Author: Joe

  • Han Solo at Stars’ End

    Han Solo at Stars’ End

    It’s hard to think back to a time when Star Wars was just a single movie. Maybe because I hadn’t been born yet.

    Before the Disney streaming shows, the sequel trilogy, the prequel trilogy, Clone Wars crap, the roleplaying games, the video games, the board games, the Disney rides, and a metric mountain-load of toys, there was just one film; A simple story about a farm boy with a laser sword who blows up a space station with his friends.

    Then, in 1979, that world expanded. We got our first look at what would become the Star Wars Extended Universe before The Empire Strikes back hit theaters. It was in a little book called Han Solo at Star’s End.

    Han, years before he meets up with Luke and Obi-Wan, is cooling his heels in the Corporate Sector. Think of it like the Empire, but with more red tape and business suits. He runs afoul of the law for not having his car, I mean starship, registration renewed and books it to one of his underworld contacts. She agrees to give him new fake credentials in exchange for pulling a dangerous job: Breaking some folks out of their work contract on a corpo-controlled agriworld. Without any other options, Han takes the job, and adventure ensues.

    Unlike a lot of Star Wars material, Star’s End captures the pulp serial action-adventure vibe that runs through the original film. There’s no bold, operatic battle between good and evil here. Just a fun adventure that sees Han and Chewie shooting it out with company goons, dealing with traitors in their midst, and leading an escape from an impregnable space prison.

    My favorite stuff in Star Wars has always been the little hints about the criminal underworld hiding in the corners of the frame, so this was catnip for me. I had a great time reading this. Author Brian Daley captures Han Solo’s voice so effortlessly that you can just hear Harrison Ford speaking the lines in your head.

    When I reviewed the Han Solo books by A. C. Crispin, one of my biggest complaints was that the stories failed to offer any insights into how he became the character we know. Chips on the table: This book fails to hit that mark, too. But the story was so vibrantly told with breathless excitement and energy that I didn’t have time to stop and care. Han Solo at Star’s End is a solid, entertaining slice of sci-fi adventure that makes me wish that Daley had written dozens of these books instead of just three.

    Sometimes, you just want to read about a guy with a laser gun committing crimes with his shaggy dog friend.

  • Star Wars: Rebel Dawn

    Star Wars: Rebel Dawn

    Who would have thought the best book in the Han Solo trilogy would also have the least amount of Han Solo in it?

    I’m getting ahead of myself. “Rebel Dawn” opens with Han down to his last credits after losing his ship, the Bria, in the battle of Nar Shaddaa. Never one for subtlety, Han decides to wager it all and enters a Sabacc gambling tournament.

    Elsewhere, Bria Tharen — the namesake of Han’s lost ship — is now a commander in the Rebel Alliance. She wants to attack Ylesia, the slave colony Han rescued her from two books ago. Taking over the illegal spice mining operation would give the Alliance money and troops to use in their fight against the Empire.

    Opposing her is Teroenza, the fake priest who runs Ylesia. He’s still annoyed that Han and Bria escaped all those years ago and stole treasures from his prized collection. He’s hired Boba Fett to capture them. Also, as a side hustle, he’s plotting against Durga the Hutt, who bankrolls the drug operation, because who doesn’t want to be their own boss?

    But wait, there’s more. Durga is obsessed with finding out who poisoned his father. Readers of the last book will know it was Jabba the Hutt and his uncle, Jiliac, who were plotting with Teroenza to overthrow the rival Hutt clan. Durga’s fixation draws the attention of Black Sun, a rival criminal syndicate which would love to get a foothold in Hutt space. Jabba, meanwhile, is bristling under his uncle’s stewardship, and seeks a way to become the new head of his clan.

    Whew! As you can see, there’s a lot going on in this book. Where the last two novels kept the stakes low and the focus limited, “Rebel Dawn” is epic in scale, shifting between a variety of vivid characters as the story barrels toward “Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.” As the capper to a trilogy, it’s a doozy.

    What amazed me was how neatly the story beats all clicked into place. A. C. Crispin ends the book about one minute before Han meets Luke and Obi-Wan in the Mos Eisley Cantina. It never feels rushed or forced, but a natural progression of the story that just happens to end right before the movies begin. It’s deftly done and a credit to the author’s ability (for the opposite effect, just watch “Solo: A Star Wars Story,” which is about as subtle as a rocket propelled grenade).

    Best of all, we see the events that harden Han’s heart and turn him into the “mercenary” of the films. As George Carlin famously said, “Inside every cynic is a disappointed idealist.” Seeing how this plays out adds a great layer to an already great character. Even though we spend less time with him, we learn more, and that makes for a better read.

    Speaking of spending little time with someone: One final note. Han and Chewie visit Kashyyyk, where the Wookiee gets married, leaves, comes back, discovers he has a son, then leaves again. So, I guess Chewbacca is a deadbeat dad? Or his wife is just one understanding lady. “But,” I imagine him growling, “I owe the guy a life debt.”

    Yeah, nice try. That excuse never worked for me, either.

  • Star Wars: The Hutt Gambit

    Star Wars: The Hutt Gambit

    For my first Star Wars extended universe book in 25 years, I thought it would be fun to explore the origins of Han Solo. Disney dropped the ball when they made “Solo,” so I was eager to see what someone else would do with the material.

    The story opens with Han drinking alone in a bar, drowning his sorrows. His dreams are crushed. He’s lamenting a decision that would have made for a much better novel: While serving in the Imperial Navy, Han defied orders and saved the life of a Wookiee slave. His actions saw him stripped of rank and blacklisted from ever working as a commercial pilot.

    A character sacrificing their hopes and dreams to confront a grave injustice would be rich soil for a story to explore, but never mind. Han flies to Nar Shaddaa, the “Smuggler’s Moon,” to find work. He’s joined by the slave he rescued, a Wookiee named Chewbacca who claims to owe him a life-debt. Having seen the movies, we know he means it.

    Han reconnects with an old buddy from the academy and begins his career as a smuggler. This is a lot less exciting than it sounds. We mostly bum around with Han and Chewie as they haul cargo from one place to the next. Later, Han petitions Jabba the Hutt for work, and becomes his chauffer. Then he saves the gangster’s life during a pirate attack, which isn’t very exciting, but it goes on for a while.

    If you squint, you can see the shape of a story here. Han is rebuilding himself after a fall from grace. We witness his rise through the criminal underworld. But it feels like we are reading our way through a sequence that would be a two-minute montage in a feature film. Han meets Lando and teaches him how to fly. Han gets abducted by Boba Fett, then immediately rescued. Han dates a magician, then gets dumped. Han sees the Millenium Falcon for the first time and instantly falls in love with it, because the author has seen the movies.

    There is never an obstacle or setback that isn’t resolved three pages later.

    I complained that the first novel, “The Paradise Snare,” skipped the moments that would have really explored Han’s character. “The Hutt Gambit” has the same problem. It’s very much “tell, don’t show” kind of writing. But “Paradise Snare” at least maintained interest by pivoting in interesting directions—who would have guessed Han spent some formative years running drugs for a religious cult? “The Hutt Gambit” doesn’t have anywhere meaningful to go.

    It culminates in an epic space battle where Han rallies an army of smugglers against the Imperial Navy. It’s meant to be a showstopper. But A. C. Crispin has a hard time conveying the logistics. First, she spends an obscene amount of time with characters announcing their plans to an audience (and the readers). Then the battle itself becomes a slurry of throwaway characters and relentless pew-pew without any real stakes because we know who survives and the rest are thinly-sketched plot contrivances.

    There’s some truly terrible writing in here. Sample dialog: “Mako here. You ready?” “We’re ready!” “Go for it!” Or how about: “We’re being drawn by the moon’s gravity! In about a minute, we’re going to hit Nar Shaddaa’s energy shield! And what an explosion that would be!” Oof.

    It’s a testament to the author’s ability that the book ends up being tolerable. She captures the feeling of Han, Chewie, and Lando well enough to elevate this above bad fan fiction. But only just.

    You can tell this is intended as the middle chapter of a trilogy. We get several asides with other characters that have no relevance on the story we are reading. They are just setting the table for a payoff in the third book.

    I’m hoping that one will be better. “The Hutt Gambit” isn’t bad. But just days after finishing, I had to look up a synopsis online to even remember what happened. That’s probably not what the author intended.

  • Mickey 17

    Mickey 17

    Robert Pattinson, a.k.a. Mickey 17, lies at the bottom of an ice crevice. Blood pools beneath him. He cannot move. A shout echoes from above. A person waves. It’s Steven Yeun. He repels down. “Oh, thank goodness,” he says. “Your flamethrower wasn’t damaged. These are expensive, you know.” He fastens it to his back and prepares to climb back up. Then he hesitates and kneels down next to our hero.

    “Hey Mickey,” he says, his grin widening, “what is it like to die?”

    It is sometime in the future. Mankind has perfected the science of cloning. Humans who die can be brought back to life with their prior memories intact. The practice is outlawed on Earth. The creator of this technology used it create multiple versions of himself as an alibi to cover up his crimes as a serial killer. That seems like a lot of effort to get away with murder, but never mind. Why the rest of humanity would forgo any the chance at immortality is never adequately explained.

    The hero, Mickey, is played by Pattison as a mumbling halfwit. He signs up to join a corporate-run expedition to colonize another planet. He doesn’t dream of being a pioneer. He’s just looking to escape his debt to a loan shark. There are thousands of other applicants. To stand out, Mickey signs on to be an “expendable.”

    The recruiting agent stares at him. “Did you read all the fine print?” Mickey blinks half-glazed eyes. “…uhm. Yeah?”

    See, duplicating people is illegal on Earth, but acceptable once you get to international waters—err, I mean, outer space. The only restriction is that if you discover multiples of the same person, they must be destroyed on sight and the memory data purged.

    As the only expendable on the crew, Mickey is assigned all the worst jobs. He dies a lot. I think it is meant to be funny, but there’s no comic timing or payoff. A swinging antenna lops off one of his arms. “Oh man, did you see that?” a voice on the radio howls. A crew member notices Mickey still breathing inside his body bag. “He’s still alive!” Another man shrugs. “Not for long.” He tosses him into the incinerator. Sometimes, the science team forgets to pay attention while Mickey’s new body slides out of the printer. In one scene, he just plops out headfirst on the floor while people go about their business. Whoops. Ho ho ho.

    I imagine this is supposed to endear us to Mickey and his plight. It’s a shame, then, that he’s insufferable. Pattison plays him as pathetic sad sack who narrates the proceedings in a nasally whine. There’s never any attempt to give him a drive or a goal. He exists to suffer abuse at the hands of the supporting cast. A young security officer falls in love with him, presumably because he looks like Robert Pattinson.

    Every other character is an aggressively unpleasant caricature. There is nothing funny about them, because we do not believe them as characters. There is no kernel of truth or understanding or relatability to make the humor ring with truth. Instead, they wobble about, shouting and gesticulating in a constant stream of idiocy that is intended to be a satire, but of what, I couldn’t say.

    Mickey is eventually left for dead on this new planet but is saved by the enormous potato bugs that inhabit it. When he returns to the ship, he discovers they have already printed another Mickey. Number 18 is smarter and more aggressive for reasons that are never explained. At first, they fight, then they conspire to stay alive.

    The villains are Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo) and Ylfa (Toni Collette). Marshall is a former politician and secretly has some sort of vague eugenics scheme for the new world. His wife, Ylfa, is obsessed with sauce. They don’t so much chew the scenery as they devour entire sets. Ruffalo seems to be channeling some sort of Donald Trump character, but it’s hard to fathom what director Boon Jung Ho is trying to say.

    I guess this is all supposed to be a scathing indictment of late-stage capitalism and the plight of the working class. Mickey is the earnest employee who gets chewed up by an uncaring system. If that’s the metaphor, it’s muddled by the 47 other ideas the director crams in and seemingly forgets about, often within the same scene. The film exists in such a heightened state of reality that you might only be able to approach it if you are high to begin with.

    It’s fueled by the delusion that it has something to say, but what, and to who, I know not.

    Was there anything I liked in this movie? I think the creature effects were nice. The “Creepers” manage to be disgusting and cute in equal measure. That’s an accomplishment. Well done, CGI department.

    Everything else, I hated. After enduring two hours and 17 minutes of this farce, I, too, wanted to know what it would be like to die. And the quickest way to bring it about.

  • Star Wars: The Paradise Snare

    Star Wars: The Paradise Snare

    Long before he gut-shot Greedo in a dimly lit bar and tossed a few credits to the owner to apologize for the mess, Han Solo was a young thief on the streets of Corellia. “The Paradise Snare” is his origin story — or, at least, it was. Then Disney acquired Star Wars and tossed everything from the Extended Universe into the Sarlacc pit. But never mind.

    We open with Han planning his escape from Garris Shrike, a Fagin-like crime lord who presses young orphans into service as grifters and pickpockets. Han has been scamming Corellian noblemen under Shrike’s orders for years. But he aspires to a life where he isn’t forced to commit crimes to make a living. He dreams of joining the Imperial Academy to become a real pilot. Yet he’s already an accomplished racer on his home world, and he masters any spacecraft he’s given with a deft hand. What’s left for him to learn? Is he looking to pad his resume?

    To pay his tuition, he needs to earn some money that doesn’t end up in Shrike’s pocket. So he stows away aboard a shuttle and travels to the planet Ylesia, run by a secretive religious sect in desperate need of pilots. The sect fills their coffers by selling black market spice and conscripting their pilgrims to mine it. While touring the facility, Han meets and falls for a beautiful young pilgrim. We imagine this will end poorly, since the girl is not mentioned in the movies. But how will it happen and how will this mold him into the character we know? The mystery holds our interest, but it’s not hard to guess.

    Meanwhile, the priests saddle Han with a bodyguard. It becomes apparent that he is really just there to keep an eye on Solo. Han knows he can earn the money he needs honestly (or as honestly as one can while smuggling drugs), but he could speed up the process by slipping his hand into the till. It raises the question: Does he really want to go straight? Old habits die hard. Eventually, Han discovers that the religious colony is a front for the Hutts, and he comes up with a plan to rob them and escape with the girl.

    Prequels are a hard thing to get right. The audience already knows where the story ends up, so it is up to the author to make the journey worth the trip. When done right, a prequel can cast the original stories in a new light, providing nuance and context to reshape the scenes we already know. “The Paradise Snare” fails at this. Han Solo arrives at the story fully-formed as the character we know—just younger and a bit naive. He hasn’t been struck by life’s great disappointments yet. There are no missing puzzle pieces that unlock a greater understanding of his character.

    Instead, we get a few glimmers into the events that harden Solo’s heart. There’s the death of Dewlanna, a kindly Wookiee and cook to Shrike’s crew who takes Solo under her wing. There’s no indication that she cares about the other children. But, again, never mind. We also get a brief flashback to the time Han ran away to find out what happened to his parents. The episode plays out far differently than we might expect.

    We only get a few brief asides about Solo’s childhood. I was left wondering if we’d be better served going deeper into the past. Dewlanna’s death and Solo’s hatred of Shrike are good ideas that end up carrying little weight because the characters are introduced and disappear in the first chapter. Seeing him develop from a poor street kid into a charming swindler and how his relationship develops with two vastly different parental figures would’ve made this story far more emotionally resonant.

    Instead, “The Paradise Snare” suffers from the same problem that plagues all tie-in fiction: Nothing of great importance can happen, so the story feels like glorified fan-fic. I enjoyed the novel, but it isn’t essential. There’s little here that couldn’t be inferred from reading between the lines in the original films.

    That said, the author tells a decent story that avoids all the rebel vs. empire, light vs. dark side tropes that mire the rest of the series. It feels like a small miracle that no one shows up to wave a lightsaber around. It also manages to fill in the blanks without being trite and asking questions nobody cares about, like “Solo: A Star Wars Story” did (Why is he called Solo? Because he tells an Imperial officer he is alone).

    The book also sticks the landing with a wonderful ending. For Han, it’s a personal triumph. But knowing, as we do, what Han’s future holds, it’s a poignant and bittersweet note.

  • Queen: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    Queen: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    “Here we go again,” —C-3PO, Return of the Jedi.

    Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you plow through three mediocre books in thrall to the sunk cost fallacy.

    Queen is the third and final novel in the Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War trilogy. I have reviewed both of the previous novels, but here is a quick recap:

    Nicole Hammond is fighting for control of the starship Fyrantha. The Shipmasters abduct humans to repair the vessel because some humans, like Nicole, can speak to the ship telepathically to find out what needs fixing. The captured humans have accepted this for decades because the Shipmasters have a side gig selling enslaved aliens to serve as conscripted soldiers. Then Nicole came along and blew the lid off things.

    With an uprising looming, the Shipmasters bring in some of their customers to help. The Koffren, big dumb lugs who wear metal masks and carry guns loaded with spider-goo, see an opportunity to take control of the ship for themselves. Meanwhile, Nicole rallies the other slaves together to fight back. But doubt has crept in since Nicole’s plans left a character dead in the last book. I won’t spoil who, because the character was so minor that I forgot his name.

    Author Timothy Zahn has set the stage for this conflict across two books. So how does it play out? Mostly the characters just talk and talk and talk.

    At one point, I almost threw my Kindle across the room. Nicole enters a room and encounters two aliens who want the drone in her possession. The Shipmasters only feed these aliens when they capture a drone for themselves. What follows is about five pages of negotiation. Nicole will not hand over the drone, but her friends will train the aliens how to hunt for one. They explain how to take advantage of the grass and bushes. The aliens can’t follow these instructions. Nicole offers to have her friends capture another drone for them. But the aliens ask what happens if her friends are defeated in combat? Nicole’s friends say they will split up. But what of the water that bisects the room? The aliens can wait on the other side and the friends will throw it across.

    On and on it goes, until the aliens finally just lunge for the drone and the story moves on.

    There are entire conversations in this book that play out like this:

    “I will do the thing.”
    “How will you do the thing?”
    “I will perform the steps.”
    “What steps are those?”
    “I have them in a list here.”
    “Isn’t it dangerous?”
    “Not if we do it carefully.”
    “How will you be careful?”

    I could excuse some leaden dialog if the characters were interesting. Sadly, everyone is straight out of central casting. There’s the angry guy, there’s the sullen gal, there’s the schemer. Half of Nicole’s allies are tough, noble warriors ready to lay down their life for the cause.

    Nicole is supposed to be wise from her time on the streets, but Zahn refuses to give us any insight into what she has seen or done or how that informs her character. Instead, he plays coy with lines like “Not because she was squeamish about watching someone cut off someone else’s head. She’d seen far worse during her time with Trake’s gang.”

    Damn, that implies that Nicole has seen some shit. But she’s so softhearted that Zahn feels the need to remind you, again and again, that Nicole used to be in a gang. Then we we get Philadelphia gang bangers saying things like “crapadoodle” and “freaking butt wipe” and the whole flimsy construction begins to fall apart.

    I normally stay away from online theorizing, but I’ve read some suggestions that this series was a casualty of a tight deadline and publisher meddling. The rumor goes that Macmillan—which only published YA fiction from Zahn in the past—decided to market this to adults and roll the dice. I have no idea if this is true. I mean, I’m just some dweeb on the Internet. But it would explain why the story feels so toothless.

    It’s not a great excuse, though. There are ways to write young adult fiction without pulling your punches. Just look at Joe Abercrombie’s Shattered Sea series.

    Timothy Zahn is a writer of considerable talent and skill, but this time he took the night off.

    There are two back-to-back situations where the heroine seemingly walks into a trap, all is lost, and then — surprise! It was part of her plan all along. Sorry, we just left those details out to drum up some suspense. This kind of narrative trickery works great in a movie like “Ocean’s Eleven” or “Fight Club” where the rug-pull recontextualizes all the scenes that came before it. Here it just smacks of manufactured drama.

    There are even little inconsistencies, like when Nicole says there are still 12 shields that need to be fixed, and a page later, there are still “thirteen gaping holes” in their defenses. Did anybody edit this?

    Never mind.

    Overall, I found all three books underwhelming. I think there is a halfway-decent story here if an editor had condensed them into a single book. I’m left wondering why this had to be a trilogy. Did Zahn sign a contract for three books? Did he stretch his idea to fit? It reads like a draft zero, the early version of a story where an author is still figuring out the characters and plot before tightening it up.

    I’m glad this isn’t my first experience with the author. I know he can do better.

    Crapadoodle indeed.

  • Knight: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    Knight: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    When we last left Nicole Hammond, the former gang member-turned-galactic maintenance worker had just been named the protector of the starship Fyrantha. But now she has a problem. The aptly named Shipmasters suspect that their human slaves may be capable of violence.

    For decades, the captive humans kept a lid on things by pretending to only fight with their words or pool noodles or something. That’s because the Shipmasters, we discover, search the galaxy looking for new species to fight in their arenas. When a species turns out to be particularly adept at war, the Shipmasters enslave their home world and send the hapless creatures out to fight on the frontlines.

    Sadly, no one told Nicole this for plot reasons. Now the cat is out of the bag. The Shipmasters toss the humans into the arena and set them to battle amongst themselves. Their only hope is that Nicole will come up with a convoluted plan to bamboozle their overlords into thinking they made a mistake.

    Nicole heads into the arena to speak to the heads of the human factions. One group is willing to throw the fight, but the other is headed by Nicole’s maybe-ex-boyfriend Bungie, a cheap thug with poor impulse control. He’s convinced that winning the battle will grant him a one-way ticket home. Thinking was never his strong suit. Nicole then learns that there is a drug on board that could render Team Bungie unable to fight. She sets off to find it, with the Shipmasters hot on her heels.

    It begs the question: If the Shipmasters know what Nicole is up to, why even stage this conflict to begin with?

    The answer: Because without it there would be no plot.

    Here we are in book two of what is described as “A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War.” I find the use of the word “War” to be very generous. With the first book, it felt like the entire novel was setting the table for the conflict to follow. This time, it feels like busywork to delay the inevitable. Maybe I’m just too genre savvy for my own good. It’s hard not to see where the breadcrumb trail is headed. Eventually, this story is going to blossom into a battle for control of the Fyrantha. Timothy Zahn spends much of the book laying the groundwork. There’s nothing wrong with a slow build up to a climactic showdown. But there needs to something to fill the slow march to our conclusion.

    I’d settle for some decent character development. In the 30 minutes since the first novel ended, Nicole has had a change of heart. Now she’s crabby. She spends most of the book being irritated by everyone, even her closest allies. Being likable isn’t necessary in a protagonist. But Nicole just feels petulant. It’s certainly a shift from her passivity in book one, but it doesn’t feel particularly earned or warranted. The supporting cast serve a plot function and little else.

    The biggest missed opportunity—which I touched on in my review of the first book—is that Nicole’s criminal background never feels anything more than superficial. A streetwise gang banger in a space opera is literally the promise that got me to read the first novel. But two books in, and I never really buy her as a street punk. It’s not for a lack of trying. Zahn name drops Nicole’s time in Philly or Trake’s crew about once per page. It just never amounts to much. I guess she learned how to “deal with people.” She could’ve got that as a waitress, or navigating personalities at the rotary club.

    Why did she join a gang? Did she have a choice? How does she feel about that? What did she do in the gang? Did she commit any crimes? Does she feel remorse? There’s a lot of fertile soil here that goes unused. I mean, I don’t expect HBO’s The Wire level of verisimilitude here. Not in a story with space centaurs. But getting a sense of where she came from helps contextualize where she ends up. If Zahn wants us to believe that Nicole’s time navigating gang life has prepared her for dealing with the different factions of the Fyrantha, then we need to see that arc and how it develops. Maybe it is being saved for the conclusion.

    I think sheer inertia will carry me through the final book here. I might as well see the trilogy through. But I’m glad this isn’t my first brush with Timothy Zahn. There isn’t much here that speaks to the mastery he brought to books like Icarus Hunt, Night Train to Rigel, or his Star Wars tie-ins.

    Knight and Pawn exist in that terrible middle ground of benign adequacy. There isn’t enough here to love or hate. It’s just middling. The worst criticism I can make is that days after finishing the book, I struggle to even remember it.

    Let’s hope the third time’s a charm.

  • Star Wars: Skeleton Crew

    Star Wars: Skeleton Crew

    Wim lives a simple life. He wakes up every morning and goes to school. At night, he crams for the placement exams that will determine his future. On the weekends, he dreams of being a knight and having adventures. His best friend is a blue elephant.

    Oh, did I forget to mention? Wim lives in the Star Wars universe.

    One day, Wim and Neel (his friendly Loxodonta) are exploring in the woods when they find a mysterious, overgrown mechanical hatch. Maybe it leads to a secret underground temple? Nope, just a buried intergalactic star freighter. Two girls, Fern and KB, also stumble across the wreck and claim it for themselves. They are looking for replacement parts for their speeder bike.

    No sooner do they climb aboard than the ship takes off and leaves them stranded lightyears away from home. To make matters worse, it turns out that the kids live on At Attin–a “lost” world rumored to possess riches beyond men’s wildest dreams. This makes it a little hard to ask for directions.

    Their ship, they learn later, was once owned by the notorious pirate Tak Rennod. The only crew left aboard is the malfunctioning droid SM-33, who is voiced by a pitch perfect by Nick Frost. The name SM-33, you’ll notice, looks like Smee, the right-hand man to Captain Hook. Fern pluckily declares herself the new Captain and orders SM-33 to land them someplace safe. SM-33 takes them to the safest place he knows: A haven for pirates and smugglers.

    Thus begins the adventures of the Skeleton Crew.

    I’ll admit, I was skeptical when I saw the trailer. Suburban kids setting off on a pirate adventure in the Star Wars universe? Sounds like the usual Disney committee-think disaster.

    But the result is charming and fun. It’s The Goonies in space.

    Along the way, the crew meets up with Jod Na Nawood. He sports an unfortunate name even by Star Wars standards. He may also be a secret Jedi. But why do the kids find him in jail? Also, everyone he meets knows him by a different name–Captain Silvo, Crimson Jack, Dash Zentin, Professor Umiam Gorelox. Take your pick. Each person tells the kids: “Don’t trust him.” But Wim is skeptical. How can a Jedi knight be bad?

    Jude Law is clearly having a blast playing Jod, who feels like Han Solo if life kept dealing him bad hands. Or maybe Indiana Jones is a better fit. He’s clearly making this up as he goes and staying just one step ahead of near disaster. When all the plates come falling down, it’s hard to know whether he will come down on the side of the saints or the sinners. It’s possible he doesn’t know either.

    If I were to lodge one complaint: I still think putting suburbs in Star Wars is a stupid idea. I know. I get it. It’s a narrative shorthand to build a connection with the young audience.

    But it’s not like kids needed that to relate to Luke Skywalker. You can still do the kids-bored-with-everyday-life schtick without reducing it to lawn mowers and white picket fences.

    And, ya know, blue elephant besties.

    I don’t think Star Wars has been this entertaining since the first season of the Mandalorian. This is the kind of show that would’ve blown my mind as a kid. As a recently-turned 40-year-old, it’s still easy to recommend. It’s got that classic Spielberg, Amblin Entertainment charm that’s so rare these days.

    I’ll admit to being biased. I grew up enamored with Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, and Back to the Future. Part of me yearns for pulpy, preposterous adventure stories. Throw some lost cities, forbidden treasures, and a few daring escapes at me and I’m pretty much in for the cost of admission. Not everything has to be high art. Sometimes fun is enough.

  • Pawn: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    Pawn: A Chronicle of the Sibyl’s War

    Low-level gang member Nicole Hammond spends her nights getting blackout drunk. It’s worth the constant hangovers to quiet the voices in her head. Then, one morning, she’s forced awake by her maybe-ex-boyfriend, Bungie. He’s bleeding from a bullet wound to the abdomen and wants her to drive him to the hospital. His plan is to kidnap a doctor at gunpoint for a private outpatient procedure.

    Then comes the twist: Aliens swoop in and abduct Nicole, Bungie, and the hapless doctor (don’t feel bad for him, he’s an asshole). It turns out that Nicole hears voices because she is a Sibyl, a special human who can commune with the aliens’ ship, the Fyrantha. She is put in charge of a work crew of fellow-abductees. Her new job is to listen to the ship and tell the crew what needs fixing.

    Nicole settles into this new living situation. Bungie, however, wants out. He’s looking for an angle and rebels against the status quo. His violent impulses raise some eyebrows. Plato, the leader of the human workforce, warns them that the aliens must never see humans fighting. Pure logic would suggest that he explain why. But, no, that’s being saved for the big reveal.

    In the early stages, I was excited about the prospect of a space opera starring a gang banger from Philly. This seemed like a great genre mashup. Unfortunately, Nicole’s background is little more than window dressing. We never get a real sense of what she is capable of or what she’s done. It’s so glossed over that I began to wonder if I was reading a young adult novel. Maybe the author just doesn’t know the thug life.

    But never mind. There are bigger problems that left me scratching my head.

    First, Nicole spends half the book passively reacting to everything that happens around her. Given her circumstances, she asks shockingly few questions. She simply has no agency, which makes her a frustrating viewpoint into this world. She is finally pressed into action when she stumbles upon a huge, forested arena. The ship’s overlords have set two alien species to fight to the death over limited rations. The faces of two starving alien creature children weigh heavily on Nicole’s mind. She decides to do something about it.

    I won’t reveal what happens next, except to say the mysteries of the Fyrantha take a backseat to this new conflict. All of the characters and worldbuilding we’ve established up to this point vanish. It almost feels as though the author, Timothy Zahn, cobbled this together from two short stories. I kept wondering if Nicole would round a corner and stumble into her work crew. “Where have you been?” they’d yell. This does happen eventually, but by then, everyone is afflicted with Nicole’s initial apathy. Oh well.

    The novel ends with very little resolved except to set up the next book. If this sounds lackluster, that’s because it is. Pawn is a 350-page preamble. It’s like a table-setting episode of prestige television. Not much happens until the final pages. Even then, it is only to establish what will follow. Naysayers will argue that this is the start of a trilogy, but it feels more like the first two episodes of a season-long arc.

    Look, this isn’t great fiction, but it’s a fairly brisk read. I’m curious enough about where it is going to check out the sequel. You could charitably say it left me wanting more.

  • Wool

    Wool

    An unspecified event hundreds of years ago forced humanity underground. To go out on the surface now is a death sentence, reserved only for those who commit the most terrible of crimes: Asking to leave.

    This is called being “sent out to clean.” The individual is dressed in a protective suit and given a wool cloth. They are asked to wipe off the sensors that give the Silo’s inhabitants a view of the desolate outside world. It’s a mystery why every cleaner follows through with this before they succumb and die.

    Juliette is a mechanic in the bowels of the Silo. She is too busy keeping the power on to worry about the outside world. Then, one day, the mayor of the silo descends all 144 floors of the grand staircase to make Juliette an offer: Replace the last Sheriff who went out to clean.

    As a girl from the down-deeps, Juliette has no idea about the politics at play in the floors above. No sooner does she pin on her star then she finds herself embroiled in a high-profile murder case, targeted by department heads who want her gone, and unraveling the mystery of what happened to her predecessor.

    This is a fantastic setup for a mystery story that the author, Hugh Howey, clearly has no interest in. Everything is either spelled out right away or is so heavily signposted that you can’t help but immediately connect the dots before the characters do. Then the author dumps all this and takes the story in a totally different direction.

    After doing a little digging, I discovered that Wool originally began life as a short story. The author then kept expanding it, first into a series of novellas and then finally into a novel. This makes a lot of sense and explains some of the lumpy story structure.

    More problematic are the characters, who all feel paper thin when they aren’t acting like weepy, melodramatic teenagers. There’s never any subtlety. The players pound their chests and wail and moan, their inner dialogue a seething turmoil of pithy emotions.

    I think if you took a shot of alcohol every time one of the characters starts crying, you’d be dead or comatose before the final chapter. It’s almost funny, later in the book, when they introduce a new character who is described as a stunted child in a man’s body. He acts just like everyone else.

    It doesn’t feel like anyone grows or changes. Most of the players exist simply as a plot function. You know everything about each character in just a few lines because there is nothing else to discover. The villain is so laughably obvious that he might as well appear twirling his moustache and cackling.

    This will sound like blasphemy to some, but I actually prefer what the TV adaptation is doing at this point. I feel like the writers there took these bare character sketches and breathed life into them, expanding the plot and embelishing the worldbuilding that mostly sits in the margins here.

    As something that inspired some great television, I have to give this book some grudging respect. I wouldn’t say I regret reading it. I didn’t hate it. But Wool reads like a rough draft that the show’s creators wisely edited into a great story. As such, I think I’ll stick with the show for now and give the two follow-up novels a pass.