The dear and departed LL has been nagging me to finish 'Enders Game', by Orson Scott Card, so I did, last night.
First off, why does he need two first names? Isn't that a little pretentious? I think so, and rawther gay.
And I think pretentious is the theme throughout the book. Asking me to swallow several major premises without giving me the slightest reason or incentive as to why I should. So I didn't.
The book would have made a great novella, but like the children of the story might, at times, it suffered from swollen glands, and it's own stuffy prose and presumptions.
There were a couple of neat twists at the end, that were interesting and caught my attention, but it seemed like the author had gotten bored, and wanted to finish up. Just when it was getting interesting.
And I am SO tired of that Sci-Fi meme that states that if a monster or race is evil and wicked and murderous and scary all through the book, by the end, it must have just all been a misunderstanding, so why can't we all just get along?
I got yer fucking cocoon right here, baby. Two words...KER! and UUUNCH!!
Mister Card's physical descriptions of action were excellent. I always felt oriented in the space of his creation. But, I had not an ounce of sympathy for any of the characters. Not one ounce. And that is usually death for a book, to me, but I soldiered on and finished this one for LL.
I was never given a reason as to why Humanity deserved to survive at all, and in fact, began to actively root against it.
There was no joy in Mudville. That's what I took away. Joyless, gray people, existing merely to exist, and that, my friends, is why I do not read Science Fiction any more.