big dumb action movie too, but it had a certain measure of restraint. Here, there’s no restraint – there are so many movie monsters that you can’t keep track of them all, and some of them – like the giant octopus – don’t actually add anything to the story except more bloated CGI ‘splosions. Why are the lizards living at the bottom of the ocean, and why have they not evolved into sea creatures in millions of years? Because the writers are huffing paint.

It’s also one of those movies where the characters are all idiots whenever they’re not required by the plot to be smart. The villain’s dastardly plans would be easily uncovered by a nine-year-old by a magnifying glass, but she literally exists just long enough to get the creatures to occupied territory, at which point she’s dragged off and eaten. Meiying is a mass of idiotic decisions from beginning to end. And while Jiuming is depicted as smart and knowledgeable, he is shown to have zero common sense. Think floating around in a meg enclosure with nothing but a clicker and optimistic thoughts to protect himself.

Jason Statham isn’t a great actor at the best of times, but he is clearly operating on autopilot here, looking vaguely uncomfortable in almost every scene. Wu Jing gives a pretty decent performance as Jiuming, and he’s obviously trying much harder than Statham. Most of the other actors have nothing to really chew on, like Sienna Guillory’s evil billionaire or Sergio Peris-Mencheta’s mercenary Montes, who is fueled by vengeance against Jonas for some past conflict that we didn’t see. Melissanthi Mahut has the closest thing to a fleshed-out supporting character, and has some good moments where her characters reacts to loss and/or blackmail.

“The Meg 2: The Trench” seems to be aiming to be brainless fun, but it shoots so far beyond “brainless” that it ends up not being fun at all – just insultingly witless, chaotic and full of blithering idiots.

Review: Jungle Juice Volume 1

Disclaimer: I received an advance copy of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Suchan Jang seems to have the perfect college life – he’s popular, lots of friends, straight-A grades, and girls adore him. The only problem is that he’s a human-insect hybrid.

And that’s the premise behind “Jungle Juice Volume 1,” the opening salvo of Hyeong Eun’s Webtoon manhwa about people with insect body parts, complete with a kind of insectoid Hogwarts. Fortunately, JUDER’s artwork won’t trigger discomfort in people who hate bugs – like me – and the first volume is somewhat reminiscent of a slightly offbeat shonen manga. Expect lots of bug-people fighting, some bloody deaths, and plenty of scholastic mayhem… sometimes involving chainsaws.

Suchan Jang was a perfectly ordinary boy… until he used a can of Jungle Juice (a pesticide spray) to kill a dragonfly. The next morning, he awoke with a full-sized pair of dragonfly wings on his back. Despite his popularity, he has to keep his abnormality a secret from other people, and he’s pretty successful… until a mantis-man attacks during a movie date, and Suchan has to publicly expose his wings in order to save his girlfriend.

Needless to say, everyone now treats him as a freak, including the girl he likes. Devastated, he tries to kill himself – only for Huijin Park, a girl with antennae, to usher him to a place where he can fit in. NEST is a college town for people who are also insect-human hybrids, and Suchan’s only chance of finally returning to normal is if he graduates at the top of his class. It sounds simple enough, right? As if life at a fictional school for strange/special people has ever been that easy.

The chaos starts on registration day, when Suchan immediately discovers that signing up for classes is very competitive… and physical. At this college, survival of the fittest is key. Even if he can manage to get into the college, his scholastic path won’t be the easy one he hoped for – especially since the mantis-man is roaming on campus, along with an insectile femme fatale who has nothing but bad intentions towards NEST and everyone in it.

“Jungle Juice Volume 1” is a pretty solid opening to a shonen-style manhwa series – we have the relatable male lead who finds himself with special abilities (including a signature power he only learns about later), and ends up at a special, action-packed school with other people with similar abilities. Except since various characters have different insect hybridizations, they have different abilities – stingers, immense jumping, explosions, and Suchan’s agility, flight and ability to foresee attacks.

So while the school-for-special-people is in full effect here, Hyeong Eun keeps things fresh by introducing different insect-people and abilities, including one whose abilities are still a mystery. But the story is set in. a dark, brutal environment, and there’s no telling who might get eaten by a cannibalistic mantis-man or chased by Jun Ju, a giant muscular grandpa with a chainsaw. The author doesn’t shy away from the survival-of-the-fittest aspects of life at NEST, but at the same time, doesn’t depict it as a bad thing to be compassionate towards others.

Suchan is a little bland, but fairly relatable – his misery over being socially ostracized has left him desperate to become fully human again, but he also is beginning to learn about the benefits of being a dragonfly man. Huijin Park is a kind, stalwart girl who seems earmarked to be the love interest, and Hyeseong Cha is introduced as a kind of friendly rival character to Suchan – rough around the edges and blunt to a fault, but an overall goodhearted guy, it seems.

JUDER’s artwork is a little rough around the edges, but very striking – it glows with light and vivid colors without becoming too overwhelming, or losing the simplicity of the manhwa artwork style. Furthermore, their artwork seem to be improving as the first volume goes on. The biggest problem is that the action scenes are often hard to follow; it’s not very easy to see exactly what is going on if people are really beating the stuffin’ out of each other.

“Jungle Juice Volume 1” is a solid first volume to a promising series – and with a powerful antagonist and a cliffhanger, there’s sure to be more intriguing developments to come. Even if you hate bugs, this is worth a read.

Review: Tress of the Emerald Sea

While the rest of us were gaining weight and getting depressed during the Covid-19 lockdown, Brandon Sanderson was doing what he does best: churning out books.

And the first of these four surprise books is “Tress of the Emerald Sea,” a Cosmere novel that mingles quirky fairy-tale quests for a true love with the rough’n’tumble life of a pirate. Sanderson gives us a extraordinarily ordinary heroine who stumbles and triumphs on her quest, along with a talking rat, seas of colorful spores, and the occasional zombie doctor.

Tress is a seemingly ordinary girl on a small rocky island in the green spore sea – she collects teacups, washes windows, loves her family, and regularly meets with the local duke’s son, Charlie. When the duke realizes that his son is in love with a window-washing girl, he whisks the boy off the island to marry a princess. When the duke returns, he’s got a brand new heir with a new wife – and Charlie is nowhere to be seen. He’s been sent off to the realm of the Sorceress in the Midnight Sea, which means he’s effectively doomed.

But Tress is determined to get him back, so she smuggles herself off the island… and finds herself the prisoner first of smugglers, and then a crew of pirates ruled by the bloodthirsty Captain Crow. She also acquires a talking rat friend, Huck, who becomes her best friend and ally, especially since he knows some things about the Sorceress. Though the situation isn’t ideal, Tress believes the ship can get her to the Sorceress, and manages to work her way into the crew.

But her plans are complicated when she becomes friends with several of the pirates, and learns some disturbing facts about Crow. How can a simple window-washer girl defeat a pirate captain, sail the deadly Crimson and Midnight Seas, escape a dragon and defeat the terrible Sorceress – all while learning the true nature of spores and aethers?

“Tress of the Emerald Sea” is one parts fairy tale, one part pirate adventure, and one part Cosmere story (especially since the narrator is none other than Hoid, who plays a pivotal role). And the world Sanderson conjures is a fascinating one, where twelve moons produce a steady downfall of spores that form whole seas that wooden ships can sail on. But, much like a mogwai, never expose them to water, or very bad things happen.

Since Hoid is the one telling the tale, the entire story unfolds in a quirky, laid-back narrative style, reminiscent of William Goldman or a more modern fairy tale. It’s arch, snarky and very omniscient third-person (Tress’s hair is once described as an “eldritch horror” bent on “disintegrating reality, seeking the lives of virgins, and demanding a sacrifice of a hundred bottles of expensive conditioner”). The only major flaw, ironically, is that self-same snarky tone – it sometimes becomes kind of overbearing, especially during the more serious parts of the story, and sometimes it feels like Hoid is hijacking the story.

It also has Sanderson’s exceptional world-building, especially in the idea of the spores, which will immediately erupt into SOMETHING – air, vines, crystals – upon contact with water. And while Sanderson weaves in elements of the Cosmere, creating a more science-fiction-y world, there are elements of magic included in it, such as Huck. No, I will not explain what is up with the rat, only that not all is as it seems… as you’d expect with a talking rat.

Tress herself is an exceptional heroine – smart, resourceful, determined, good-hearted and practical, with a nimble brain and a love for collectible cups. Her relationship with Huck is very wholesome and sometimes heartwrenching, as are her friendships with other members of the crew – a seemingly-zombie doctor, an assistant cannonmaster who never successfully hits anything, a cheery deaf man with a writing board, and the deadly, nihilistic Captain Crow. There are also Dougs, but we don’t care about them.

“Tress of the Emerald Sea” is a charming, well-paced story that is a little too suffused in Hoid for its own good. For those seeking a rollicking pirate adventure with some wild fantastical twists, this is a must-read.

Review: The Reckoners Series

The red star Calamity came, and suddenly a small number of people on Earth had superpowers. But they weren’t superheroes – they were tyrants.

Let’s face it: realistically, that is what would happen if people suddenly got superpowers. But the Reckoners trilogy is less about the Epics that now rule the world, and more about the plucky, ingenious little guys who want to take them down. And Brandon Sanderson’s boundless imagination and clever writing turn this trilogy from a straightforward twist-on-superheroes into a clever, suspenseful tale of superpowered friends and foes.

Ten years, Calamity came — and so did Steelheart, who conquered Chicago and made it his personal kingdom, Newcago. Steelheart is invincible, super-strong, can control the elements, and his rage turns everything inorganic to steel. But ten years ago, someone made him bleed, so he killed everyone who had seen it. The only survivor is David, who devotes his life to studying the weaknesses of the Epics.

Ten years later, he bumbles into a sting by the Reckoners, a vigilante group trying to kill the Epics, and they reluctantly let him join when they find out he’s a walking encyclopedia of Epic information. With his info, they can take down Steelheart’s lieutenants. But the group is torn by fears about what killing Steelheart might cause — and they don’t have a prayer of killing him until they figure out his weakness. What’s more, one of the Epics may be closer than they think.

“Fireheart” opens with war being declared on the Reckoners by the powerful water-bending Epic Regalia, who rules the half-sunken city of Babilar (formerly Manhattan). But even worse, Regalia has summoned Obliteration, a cruel fanatic who destroys cities with solar energy, and is preparing to destroy everything in Babilar. As the Reckoners struggle to figure out her plan, David finds that the woman he loved is also in this city — and that the lines between friends and enemies are about to blur.

“Calamity” is appropriately named – the Reckoners are all but wiped-out, and their benevolent leader has been corrupted by his own power. So they follow him to Ildithia (formerly Atlanta), a moving city of crystalline salt, and manage to drag the bratty, power-stealing Larcener into their fight against Limelight. But their attempts to stop Limelight lead to the discovery of a devastating plan that could give him the ultimate Epic power — and a confrontation with the greatest Epic alive.

In a world where dictators and governments perpetrate unspeakable horrors, most people with incredible unstoppable superpowers would quickly be corrupted, or end up wussing out and serving someone who is corrupt. Yet in the Reckoners trilogy, Sanderson reminds us that “You can’t be so frightened of what might happen that you are unwilling to act” against tyranny, and that people can ultimately choose to be good.

And he does this by showing us a world transformed by Epic ego — some cities are destroyed, some are gloomy masses of grey steel… and some are colorful, ethereal places of glowing paint and nightly parties, or creeping salt sculptures. Similarly, he weaves in some multiverse stuff (there are parallel dimensions where things went slightly differently) and the clever idea of a weakness for every superpower.

And part of what makes the Reckoners series so engaging is that Sanderson knows how to mingle the grim, apocalyptic setting with a quirky sense of humor, whether it’s the bubbly Mizzy or David’s endless weird similes (“You’re like a potato! In a minefield”). His robust, fast-moving prose keeps the story moving along briskly even when nothing much is happening, and he weaves in some genuinely shocking twists (the entire third book is basically the fallout from the double-twist ending of the second) and some truly explosive action sequences.

David is an excellent hero, in the same mold as the “extraordinarily ordinary” heroes that Sanderson writes so well — self-deprecating, eager, a little dorky, with some haunting scars from the loss of his father. He’s a good counterpoint to Megan, a darker and more sarcastic woman who finds herself being pulled back by David’s purity and uncomplicated faith.. And Phaedrus rounds out the cast as a man riddled with fear over his own powers, struggling to resist the darkness that comes when he uses them.

The Reckoners trilogy is a thoroughly solid twist on superhero stories, made even more enjoyable through Sanderson’s clever writing and boundless imagination. Here, the superheroes are the little guys — and their power is that they will never give in, despite their doubts.