Jeez, it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish
Sean McMullen’s The Miocene Arrow. I’m liking it, though not as much as I liked its predecessor,
Souls in the Great Machine, but still, it’s something of a slog.
The thing I really like about these books is the professions, the gun-slinging librarians of
Great Machine, the aristocratic airplane pilots of
Arrow. And the convincing details McMullen builds around the professions, the engineers and other support personnel who care about the weird things that specialists always care about: the train engineers in
Great Machine who get into fistfights arguing over rail gauges, the discussion in
Arrow of whether the first female pilot can wear a man’s colors on her sleeve.
But
The Miocene Arrow is almost 600 pages long, and it doesn’t have 600 pages worth of good stuff. It is, like most modern SF and fantasy genre fiction, just too damn long, and stuffed full of details about a war that I don’t really care all that much about.
Maybe I should shut up and just go reread
The Stars My Destination again.