2014-08-06 - 9:43 a.m.
I read Kim Stanley Robinson's 2312. The first 200 pages were the best, through the terrorist attack on Mercury and the couple stuck under the tunnels. But after that it really seemed as if they just went on a tour of the solar system, making stops at all the scenic spots and visually interesting scenes, getting highly visible and prestigious jobs more or less at random at strategic places, while someone did the real work of solving the mystery and rounding up the bad guys in the background.
Not really into this particular tragic or not-so-tragic romance, which is really the main thread of the story. The main character is an irritating and really quite untrustworthy bipolar person, while the too-saintly-to-be-true love interest infatuated with her is described, repeatedly, as a squat oversized toad. One can't help thinking: No wonder these charming folks have to come from opposite ends of the solar system (Mercury and Titan) to find true love..! I mean, they're good people, well educated, well meaning, tryna save the world -- just unattractive and annoying as fuck.
But where it's good, it's very very good. I'm just not as interested in the sex/love/romance side of things in a 600 page novel. I like that stuff better in the short form. And anyway don't we have fanfics for that this time of century? I would have rather followed the little detective around solving crimes and known more about his dark past.
In this future, for the longevity treatments to work, people should visit earth every seven years, they should at least sometimes possess both male and female sex organs, and they should be much smaller than today's norm. Apparently, everyone follows the first two pieces of medical advice, but plenty of people are unwilling to be short. To many people in the glorious future, it ain't worth living forever if you have to be short. Why am I, a short person, not particularly surprised at this insight.
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