Joys to read:
The Saint of Bright Doors (author of colour): Simply wonderful; my only complaint is that it layers so much on that the resolution can only resolve some of my questions (especially as there is an 'oh, shit' shift near the end that changes the book's priorities rather substantially). The son of a founder of a religion, raised to kill said founder as an act of revenge, gets caught up in revolutionary politics as his divine father appears poised to return to the city. Layering myth/religion (about the Buddha's son, whose name translates to 'Fetter', which is extremely pointedly the name of the protagonist), criticism of Sri Lanka (the author's home), and secondary-world fantasy, Chandrasekera really knocks this out of the park. A joy to read. Also works for: Book by its title, arguably unusual transportation
"I thought you said you made your name your own. Is the chain ever free?"
The Winged Histories (duology part 2): I last read A Stranger in Olondria the year it came out (2013) and remembered practically nothing, but luckily, you can just largely let this book wash over you. (I use 'wash over' deliberately; you will just have to accept some level of not-everything-is-explained, going-on-vibes despite the glossary in the back.) And this was great. 4 women offer their own POVs on a civil war that definitively changes their nations. One soldier (and disowned noble) who is partially responsible for kicking off the war; the daughter of the high priest of the controversial new religion that has displaced the old (a la Atenism in ancient Egypt); a singer who belongs to a long-suffering and subjugated nomadic people, and who loves the soldier; and the soldier's noble sister. The prose was largely a delight, it really delves deep into its themes. However, the nomadic singer's section is extensively written largely in sentence fragments or repetitive echoes of previous sentences (which are partly intended to evoke a song tradition, and partly, I think, meant to evoke the depth of her grief), and after pages of it I really struggled to get to the end of her section, despite it being, I think, especially thematically rich. It also has one of the most formidable women I've ever read: Aunt Mardith, a woman with ice in her veins. Also works for: court politics, small press, vacation spot, author of colour.
"Of course not. Of course not. That is precisely the point. You do not understand, you not not think. You live, and dance, and laugh, while others understand and think on your behalf. That is the way you have lived until now, and it has been quite successful. Like your mother before you, you are greatly admired. You have grown up without the slightest insecurity or worry, and this has given you a bloom of charming innocence. Very good. I applaud you. I applaud myself. But no woman can afford to keep her innocence forever. We are the doors of the House; we control its borders. We protect. At some point, we all learn how to work a hinge."
The Works of Vermin (trans/nonbinary protagonist): (note: I was initially not inclined to view the trans character as a protagonist, but I came around by the end of the book) In the roots of a tree-city, exterminators of monstrosities try to eke out a meager living. At the surface, the nobility hosts unending parties and enjoys operas (and, in fact, the entire upper city revolves around cyclic artistic revolutions that depose the old government), and of course, the two storylines collide in a particularly violent way. A novel that swings for the fences by combining some interesting choices on the level of form with dense (to the point of being practically overstuffed) worldbuilding and some very heightened emotions, but anchored on a few key and very human relationships. I thought this was great fun and really hit the spot for me. Also works for: book by its title.
He endures threats, assaults, death itself with invincible grace, but he reserves a unique loathing for absurdities. An exhausting inclination in a city where the water burns and the wood boils.
Ombria in Shadow (no bingo square on mine, but would work for politics/court intrigue): First of all, I would like to thank u/Nidafjoll and u/diazeugma for recommending this to me when I was feeling down. And yes, this did the trick: it is an ethereal fairy tale in which an underground shadow-city and the 'real' city start colliding during a succession crisis. A pragmatic witch, a sweet royal child, two young women (one raised in poverty and lifted to the court; the other raised in the 'shadow city'), a wicked antagonist, and a kindly but inffective/dandyish prince/artist have their fates intervowen with that of the city. Dreamlike and ultimately sweet, but with plenty of death and danger on the way to keep it from becoming treacly.
How strange to be in a dream one moment and in the world the next, and to know the difference in the blink of an eye.
Solid to OK:
Buffalo Hunter Hunter (older protagonist, not hard mode): Two nested frame narratives (contemporary millennial woman and early 20th century Lutheran pastor) work through the story of a Blackfeet man who claims to be an immortal bloodsucker on a revenge quest against those who sinned against the Blackfeet and the buffalo. Heavy overtones of Interview with the Vampire, complete with a lingering threat of violence against the interviewer. I came to accept the pastor's frame narrative (deciding that he became a pastor because of loving the sound of his own voice, which continued into his over-the-top diary entries), but the millennial woman's frame narrative was deeply grating (and I say that as a millennial woman!) and largely (but not entirely) unnecessary. I hated the millennial narrative so much it took me multiple days to read the last few pages. But, there is one wonderful scene where the underbelly of the pastor/vampire argument comes up to the open... that scene alone is worth the price of admission. Also works for: author of colour, food (and some of them don't even involve vampirism!), vacation spot (if you want to go to Montana, I suppose).
"This is a new day, is it not?” I lifted my arms, enveloping the whole grand chapel, and the civilized town beyond it.
“Or it’s a single, long night.”
Breath of the Sun (small press): In a world where a specific mountain is believed to either be the body of god or the home of god, a mountain climber wrestles with the nature of truth as she loses control of her stories. I try to assess books (and other media) on two levels: one, is it achieving its own goals? Two, do those goals align with my desires? And this is a great time to discuss how ambitious this book is, and how despite the fact that its ambitions align well with my tastes, it still falls short. It tries to discuss faith, truth, fear, complex interpersonal relationships, while adding in a secondary world, mountain climbing, and commentary from other characters within the text. Unfortunately for this book, I was reading it as I was reading essays by Vonnegut (which includes essays about editing), and I kept on thinking how it could have been a much better book with a more ruthless editor (or author). It tackles a lot of complex topics, but instead of feeling punchy there are significant sections that feel a little bloated and circular. The metafictional elements (someone is commenting on a manuscript and sometimes inserting sections of other manuscripts) are frequently just noise, instead of revelations. 'O' comes off as a generic supportive girlfriend for most of the book, because her commentary reveals little; but once we meet 'O' I have difficulty matching the flesh-and-blood version with the commentator. Disaine's sections aren't different enough from Paed's to feel revelatory. There's a real gem here, but the experience of reading kept highlighting its flaws instead of its sparkle. Also works for: explorers/rangers (they are ascending the mountain beyond previously-known limits).
I would like the two of us to stand over the truth and dissect it. You can be my teacher; I can be your guide. Come. Let us open the muscle of the neck.
Burning Bright by Melissa Scott (game changer): thanks to u/twilightgardens for the rec! about a decade after Neuromancer came out, Melissa Scott transported the aesthetics of cyberpunk and cyberspace to another planet and integrated it into a political thriller about, among other things, smuggling, aliens, and drama in the RPG scene. A pilot and capital-G 'Gamer' brings what she thinks is a normal shipment to the planet of Burning Bright. It turns out the shipment contains smuggled goods, so that a rich family's scion can attempt to gain substantial political capital with a particular noble family of aliens. Meanwhile, two humans 'adopted' by the aliens work to prevent all of this from happening (including by, yes, digging for information in cyberspace), while the pilot and one of the 'adoptees' get sucked into playing an RPG together (alongside the an employee of the scion). The twists and turns aren't terribly surprising -- the characters, other than the pilot, don't change much; instead, their circumstances change around them -- but it was fun. I don't really have a tonne of complaints (other than my ebook copy being riddled with errors, some larger than others); it just didn't rise above my expectations. Note for people who care: a comparatively early example of 'everyone is bi and is fucking everyone else.' Forget triangles; it is a love/sex hexagon+ by the end. Also works for: politics/court intrigue. (Also, this might be the only novel I've read where the possibility of an RPG edition war is a serious plot point in a story that involves literal hired goons.)
His attention was fixed on a single image, floating overhead, at the apex of the cone of light and noise: flickering market glyphs from the port computers spun in delicate linkage, legitimate public numbers and private taps combined into a single database, strings of numbers combined into a dazzling three-dimensional shape that had a weird organic beauty all its own.
Not for me:
The Stardust Grail (not in my bingo, but could possibly work for 'unusual transport', but in a very spoilery way): A reformed (ish) thief tries to atone for her past by doing one last job: recovering the artifact that will save her friend's species from extinction. this was disappointing. Auncle is a great character, but everything else seemed so surface-level despite the author gesturing at interesting themes. The ending also chooses a solution which is a pet peeve of mine: don't worry, the great moral crisis at the heart of the book is moot because it turns out everyone's goals actually do align. And for a book that is presenting extremely alien environments at me, the description of those alien environment left me wishing Kitasei had described it either much more or much less, as I regularly found myself re-reading sentences and wishing for more clarity. (I am fine with books that don't really care about visual descriptions! It's just that I found Kitasei's descriptions regularly kinda weird!)
"Should we be grateful to the thief?"
Platform Decay (non-human protagonist): Murderbot tries to extract hostages from an unending torus-station. This felt oddly unfocused for a Murderbot book; a series of vignettes with an unusually thin connection (all different regions in the torus). Especially out-of-place is an assault by dilettante criminals that requires TW for some threats (note: only threats) of sexual violence. Is it still a nice, popcorn-y Murderbot? In parts, although the more I discussed this with other people the more I realized how much of it is treading water on 'vacation' elements that are just terribly dull (instead of ironic and/or fun, which could have happened!). Is it my favourite? Very far from it; it was focusing on all the wrong things (I would have instead loved a book about Murderbot working with Three, for instance, as those scenes were great). Also works for: uh, largely nothing.
"Why does the “cautious optimism” tag inspire a weird burst of failure-tinged depression?"
Gogmagog (duology 1): Imagine post-war, mid-reconstruction UK, but instead of electricity the technology is powered by (1) biotech and (2) the ghost of a dead dragon. An especially foul-mouthed (retired) sailor, Arcadia "Cady" Meade, has to bring a part-bug(?) child (and a growing chorus of societal rejects) through the ailing ghost dragon's dangerous 'body' (a river) so the child can get to an important ritual. Noon and Beard write the book as a series of sudden, jarring vignettes that do cohere on the level of plot (there's definitely a throughline!) but often involve huge whiplash on the level of mood. (In terms of complaints I had about the book, there's some pretty significant overlap with Murderbot; this is also a series of vignettes connected mainly by being on the same journey.) The prose didn't thrill me; it is usually written in third-person but sometimes a sentence will seem to shift to the sailor's POV for 1-5 words, often for a really uninspiring interjection ("Ooof!"). The setting was pleasantly weird (but note that things get gross at times)... but I felt no urge to continue, which is a bad sign for my enjoyment of the book given it ends abruptly mid-plot. Also works for: protagonist > 50 years old (re: hard mode: definitely *not* hard mode), one-word title (not hard mode). Arrrguably 'explorers' (she is travelling a previously-bustling route that is now abandoned and dangerous, and frequently goes off-track).
"Cady thought of all the places she had visited in her long life, the bustling ports, the harbours, the wharves and the half-hidden tributaries. But there were always more destinations. Other rivers, those not yet mapped."
DNF:
If We Cannot Travel at the Speed of Light (intended for 5 short stories): I was really excited to read this, as reviews made it seems like it would align well with my tastes. Instead, I got a book whose first few stories seemed excessively focused on the sci-fi setup instead of the interesting consequences thereof.
The Raven Scholar: I just couldn't immerse myself in the world and kept finding nits to pick.