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All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders Sunday Book Circle - Part I

All the Birdds in the Sky follows Patricia and Laurence from childhood into young adulthood as their weirdness brings them closer together as kids. But their weirdness being so different also drives them along different life paths and into an all out war—that’s not a euphemism—which threatens the earth and humanity.

I like All the Birds in the Sky because unlike a lot of novels, it has an actual plot. There’s never a point where I’m like “will anything ever happen?” It starts with very mundane childhood concerns, sticking out, finding friends, parents not getting you, and neatly ramps up to world-ending possibilities. I love that. It reminds me of the TV show Person of Interest that started out as a case of the week kind of show and ended up with an epic, world-changing plot in five sweet seasons. So not only does All the Birds in the Sky have a plot, which is shockingly rare these days, it also has great pacing of that plot. It’s crazy that these two things excite me now. I usually only see a plot and good pacing in old books or romance novels these days. All the Birds in the Sky is almost a genre novel, so that could be why it has a plot. Most genre fiction still ends up with a plot. But All the Birds in the Sky is sci-fi and fantasy, but that doesn’t really make it urban fantasy. It’s not the Dresden Files. It’s more reminiscent of Neil Gaiman and Michael Reaves’ Interworld, which I read close to twenty years ago (Jesus, when did I get so old?).

The plot of All the Birds in the Sky has to do with the clash of magic and science. Magic values the earth and the other life on it. Science values humanity. In the real world, I’d say scientists are more like the magic faction these days, discounting the significance of human life. The point of the novel is a good one though. Both sides are wrong, because both are undervaluing something important. I like this more balanced approach. I like balanced approaches to most issues. I don’t think humans should suffer for the preservation of nature, but I also don’t think we should abuse nature to the point of it falling apart on us, which is also a selfish stance as well when one takes the long view. Humans shouldn’t have their freedoms or dreams sacrificed on the altar of the greater good, even if that greater good is the environment, because we all only get one chance in this world. We shouldn’t make a mess we can’t clean up, but we also shouldn’t forget to live while we have a chance.

Environmentalism is a boondoggle these days. Most of the technology that corporations, billionaires, and politicians promote is not good for the environment. It’s about making money or taking control of other peoples’ lives. It’s about getting the masses to do the bear minimum and feel good about it, as if not using disposable straws changes anything when the majority of the trash in the ocean is from commercial fishing nets or into getting them to support a prop to build windmills that need their non-recyclable blades replaced regularly. It’s just so someone can make money.

At the same time, too many on the side of science and technology believe in Malthusianism, which made no sense when Malthus came up with it. The population of humanity did not outpace our ability to produce food and the technology to produce food has been improving the amount of food produced every year. Malthus acted as though we would never improve food production as if we hadn’t already and that he couldn’t extrapolate from that fact that we would continue to improve food production. But so many scientists believe in his incredibly flawed idea and think it is something we need to fix by curtailing the population. This is why I don’t trust a lot of the major movers and shakers of society’s motivations. One thing Anders gets very right in the novel is that people at the top are removed from humanity, by dint of their power, and can’t possibly see how what they’re doing is bad for humanity, how it is ethically wrong. The reason is that they cannot connect to people in any normal way and have a social constructionist bent that means they think they have the right and the obligation to fix the ills of humanity. Well, guess what? So did Hitler.

And that’s the real problem with disconnecting from humanity and the world, you become a monster to humanity and the world while thinking you’re doing both a favor. Part of it is sadism and megalomania, but because these people are also so smart, conceivably the smartest people in the world—after all, how else did they amass so much power?—they think there’s no way that they could possibly be motivated by something as base as emotional compulsions like gratification at the pain of others or the control over huge populations of people. Well, guess what? So did Stalin. Even when they are science-minded, they end up practicing Lysenkoism, because power and pain are their real motivators. Most evil people don’t think they’re evil. They don’t walk around twirling their mustaches. They don’t write hateful vitriol on the internet. They make speeches about the greatest good for the greatest number of people and then march people up against the wall who would stand in the way of their great vision of a better humanity. So beware of people who speak from the shaky foundations of moral superiority of a better tomorrow and promising gifts because that better tomorrow is littered with corpses and destroyed dreams and those gifts are broken and come with chains.

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Book Club Reminder!

Book Club for The Picture of Dorian Gray is 3.22 at 3PM MST on Alex's Book Circle on Rumble. Send me a message to be on the live stream to discuss the book!

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 19: The Prize to Be Won

Steam rose in lazy swirls from the bathwater, curling around the figure of Renault as he reclined with a cloth draped over his face. The silence of the chamber was thick, almost tangible. With a sudden movement that sent ripples across the surface, Renault yanked the cloth away, his brow knitted with distress.

"Ugh," he groaned, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. His thoughts churned like the water around him. “What is wrong with me? This was always the plan. She deserves this. She—”

Images of Gerardine cascaded through his mind unbidden: her stoic presence in his father's dimly lit bedroom, the unwavering gaze as she witnessed the old king's last breath; her commanding voice during those dusty afternoons of swordplay, "Pick. Up. Your. Sword."; the way she flung her hair back, beads of water glittering in the sun; her triumphant grin, sharp enough to cut steel, as Sir Heloise lay in the grass defeated; the memory of her bow, so full of rage, after his fist met her cheek; the fire in her eyes when she hurled juggling balls at him in a fit of pique; her laughter – that rare, uninhibited melody which seemed to come from a place deep within her.

And then, the image that made his cheeks flare hotter than the bathwater: Gerardine beneath him, her identity no longer hidden by armor or pretense, but revealed in the moonlight as undeniably, breathtakingly woman.

 

 

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 18: The First Laugh

Gerardine jumped as the council chamber doors exploded open with a bang that could wake the dead. She let loose an unladylike "Holy fuck", just as Renault barreled out. The hall, thick with the musty scent of old books and older men, instantly brightened with his grinning presence.

"Sir Gerard!" he boomed, striding across the chamber like a conqueror. Before she could react, he was upon her, his hands clasping her upper arms as if they were comrades just seeing each other for the first time in years. "We're going hunting."

"Ah, joy," Gerardine groaned, her voice dripping sarcasm as Renault's infectious excitement failed to penetrate her annoyance. Yet, when he tugged her from her post, her body complied with an uncharacteristic limpness—resistance was futile against the human whirlwind that was Renault.

"Come on, no sour faces," he chided cheerfully, reading her like an old friend, much older than they actually were. "Don't worry! No horses and horsing around this time."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyebrow arching in mock hopefulness. Renault only laughed in response, leading her away from the drudgery of duty to the promise of adventure—or at least, his version of it.

***
Deep within the forest, trees whispered secrets to each other as Renault and Gerardine treaded through the underbrush. Bow in hand, Gerardine's eyes couldn't help but wander over to Renault. Clad in his hunting leathers, he cut a dashing figure among the greens and browns of their woodland playground. He was all focus, eyes scanning, every muscle tensed for the hunt. And then there was her, trying to remember why she had agreed to this.

Catching her gaze, Renault's eyebrow quirked up. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

"Nothing," Gerardine responded too quickly, her cheeks warming just a smidge. "I'm just waiting for your next prank, sire."

Renault's smile bloomed like a rose in summer. Eyes closed, head raised to the heavens as if in silent thanks, he proclaimed, "I'm giving you a reprieve for the day."

"Generous," Gerardine deadpanned, offering him a blank-faced stare that should have been enough to wilt flowers. "How kind of you, your majesty."

His laughter echoed through the forest, birds taking flight from their sanctuary in the trees. There was something unsettlingly charming about Renault in these moments—unburdened by the weight of his crown, free in a way that made Gerardine's heart perform strange little flips. But she'd never admit to that, not even under pain of torture.

"Oh, am I getting to you?" Renault's voice was a tease, his grin wide as he leaned in, close enough that Gerardine could count every speck of mischief in his eyes.

"Perhaps my nerves," she retorted, arching an eyebrow in mock defiance, "but not my funny bone."

 

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The King's Guardess
Chapter 17: Take a Break!

Renault sat at the head of the long, oak council table, a mischievous glint in his eye as he manipulated a peculiar bag with his fingers. With a squeeze, it erupted into a scandalous sound that echoed off the stone walls, and he couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. The gathered councilors, however, were far from amused, their brows knitted together in collective annoyance.

"What?" Renault asked innocently, looking around at the sea of scowling faces.

"Sire, could you please focus?" implored the councilor with glasses perched precariously on his nose. His tone held the same weariness one might reserve for a child who had asked 'why' too many times.

But Renault, undeterred by the plea for seriousness, refilled the rubbery pouch with another gust of breath and pressed it once more, releasing yet another flatulent symphony into the solemn chamber. "Is this funny?" he queried with the enthusiasm of a bard presenting his finest ballad.

The councilor with the impressive beard, whose face was lost somewhere within the thicket of hair, leaned forward. "What is that?" he grumbled, voice deep and resonating like an old war drum.

With a flourish fit for a jester, Renault waved the strange object through the air. "It's a sheep’s stomach treated with wax," he explained, as if unveiling a grand invention.

The oldest councilor, wrinkles mapping out the trials of countless tedious meetings, sighed deeply. "What do you plan to do with it?" he asked, dread seeping into his voice.

Renault's smile broadened, eyes twinkling with the promise of mischief. "I’m going to fill it with air and then put it on Sir Gerard’s seat at dinner. It will make it sound like he farted."

As if on cue, the councilors released a chorus of groans, a sound Renault was becoming all too familiar with. He scanned their faces, puzzled. "What?"

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