Reading: Emma Newman — Planetfall

I’m not sure where I heard about this one, eh… feel like I’m gonna enter hatchet job land here. I really try to be more mature these days, not just go, “Aw wuz all fukkin’ shit, eh?” and have some nuance. Nuance, Frances, not war crimes.

I know have patience, I read Caroline Walker Bynum for pleasure. I got to about page 126 in Emma Newman’s Planetfall and thought, “OK, where’s this going? Doesn’t seem to be heading anywhere. What page am I up to?” and had a pretty solid conviction it was going nowhere. It didn’t. Maybe it did, I dunno. I finished it, no nuance here, fucking hated it.

Why did you hate it, Frances? Come on, put those analytic chops to chopping.

Well, Other Frances: It wa’ bollocks. There wa’ these people, right, an’ they were on another planet, that’s’posed to be around another sun or summat, definitely not Mars or whatever, where they’d been called to ’cos Aliens, but First Person Narrator kept saying “Millions of kilometres” (or miles, I dunno) from Earth. Which wouldn’t even put them much past the Moon. I was all, WTF? Kept thinking I’d missed something, but.

An’ they’re all scientists and engineers an’ shit, and they call this alien plant city beast—which is like a giant anus—God’s City. An’ they’re completely unironic. An’ one of them goes all fukkin’ Born Again Bitch and they do an Intervention on First Person Narrator cos this guy who’s turned up who’s a Right Cunt tells everyone to, an’ it turns out Narrator has a corpse in her cellar, which is the—fuck by the time that reveal came up I did not give a shit.

Bit sweary there, Frances, in a shite Glaswiegian accent.

I know, Other Frances, I’m trying to not go all ’Strayan on the swears. Oh and there was this cunt called a Cultural Advisor or summ’ing, who could only make references to Wizard of Oz and Amish, which is about as White American as you can get, which wouldn’t bother me—ok, only a bit—except they all had Korean and Diverse names, and Skin Colour, and there was this whole thing about living in Paris but it read like Trip Advisor, and they still sounded as white as a Wes Anderson. Without the twee. Fukkin’ educated Germans don’t even know what a barn raising is, why would bloody twenty-nth century Asian interstellar colonists be using that as a comparison for building a home for Right Cunt?

And the ending. She goes up to heaven like the Rapture. It was awful. Here’s a near-future Earth where we get our shit together just enough for a group of people from all over the world to master inter-fukking-stellar travel and planetary colonisation, and for the grand finale First Contact it’s Hail fukkin’ Mary all the way down.

It’s like finding some cunt swapped all your Gorgoroth for Stryper.