Sol Yurick, author of The Warriors (1965), has died. The novel -- which in 1979 led to the classic cult film of the same name -- was inspired by Yurick's experiences working in the New York City Department of Welfare.

“Some of the children of these families were what was then called juvenile delinquents,” Mr. Yurick wrote in an introduction to an edition of “The Warriors” published in 2003. “Many of them belonged to fighting gangs. Some of these gangs numbered in the hundreds; they were veritable armies. This social phenomenon was viewed, on the one hand, as the invasion of the barbarians, only this time they came from the inside rather than from the outside.”

Now the cold war is long past, and the final act is upon the world. The Babushka, one of the great powers of City 512, has established a stronghold in a fishing village in the remotest northern reaches of Labrador. Her enemies are legion, and some of them don't even know what side they're on. The dreamwalkers have always had the power to trap their enemies in false identities and false memories, and the main characters of Rasputin's Bastards are never quite sure who they are, what has happened to them, what is real, and what is poisonous illusion.

Nickle's book is an enormous tale, bewilderingly complex, but with lots of twists and turns that reward close attention. It is grotesque, violent, and exciting, with a supernatural tinge that is his hallmark.

Rasputin's Bastards ]]> http://boingboing.net/2012/06/27/rasputins-bastards.html/feed 11 http://boingboing.net/2011/12/27/empire-state-a-phildickian-noi.html http://boingboing.net/2011/12/27/empire-state-a-phildickian-noi.html#comments Tue, 27 Dec 2011 14:17:13 +0000 Cory Doctorow http://boingboing.net/?p=116934

Adam Christopher's debut novel Empire State is a noir, Philip K Dick-ish science fiction superhero story about a pocket universe that's created when two battling New York superheroes open a vent through spacetime. New York City is reflected through this vent into the pocket, and in the distorted surface of the pinched-off bubble of reality, the city is reflected back in strange, existential form. The new city is called Empire State, and it is a grey, washed-out version of New York, perpetually shrouded in mist, perpetually at war, and the brave lads of Empire State are forever being wired into the bodies of robots and sent off in seagoing Ironclads, warships that never return.

New York and Empire State are imperfect mirrors of one another, and only a handful of people in either city know or suspect of the existence of the other. Some people are mirrored in the new world, versions of themselves that are either convincingly like the original, or their polar opposite, or something in between. The year is 19, nineteen years after the creation of Empire State, and the war slogs on, and the strange, violent bureaucracy that runs the city and persecutes the war tightens up the rationing and prohibition that make life even darker in Empire State.

This is a novel of surreal resonances, things that are like other things, plot turns that hearken to other plot turns. It's often fascinating, as captivating as a kaleidoscope, especially if you don't spend too much time trying to figure out the mechanics of the setup, the physics of the worlds. Just let it wash over you, the way that Jonathan Lethem's phildickian debut Gun, With Occasional Music does, and don't think too hard -- just feel it in all its weird glory.

This is a promising debut, and the publisher, Angry Robot, is pursuing a great promotion: WorldBuilder, "our way of reaching out to the fan creator communities, to invite you to come play in our yard." It's an official, sanctioned place where fans and pros can work together to create new media inspired by Empire State and its superheroes, hard-boiled dicks, traitors, madmen, cult leaders, and endless war.

Empire State

(Thanks, Sohagan!)

Math Girls [bentobooks.com]]]> http://boingboing.net/2011/10/06/math-girls-novel-is-glee-for-math-nerds.html/feed 18 http://boingboing.net/2011/09/20/getting-off-a-novel-of-sex-violence-excerpt-from-a-new-hard-case-crime-novel-by-lawrence-block.html http://boingboing.net/2011/09/20/getting-off-a-novel-of-sex-violence-excerpt-from-a-new-hard-case-crime-novel-by-lawrence-block.html#comments Tue, 20 Sep 2011 14:41:18 +0000 Mark Frauenfelder http://boingboing.net/?p=117697 If you are a fan of hardboiled fiction, you probably know about Hard Case Crime, a pulp-noir book imprint founded by the founder Juno Online Services, Charles Ardai. Recently, Titan books has become the publisher, and their slate of upcoming books looks great.

Here's an exclusive excerpt from Getting Off: A Novel of Sex & Violence, by veteran crime novelist Lawrence Block.

The fellow’s name in Kansas City was Lucas. She’d taken note of him early on, and his eyes had shown a certain degree of interest in her, but his interest mounted when she told the group how many sexual partners she’d had. It was he who’d said, “Five? That’s all? Just five?” When she’d confirmed her count, his eyes grabbed hers and held on.

And now he’d taken her to another bar, the lounge of the Hotel Phillips, a nice quiet place where they could really get to know each other. Just the two of them.

The lighting was soft, the décor soothing. A pianist played show tunes unobtrusively, and a waitress with an indeterminate accent took their order and brought their drinks. They touched glasses, sipped, and he said, “Five.”

“That really did it for you,” she said. “What, is it your lucky number?”

“Actually,” he said, “my lucky number is six.”

“I see.”

“You were never married.”

“No.”

“Never lived with anybody.”

“Only my parents.”

“You don’t still live with them?”

“No.”

“You live alone?”

“I have a roommate.”

“A woman, you mean.”

“Right.”

“Uh, the two of you aren’t…”

“We have separate beds,” she said, “in separate rooms, and we live separate lives.”

“Right. Were you ever, uh, in a convent or anything?”

She gave him a look.

“Because you’re remarkably attractive, you walk into a room and you light it up, and I can imagine the number of guys who must hit on you on a daily basis. And you’re how old? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three.”

“And you’ve only been with five guys? What, were you a late bloomer?”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“I’m sorry, I’m pressing and I shouldn’t. It’s just that, well, I can’t help being fascinated. But the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

The conversation wasn’t making her uncomfortable. It was merely boring her. Was there any reason to prolong it? Was there any reason not to cut to the chase?

She’d already slipped one foot out of its shoe, and now she raised it and rested it on his lap, massaging his groin with the ball of her foot. The expression on his face was reward enough all by itself.

“My turn to ask questions,” she said. “Do you live with your parents?”

“You’re kidding, right? Of course not.”

“Do you have a roommate?”

“Not since college, and that was a while ago.”

“So” she said. “What are we waiting for?”

----

Lucas lived alone in a large L-shaped studio apartment on the top floor of a new building. “I’m the first tenant the place has ever had,” he told her. “I’ve never lived in something brand spanking new before. It’s like I’ve taken the apartment’s virginity.”

“Now you can take mine.”

“Not quite. But this is better. Remember, I told you my lucky number.”

“Six.”

“There you go.”

And just when, she wondered, had six become his lucky number? When she’d acknowledged five partners? Probably, but never mind.
It was a good enough line, and one he was no doubt feeling proud of right about now, because it had worked, hadn’t it?

As if he’d had any chance of failing…

He made drinks, and they kissed, and she was pleased but not surprised to note that the requisite chemistry was there. And, keeping it company, there was that delicious surge of anticipatory excitement that was always present on such occasions. It was at once sexual and non-sexual, and she felt it even when the chemistry was not present, even when the sexual act was destined to be perfunctory at best, and at worst distasteful. Even then she’d feel that rush, that urgent excitement, but it was greatly increased when she knew the sex was going to be good.

He excused himself and went to the bathroom, and she opened her purse and found the little unlabeled vial she kept in the change compartment. She looked at it and at the drink he’d left on the table, but in the end she left the vial in her purse, left his drink untouched.

As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered. When he emerged from the bathroom he reached not for his drink but for her instead, and it was as good as she’d known it would be, inventive and eager and passionate, and finally they fell away from each other, spent and sated.

“Wow,” he said.

“That’s the right word for it.”

“You think? It’s the best I can come up with, and yet it somehow seems inadequate. You’re—”

“What?”

“Amazing. I have to say this, I can’t help it. It’s almost impossible to believe you’ve had so little experience.”

“Because I’m clearly jaded?”

“No, just because you’re so good at it. And in a way that’s the complete opposite of jaded. I swear to God this is the last time I’ll ask you, but were you telling the truth? Have you really only been with five men?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he said, “now it’s six, isn’t it?”

“Your lucky number, right?”

“Luckier than ever,” he said.

“Lucky for me, too.”

She was glad she hadn’t put anything in his drink, because after a brief rest they made love again, and that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

“Still six,” he told her afterward, “unless you figure I ought to get extra credit.”

She said something, her voice soft and soothing, and he said something, and that went on until he stopped responding. She lay beside him, in that familiar but ever-new combination of afterglow and anticipation, and then finally she slipped out of bed, and a little while later she let herself out of his apartment.

All by herself in the descending elevator, she said out loud, “Five.”

The Hard Case Crime site has another excerpt

Getting Off: A Novel of Sex & Violence