One can’t help but delight in the antics of Captain Frey of the airship The Kitty Jay. A swashbuckling rapscallion, he has an ego unsurpassed by his wit or his morals. Lately, however, he has found that his normally self-centered ethics are undergoing an uncomfortable transformation as he discovers he cares about his crew of misfits. The crew’s been together on The Kitty for awhile now, and they are finally feeling flush with success after their most recent exploits (The Black Lung Captain). The crew includes Crake, the “highly educated and eloquent” daemonist and his metal golem, Bess; Pinn, more muscle than brain, but determined to be an inventor; Harkins, a stellar flier with a severe anxiety disorder; Silo, a former slave with a mysterious past; Malvery, a doctor with a drinking problem; Jez, “who was half-daemon, and who was dead by most people’s standards”; and Slag, the irascible cat.

“Crake was less than impressed. He’d been expecting someone fiercely intense, a wild-eyed savage of some kind. Instead he’d found a giant bearded raisin.“

Characterization is exceptional, though undoubtedly many readers will recognize crew members as character archetypes from other sources. I couldn’t help but imagine Frey as Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean as I read, but many reviewers cite Captain Mal Reynolds in Firefly as well. It’s a compliment to Wooding, really, that he can weave a such glorious tale of adventure that it calls to mind other stories and characters we love. While the narrative largely follows Frey, it also spends time with each member of the crew. As they each undergo their own personal crisis, there’s opportunity for emotional development outside of Frey’s more egotistical perspective.  Wooding nicely captures the feel of a band of misfits choosing to trust each other even as they make contingency plans: Crake thought [Pinn] an odious, immoral dimwit with the intelligence of a cough drop, but he was crew, so that was that.“

One of the challenges with characterization is how to have them handle conflict without endangering sympathy for the character. Wooding gauges the line nicely, creating Frey as a Jack Sparrow-like weasel whose morals usually come through in the end. When his crew questions him about the latest heist, Frey finds himself flailing as he tries to justify the plan:

“‘Aren’t we the bad guys?’ Pinn asked suddenly.
They all stared at him. He shrugged. ‘Well, I mean, we’re robbing them, right?’
‘We’re never the bad guys!’ said Frey, horrified at the suggestion. He was surprised the moral objection had come from Pinn rather than Crake. Pinn didn’t have any morals, so he probably just wanted the attention.
[...]
‘Plus,’ he raised a finger, ‘those on that train are gonna be armed guards. They’re paid to get shot. If people like us didn’t try to rob trains, they’d be out of a job.’
‘We’re providing employment opportunities now?’ Crake asked, deadpan.
‘Exactly!’ said Frey. ‘Greasing the wheels of foreign capital, and that.’
‘Cap’n,’ said Crake. ‘I do believe you know as much about economics as Pinn does about hygiene.’
Malvery mopped his pate, which had reddened and begun to peel. ‘Look, as long as we stop short of killing women and children, and we ain’t shooting adorable little puppy dogs in the face, I’m in.’“

Plotting is fun, with a typical heist scenario leading to one complication after another. Much like a movie, Iron Jackal opens with a shootout and foot chase, Frey outdoing his normal cowardly efforts as he chases Ashua, a former street urchin with valuable intel. Once Ashua is on board, the heist proceeds, only to lead to unfortunate consequences, unsurprisingly caused by Frey. The crew rallies round him even as each faces doubts and set off after the MacGuffin. But what an entertaining journey along the way! A variety of setting and political situations keeps the action from feeling repetitive. The end engagement is a unexpected, complex situation that points to the direction for the next book –but is not a cliff-hanger for this one.

Tone and voice are wonderfully balanced, able to maintain a degree of suspense and uncertainty while cracking jokes along the way. Witty dialogue is tempered by emotional turmoil, which places it a step or two above many action-focused stories. Frey and Ashua have a Beatrice and Benedick repartee (Much Ado About Nothing), while Crake frequently makes word jokes that only Ashua (and hopefully, the reader) understands:

“‘Why do I need a dictionary?’ Frey complained.
‘No reason,’ said Ashua. ‘Now let’s get down there and mortify some guards.’
Frey was caught in one of those moments when he didn’t know what somebody meant and couldn’t decide whether to pretend he did or not.
Pinn groaned, as if explaining things to Frey was extraordinarily tiresome. ‘Mordant means dead, don’t it? So mortify means kill, obviously. They even sound the same. Right?’ He looked at Ashua, who nodded encouragingly.
‘Oh,’ said Frey. “Oh! Let’s mortify some guards. I’m with you now. Didn’t hear you right the first time, that’s all.’
Crake and Ashua exchanged a glance, though it was hard to tell its meaning behind their goggles. Malvery tutted to himself. Frey had the distinct impression that a joke was being had at his expense, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.’“

Extremely readable, it’s one of those books that swaggers into your afternoon, says, “don’t mind if I do,” kicking off boots and placing feet on coffee table. For the right mood, priceless.

Recently I’ve been told I’m tough to please.

Here’s what I know about books: their experience is highly subjective. Not only to book details like plot, setting and characterization, but also to the reader’s place and time, their mood, the book format and surrounding distractions.

I had minimal hopes when I picked up Broken Angels, despite enjoying Altered Carbon immensely. I’m the sort of reader that previews some reads through reviews, and I noticed that many people felt this wasn’t as strong as Altered Carbon.  They were wrong; for me, it was much better.

It’s the twenty-fifth century (no, not Duck Dodgers) and humanity has advanced its technical knowledge enough to be able to digitize personality by means of a small ‘cortical stack’ placed near the spinal column. It holds personality and memories up until death. If the cortical stack is undamaged, after death it can be placed in another body, whether vat-grown or organic, and the person resumes consciousness at the point they died. Significant other technological advancements include colonizing solar systems, thanks to star and planetary maps discovered in abandoned Martian ruins. Takeshi Kovacs was born on one of those far-flung worlds, served in the military, and joined the specialized and highly trained Envoys (think enhanced SEALs), left after disillusionment, and then become self-employed, more or less. He is currently contracted as a soldier on the backwater world of Sanction IV as a member of Wedge Command, an elite mercenary force employed by the government. A man named Kemp is leading an insurrection, but the intergalactic Protectorate has yet to officially interfere, as the local government insists this is a ‘domestic matter.’ While in a hospital ship recovering from his latest injuries, Kovacs is approached by a pilot who wants his help finding and selling access to a hidden Martian stargate and the abandoned spaceship on the other side of the gate. Successfully selling their knowledge could mean a ticket off the war-torn world and financial riches. What follows is a classic plot of putting the team together, pursuing their quest and then protecting it until they can stake their claim on it. They face a variety of obstacles including the civil war raging around them and adversaries who know more than they should.

True to the action tradition, plot is fast-moving and evolves quickly. By chapter three, Kovacs is putting team together. It held together well, with the question of success ratcheted up by violence, unclear motivations and technological twists. Although it may seem that the cortical stacks bring a level of safety, resulting in a need to bring video-game level violence to the equation, Morgan is still able to create tension and fear in the reader in a number of ways.

Kovacs’ disenchanted, battle-scarred characterization is a strong point of the book. Morgan states he was strongly influenced by the noir tradition, as well as the political setting during the Reagan-Thatcher years, and Norse mythology around heroes. He states in the same interview, “there was a sense of moral bankruptcy in the air, a sense of failed ideals, and Kovacs walked right out of those ruins.” It is absolutely one of my favorite things about his writing; however unsubtle the violence may be, the finesse with which he creates Kovacs’ state of mind is fabulous. Although not all characters are complicated, Kovacs is one of the more ambiguous anti-heroes I’ve seen.

The space setting ended up being an unexpected standout. While I first expected the Martian ruins to be a quest MacGuffin, I was soon proved wrong. The value of the ruins proved to be a philosophical discussion point, true, but they also became just kick-butt cool.

Down-rating comes from sex scenes that largely felt gratuitous and not particularly important to plot or character-building (but no doubt pleasing to the cinematic eye). They were largely ineffective to building a sense of emotional engagement between Kovacs and the character, particularly as Kovacs keeps referencing the dash of “wolf splice” in his soldier genetic make-up that accounts for fierce loyalty to the group. I also felt like the transitions between chapters were rougher than they needed to be. While I’m a fan of immersive world-building, chapters initially felt a little like river rocks that required a jump from one to the next, instead of linked steps on a bridge. I also felt like the spiritual component was less well-done, lacking clarity of intention and meaning. However, I may change my mind on re-read.

While Altered Carbon takes readers through the ins and outs of the ramifications of digitizing personality and body-switching, Broken Angels focuses more on the social and personal costs of the manipulations of the war machine by government and corporations. Perhaps the shift in style is why some felt it was inferior to Altered Carbon, which hailed from the noir school of the anti-hero private detective and focused more on individual economic disparity.  Personally, I found both to be very well done, with above average science fiction components. No doubt Broken Angels will make its way to my physical space-impaired library, because this is one I want to re-read.