Popular Culture
Priest Movie Review Part 2
17/05/11 20:31
This is the second movie review of the movie Priest directed by Scott Charles Stewart is based on the graphic novel written by Hyung Min-woo. I posted the first one on Monday 16 May 2011. In the first review, I discussed Priest as a critique of the Catholic Church hierarchy over the sex abuse scandal. In this critique, I want to focus on the movie as a dystopia.
A dystopia is the reverse of a utopia: where a utopia is a paradise, a dystopia is hell. Generally speaking, a piece of dystopian literature takes one or two facets of human life and magnifies it to highlight the way it disrupts and destroys human life. (Noticeably: someone's dystopia can often be another's utopia: consider Plato's republic.)
If we view Priest as a dystopian movie, not just for the Catholic Church, but for the wider society, what do we see?
Immediately we recognize a particular view of the role of religion in politics. During the vampire wars, the Church in the movie defended the people, particularly by training priests and sending them out to destroy those who would destroy human life. At the time of the movie, though, religion has become a tool of control: to defy the church is to defy God.
Thus, Priest is a critique of the power of religion as a means of control in life, and, in this case, I imagine of the Christian right and other forms of fundamentalism. This topic is a familiar one with dystopian literature (for instance, V for Vendetta).
Seen through this lens, then, Priest shows us what can happen if we rely to heavily on fundamentalist religion to protect us from terrorists. The vampires would be terrorists and the church an example of some fundamental group. If we cede too much control to the fundamentalist group, not only will we lose any freedom, but we will also be unprotected from those terrorists.
Interestingly enough, the movie never explains why the church decided to put the remaining vampires on reservations rather than eradicating them altogether. Of course, the point might be so that there is always the threat of vampires that can be used to keep the populace in line. This too is a common theme among dystopian literature: one way to ensure control of a populace is to give them a common enemy outside the state to fear: Brave New World. 1984, Brazil, and many other pieces of dystopian literature and movies share this theme. And it is one we should be constantly vigilant for. We've seen repeatedly the attempt to remove freedoms in the name of security.
Seen through this lens, then, it's unclear that Priest adds anything to the dystopian genre. We know about the power of fundamentalism and about the hidden enemy. But, the threat is real enough that, as a reminder of the possibility of this dystopia, the movie serves a useful purpose. While the movie is violent, the gore remains minimal particularly by today's cinema standards. The acting is so-so, except for Karl Urban (Star Trek) who plays a wonderful Black Hat. The movie is filmed well. I saw it in 3-D. Though not as spectacular as Avatar, the cinematography proved rewarding.
Would I recommend that everyone rush out to see the movie? No. I'd recommend checking out the graphic novel first, or reading some other piece of dystopian literature or watching a different dystopian film (Avatar, Bladerunner, Children of Men) first. But for an afternoon or evening's entertainment, the film is worth seeing and enjoyable.
A dystopia is the reverse of a utopia: where a utopia is a paradise, a dystopia is hell. Generally speaking, a piece of dystopian literature takes one or two facets of human life and magnifies it to highlight the way it disrupts and destroys human life. (Noticeably: someone's dystopia can often be another's utopia: consider Plato's republic.)
If we view Priest as a dystopian movie, not just for the Catholic Church, but for the wider society, what do we see?
Immediately we recognize a particular view of the role of religion in politics. During the vampire wars, the Church in the movie defended the people, particularly by training priests and sending them out to destroy those who would destroy human life. At the time of the movie, though, religion has become a tool of control: to defy the church is to defy God.
Thus, Priest is a critique of the power of religion as a means of control in life, and, in this case, I imagine of the Christian right and other forms of fundamentalism. This topic is a familiar one with dystopian literature (for instance, V for Vendetta).
Seen through this lens, then, Priest shows us what can happen if we rely to heavily on fundamentalist religion to protect us from terrorists. The vampires would be terrorists and the church an example of some fundamental group. If we cede too much control to the fundamentalist group, not only will we lose any freedom, but we will also be unprotected from those terrorists.
Interestingly enough, the movie never explains why the church decided to put the remaining vampires on reservations rather than eradicating them altogether. Of course, the point might be so that there is always the threat of vampires that can be used to keep the populace in line. This too is a common theme among dystopian literature: one way to ensure control of a populace is to give them a common enemy outside the state to fear: Brave New World. 1984, Brazil, and many other pieces of dystopian literature and movies share this theme. And it is one we should be constantly vigilant for. We've seen repeatedly the attempt to remove freedoms in the name of security.
Seen through this lens, then, it's unclear that Priest adds anything to the dystopian genre. We know about the power of fundamentalism and about the hidden enemy. But, the threat is real enough that, as a reminder of the possibility of this dystopia, the movie serves a useful purpose. While the movie is violent, the gore remains minimal particularly by today's cinema standards. The acting is so-so, except for Karl Urban (Star Trek) who plays a wonderful Black Hat. The movie is filmed well. I saw it in 3-D. Though not as spectacular as Avatar, the cinematography proved rewarding.
Would I recommend that everyone rush out to see the movie? No. I'd recommend checking out the graphic novel first, or reading some other piece of dystopian literature or watching a different dystopian film (Avatar, Bladerunner, Children of Men) first. But for an afternoon or evening's entertainment, the film is worth seeing and enjoyable.
Comments
Priest -- Movie Review Part 1
16/05/11 18:33
The movie Priest directed by Scott Charles Stewart is based on the graphic novel written by Hyung Min-woo. I have not read the graphic novel, so my comments here are based strictly on the movie. (I do want to read the graphic novel now that I've seen the movie.)
The basic plotline is this: the world is divided between vampires and human beings. The war was going poorly for the human beings, until a group of human individuals with superior strength and speed arrived on the scene. They were organized by the church as priests and fought back against the vampire menace. After the war, vampires were relegated to reservations and priests were disbanded and lived meager lives in a society unwilling to accept them. Until, the (illicit) daughter of one priest is kidnapped by vampires and he sets out on a rogue mission to gain her back. The church hierarchy opposes his mission and sends others after him. What you have here is an action movie with two power groups in a dystopian world in which human beings are secluded in dark cities controlled by the church.
It doesn't take much to see that the church in the movie represents any general church but specifically the Catholic church. Further, the monsignors, who control the city and the priests, represent the hierarchy of the Catholic church -- bishops, cardinals, and pop. One central conflict of the story, then, is that between the everyday priest who fights for the people and the hierarchy.
If one sees that basic conflict, it isn't a leap, I think, to see that one issue the movie plays with is that of a hierarchy that tries to hide a secret -- that vampires are still out there ready to destroy us. The fact that the vampires kidnap a young girl calls to mind the Church abuse scandals -- even though it is a girl that is kidnapped. The fact that the rogue priest is her father should call to mind that priests are often seen as the father of the members of their flock. So, we can see a blatant criticism of the Catholic church hiding the bad guys -- those who abuse children -- from the rest of the world and willing to condemn any priest who exposes them.
Except two problems emerge here: first, it's not clear that there's any evidence that the Catholic church actually threatened sanctions against a priest willing to expose the dark secret of sexual abuse. Certainly, the hierarchy did not pursue and condemn the abusive ministers enough and they switched them from one parish to another -- here we see the reservation of the vampires in the film -- but I'm not aware of any priests that were threatened for revealing the scandal.
The second problem is with the movie itself: it's unclear to what extent the monsignors in the movie are aware of the vampires and to what extent they sanction vampire activity outside of the cities. Does the monsignor really believe there is no vampire threat or is he just trying to keep people from anarchy by hiding the threat? The reason this proves relevant is that the monsignor would have to actively be hiding something he knew existed in order for it to mirror what happened in the Catholic Church abuse scandal. Perhaps the graphic novel makes this clearer, but the movie does not.
Which brings me to a criticism of the movie: the movie seems torn between being an action movie with little concern for plot thread or motive and being a thinking person's movie that looks at motives and power struggles. While the movie hints at certain things concerning motives for the monsignor, it does not make clear what the monsignors believe or know and what their motivations are in denying the vampire threat which has clearly surfaced. So it is hard to assess the value of the movie as a dystopian piece focused on the real world.
I will have more to say about this in part 2 of the review tomorrow. In that, I will examine the movie, not from the lens of the Catholic Church and the sex abuse scandal, but from the lens of the wider society.
The basic plotline is this: the world is divided between vampires and human beings. The war was going poorly for the human beings, until a group of human individuals with superior strength and speed arrived on the scene. They were organized by the church as priests and fought back against the vampire menace. After the war, vampires were relegated to reservations and priests were disbanded and lived meager lives in a society unwilling to accept them. Until, the (illicit) daughter of one priest is kidnapped by vampires and he sets out on a rogue mission to gain her back. The church hierarchy opposes his mission and sends others after him. What you have here is an action movie with two power groups in a dystopian world in which human beings are secluded in dark cities controlled by the church.
It doesn't take much to see that the church in the movie represents any general church but specifically the Catholic church. Further, the monsignors, who control the city and the priests, represent the hierarchy of the Catholic church -- bishops, cardinals, and pop. One central conflict of the story, then, is that between the everyday priest who fights for the people and the hierarchy.
If one sees that basic conflict, it isn't a leap, I think, to see that one issue the movie plays with is that of a hierarchy that tries to hide a secret -- that vampires are still out there ready to destroy us. The fact that the vampires kidnap a young girl calls to mind the Church abuse scandals -- even though it is a girl that is kidnapped. The fact that the rogue priest is her father should call to mind that priests are often seen as the father of the members of their flock. So, we can see a blatant criticism of the Catholic church hiding the bad guys -- those who abuse children -- from the rest of the world and willing to condemn any priest who exposes them.
Except two problems emerge here: first, it's not clear that there's any evidence that the Catholic church actually threatened sanctions against a priest willing to expose the dark secret of sexual abuse. Certainly, the hierarchy did not pursue and condemn the abusive ministers enough and they switched them from one parish to another -- here we see the reservation of the vampires in the film -- but I'm not aware of any priests that were threatened for revealing the scandal.
The second problem is with the movie itself: it's unclear to what extent the monsignors in the movie are aware of the vampires and to what extent they sanction vampire activity outside of the cities. Does the monsignor really believe there is no vampire threat or is he just trying to keep people from anarchy by hiding the threat? The reason this proves relevant is that the monsignor would have to actively be hiding something he knew existed in order for it to mirror what happened in the Catholic Church abuse scandal. Perhaps the graphic novel makes this clearer, but the movie does not.
Which brings me to a criticism of the movie: the movie seems torn between being an action movie with little concern for plot thread or motive and being a thinking person's movie that looks at motives and power struggles. While the movie hints at certain things concerning motives for the monsignor, it does not make clear what the monsignors believe or know and what their motivations are in denying the vampire threat which has clearly surfaced. So it is hard to assess the value of the movie as a dystopian piece focused on the real world.
I will have more to say about this in part 2 of the review tomorrow. In that, I will examine the movie, not from the lens of the Catholic Church and the sex abuse scandal, but from the lens of the wider society.
Underwater Houses and Self-Reliance
15/03/11 16:30
In a post from the American Heritage Foundation about American exceptionalism, I found this little line:
All of these American ideals––political freedom and autonomy, citizen independence and self-reliance, limited government, religion, patriotism, and nationalist autonomy backed up by vigorous military power—comprise American exceptionalism.
Just before that, I heard on the radio that 20% of home foreclosures in the US are strategic ones: that is, even though the home owner has the capability to make the payments, they make the financial decision to walk away from a home that’s under water -- one on which they owe more than the home is valued at.
I thought about what this meant with respect to the idea of self-reliance. Yet, I was not thinking about how these people failed in self-reliance. Rather, I had in mind the way that the notion of self-reliance in fact keeps people in a situation which is financially untenable. Why?
We have an idea in America, broadcast on the movie screen over and over again, of the “man” who has “true grit” and is able to pull himself up by his boot straps. He is reliant -- no matter the cost to him, he will not fail in his obligations freely taken. This person is independent and autonomous in the strict meaning of the term: that is, the person is a law unto himself. AS my reference to Ture Grit shows, this idea applies to women as much as man, for the true hero of that book and movie is Mattie Ross, not Rooster Cogburn.
It is this idea that makes Americans pay untold prices to fulfill their obligations.
Yet, as America has evolved with the rise of capitalism, we’ve seen that corporations lack any notion of self-reliance. The corporate bail-out is only one example of such lack. In the case of under water houses, banks bear no costs and everyday citizens, who were most often swindled by a swift sales talk, bear the cost, while banks and others walk away stashing money away.
Why should the one least able to bear the burden be the sole one to bear it?
While self-reliance is a wonderful, bold idea, it is unrealistic in practice. Mattie would not have survived had it not been for Cogburn and Le Beouff. Our society cannot survive without a secure middle class of home owners. And banks could not survive except as free-riders on the backs of the rest of us.
I do not deny that people ought to honor their obligations. Rather, I suggest that honoring obligations must occur within a social milieu that makes the honoring of obligations a reasonable thing to do, rather than an irrational act in an irrational system.
All of these American ideals––political freedom and autonomy, citizen independence and self-reliance, limited government, religion, patriotism, and nationalist autonomy backed up by vigorous military power—comprise American exceptionalism.
Just before that, I heard on the radio that 20% of home foreclosures in the US are strategic ones: that is, even though the home owner has the capability to make the payments, they make the financial decision to walk away from a home that’s under water -- one on which they owe more than the home is valued at.
I thought about what this meant with respect to the idea of self-reliance. Yet, I was not thinking about how these people failed in self-reliance. Rather, I had in mind the way that the notion of self-reliance in fact keeps people in a situation which is financially untenable. Why?
We have an idea in America, broadcast on the movie screen over and over again, of the “man” who has “true grit” and is able to pull himself up by his boot straps. He is reliant -- no matter the cost to him, he will not fail in his obligations freely taken. This person is independent and autonomous in the strict meaning of the term: that is, the person is a law unto himself. AS my reference to Ture Grit shows, this idea applies to women as much as man, for the true hero of that book and movie is Mattie Ross, not Rooster Cogburn.
It is this idea that makes Americans pay untold prices to fulfill their obligations.
Yet, as America has evolved with the rise of capitalism, we’ve seen that corporations lack any notion of self-reliance. The corporate bail-out is only one example of such lack. In the case of under water houses, banks bear no costs and everyday citizens, who were most often swindled by a swift sales talk, bear the cost, while banks and others walk away stashing money away.
Why should the one least able to bear the burden be the sole one to bear it?
While self-reliance is a wonderful, bold idea, it is unrealistic in practice. Mattie would not have survived had it not been for Cogburn and Le Beouff. Our society cannot survive without a secure middle class of home owners. And banks could not survive except as free-riders on the backs of the rest of us.
I do not deny that people ought to honor their obligations. Rather, I suggest that honoring obligations must occur within a social milieu that makes the honoring of obligations a reasonable thing to do, rather than an irrational act in an irrational system.
Watson's Relevance and Mattering to Us
03/03/11 20:54
In a eductive, My Dear Watson">recent post, I commented on the computer Watson that beat famous Jeopardy champion Ken Jennings. There, I discussed Dreyfus’ argument that computers can never be humans. In a recent editorial, Stanley Fish let Dreyfus speak about Watson.
Dreyfus notes that Watson belongs to a new kind of programming that tries to include responses and learning in the environment rather than strict programming to account for every situation. Yet, even here, Watson shows why computers fail to be like human beings: nothing matters to computers. Thus, Dreyfus writes “The fact is, things are relevant for human beings because at root we are beings for whom things matter. Relevance and mattering are two sides of the same coin.”
This insight helps explain some of our favorite robots in the history of science fiction. Asimov’s robot in I, Robot is concerned about the family he serves. They are relevant to him and they matter to him. Particularly their welfare. This same notion of concern for others is kept, though in a different form, in the Will Smith movie I, Robot. In that movie, the robot is concerned both for his master, who he killed, and also for humanity as a whole.
If we turn our attention to perhaps the most famous robot of all, Data in Star Trek, we can discover another thing that matters to robots: being human. In the original Asimov story and throughout Star Trek: The Next Generation, the principal androids want to be human. In the Asimov story, the robot wants to be human so much, he has himself programmed to die so he can experience death. (Something can be said here about Heidegger and his notion of being towards death, but that will be for another time.) In Star Trek, Data is constantly seeking to be human by having emotions. In both cases, being human matter to the robots/androids. What science fiction reveals, then, is that for a robot to seem human to us, they must be concerned about something -- something must matter to them.
Of course, being relevant and mattering are, in the end, aspects of our bodily existence. The phenomenologist Max Scheler points this out most clearly. Our life drives direct our perception and help shape the world for us. That is, the world matters to us because we have drives that motivate us to act on the world.
The question remains whether the new approach of scientists working in AI (artificial intelligence) can bridge the gap between having no concerns to being embedded in relevance and mattering the way human beings are. Dreyfus seems to see some hope here. I think, on the other hand, that if scientists can make this move, it won’t be a robot or android that we have worked from, but some hybrid of animal/human/computer.
Dreyfus notes that Watson belongs to a new kind of programming that tries to include responses and learning in the environment rather than strict programming to account for every situation. Yet, even here, Watson shows why computers fail to be like human beings: nothing matters to computers. Thus, Dreyfus writes “The fact is, things are relevant for human beings because at root we are beings for whom things matter. Relevance and mattering are two sides of the same coin.”
This insight helps explain some of our favorite robots in the history of science fiction. Asimov’s robot in I, Robot is concerned about the family he serves. They are relevant to him and they matter to him. Particularly their welfare. This same notion of concern for others is kept, though in a different form, in the Will Smith movie I, Robot. In that movie, the robot is concerned both for his master, who he killed, and also for humanity as a whole.
If we turn our attention to perhaps the most famous robot of all, Data in Star Trek, we can discover another thing that matters to robots: being human. In the original Asimov story and throughout Star Trek: The Next Generation, the principal androids want to be human. In the Asimov story, the robot wants to be human so much, he has himself programmed to die so he can experience death. (Something can be said here about Heidegger and his notion of being towards death, but that will be for another time.) In Star Trek, Data is constantly seeking to be human by having emotions. In both cases, being human matter to the robots/androids. What science fiction reveals, then, is that for a robot to seem human to us, they must be concerned about something -- something must matter to them.
Of course, being relevant and mattering are, in the end, aspects of our bodily existence. The phenomenologist Max Scheler points this out most clearly. Our life drives direct our perception and help shape the world for us. That is, the world matters to us because we have drives that motivate us to act on the world.
The question remains whether the new approach of scientists working in AI (artificial intelligence) can bridge the gap between having no concerns to being embedded in relevance and mattering the way human beings are. Dreyfus seems to see some hope here. I think, on the other hand, that if scientists can make this move, it won’t be a robot or android that we have worked from, but some hybrid of animal/human/computer.
True Grit
10/01/11 22:17
I took the opportunity to watch the Coen brothers’ version of True Grit yesterday. I think I remember seeing the John Wayne version way back when, but I don’t remember much about it. I did, however, read the book by Portis before seeing the latest movie.
Stanley Fish has also commented on the recent installment. He concludes that True Grit is a religious movie. Religion in this movie I “is everything, not despite but because of its refusal to resolve or soften the dilemmas the narrative delivers up.” That dilemma, according to Fish, is that Grace is given freely -- arbitrarily -- by God regardless of whether one is good or bad in life. Mattie our heroine, for instance, loses her arm and lives as a spinster after avenging her father’s death. Fish does not consider, as one commentator on his blog points out, that “Justice is mine saith the Lord,” which could mean that Mattie is bad, just as bad maybe, as Ned Pepper or Tom Chaney, who killed her father. And, I think it is quite clear throughout the novel and the movie that Rooster Cogburn is no saint.
Fish’s conclusion hinges on his interpretation of a particular sentence that the book and movie share. Fish writes
“The springs of that universe are revealed to us by the narrator-heroine Mattie in words that appear both in Charles Portis’s novel and the two films, but with a difference. The words the book and films share are these: “You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free with the exception of God’s grace.” These two sentences suggest a world in which everything comes around, if not sooner then later. The accounting is strict; nothing is free, except the grace of God. But free can bear two readings — distributed freely, just come and pick it up; or distributed in a way that exhibits no discernible pattern. In one reading grace is given to anyone and everyone; in the other it is given only to those whom God chooses for reasons that remain mysterious.”
Fish sees two ways of understanding how “grace” is free: either one can go up to the lunch line and get it or God gives it to whomever God wants regardless of whether the person deserves it or not. Because Mattie’s world is so hard, and things just happen to good people and bad people, Fish concludes that grace is given indiscriminately by God to whomever God chooses. In many ways, this interpretation is quite Augustinian. Augustine makes it quite clear that if God must give grace to those who deserve and cannot give grace to those who do not deserve it, then we violate the Divine Will. God’s Will cannot be bound by our logic. God gives grace to whom God deems to give it to, good or bad. In this sense, the Coen film and the Portis novel are, not only religious, but Augustinian and protestant.
Yet, I would suggest that a third way presents itself for understand freely. Perhaps we don’t go to the lunch line to pick up grace if we want, and God does not give it to just anyone. Perhaps God gives grace to everyone at judgment day. Portis’ novel clearly depicts the harshness of life and the insight that we know from the Book of Job that the good often suffer and the bad often are rewarded. Yet, grace need not be given in this life, which is what I think the novel truly depicts. Grace is free, but everything else you have to pay for.
Of course, we know that isn’t true either. But perhaps rethinking our conception of grace might help us accept that fact of the present world.
Stanley Fish has also commented on the recent installment. He concludes that True Grit is a religious movie. Religion in this movie I “is everything, not despite but because of its refusal to resolve or soften the dilemmas the narrative delivers up.” That dilemma, according to Fish, is that Grace is given freely -- arbitrarily -- by God regardless of whether one is good or bad in life. Mattie our heroine, for instance, loses her arm and lives as a spinster after avenging her father’s death. Fish does not consider, as one commentator on his blog points out, that “Justice is mine saith the Lord,” which could mean that Mattie is bad, just as bad maybe, as Ned Pepper or Tom Chaney, who killed her father. And, I think it is quite clear throughout the novel and the movie that Rooster Cogburn is no saint.
Fish’s conclusion hinges on his interpretation of a particular sentence that the book and movie share. Fish writes
“The springs of that universe are revealed to us by the narrator-heroine Mattie in words that appear both in Charles Portis’s novel and the two films, but with a difference. The words the book and films share are these: “You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free with the exception of God’s grace.” These two sentences suggest a world in which everything comes around, if not sooner then later. The accounting is strict; nothing is free, except the grace of God. But free can bear two readings — distributed freely, just come and pick it up; or distributed in a way that exhibits no discernible pattern. In one reading grace is given to anyone and everyone; in the other it is given only to those whom God chooses for reasons that remain mysterious.”
Fish sees two ways of understanding how “grace” is free: either one can go up to the lunch line and get it or God gives it to whomever God wants regardless of whether the person deserves it or not. Because Mattie’s world is so hard, and things just happen to good people and bad people, Fish concludes that grace is given indiscriminately by God to whomever God chooses. In many ways, this interpretation is quite Augustinian. Augustine makes it quite clear that if God must give grace to those who deserve and cannot give grace to those who do not deserve it, then we violate the Divine Will. God’s Will cannot be bound by our logic. God gives grace to whom God deems to give it to, good or bad. In this sense, the Coen film and the Portis novel are, not only religious, but Augustinian and protestant.
Yet, I would suggest that a third way presents itself for understand freely. Perhaps we don’t go to the lunch line to pick up grace if we want, and God does not give it to just anyone. Perhaps God gives grace to everyone at judgment day. Portis’ novel clearly depicts the harshness of life and the insight that we know from the Book of Job that the good often suffer and the bad often are rewarded. Yet, grace need not be given in this life, which is what I think the novel truly depicts. Grace is free, but everything else you have to pay for.
Of course, we know that isn’t true either. But perhaps rethinking our conception of grace might help us accept that fact of the present world.
Fiction I read in 2009
07/01/10 23:05
These are the fiction books I recall reading in 2009.
1. Dune
2. Dune Messiah
3. Children of Dune
4. God-Emperor of Dune
5. Heretics of Dune
6. Chapterhouse: Dune
7. Empire of Fear
8. Sunglasses at Night
9. Succubus on Top
10. Succubus Dreams
11. Succubus Heat
12. Bone Crossed
13. The Road
14. Sunshine
15. Greywalker
16. Poltergeist
17. Vanished
18. Green
19. V for Vendetta
20. The Handmaid's Tale
21. The Golden City
Wow, there's a lot more here than I had guessed. I read Bone Crossed in one day while on vacation in L. A. I was exhausted from driving for 3 days straight and just collapsed with book in hand. It's the third in the Mercy Thompson series by Patricia Briggs, and I enjoy it more than the Anita Blake novels. The surprises for me were Sunglasses at Night, a vampire novel, and Green a novel by Jay Lake, which I enjoyed and which was stepped in steam punk. I've read about five or six steam punk novels and have not liked any of them.
Sunshine is my favorite book on the list. I highly recommend it. It's vampires, but not the usual stuff. Neil Gaiman says, of Sunshine, "Nearly perfect."
1. Dune
2. Dune Messiah
3. Children of Dune
4. God-Emperor of Dune
5. Heretics of Dune
6. Chapterhouse: Dune
7. Empire of Fear
8. Sunglasses at Night
9. Succubus on Top
10. Succubus Dreams
11. Succubus Heat
12. Bone Crossed
13. The Road
14. Sunshine
15. Greywalker
16. Poltergeist
17. Vanished
18. Green
19. V for Vendetta
20. The Handmaid's Tale
21. The Golden City
Wow, there's a lot more here than I had guessed. I read Bone Crossed in one day while on vacation in L. A. I was exhausted from driving for 3 days straight and just collapsed with book in hand. It's the third in the Mercy Thompson series by Patricia Briggs, and I enjoy it more than the Anita Blake novels. The surprises for me were Sunglasses at Night, a vampire novel, and Green a novel by Jay Lake, which I enjoyed and which was stepped in steam punk. I've read about five or six steam punk novels and have not liked any of them.
Sunshine is my favorite book on the list. I highly recommend it. It's vampires, but not the usual stuff. Neil Gaiman says, of Sunshine, "Nearly perfect."