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For now, the worst has been faced and it wasn't so bad after all. There was that magic moment of reintegration and safety at the end, that same feeling that comes when the roller coaster stops at the end of its run and you get off with your best girl, both of you whole and unhurt.

Most, he was beginning to dread the curtain that might waver in his brain, blacking out the sense of danger, making a simpleton of him.

This whole book was exciting, but this is quite a climax.

The psychological transformation of each character and how it reflects who they were before in this story is probably the most fascinating part. It's not subtle, but it doesn't need to be to wield its full power. As Ralph is hunted to desperation, his mind is increasingly confused and foggy, but also, he adopts the language of the "savages." Piggy's choice of words right before his death maybe the same indicator.

Given what pure nightmare fuel this story is, I have to wonder if there's any connection to Stephen King's Castle Rock.

Interesting use of "castle" as the term for the creature's suspected lair, no introduction for the reader, just the intuitive understanding that children hear stories involving castles and adventure. That they might think of some daunting challenge as approaching a castle.

So much of this book is about the gulf between adult and childhood cognition, yet schools decided this should be assigned to young teenagers?

The psychological journey as the more thoughtful kids start to realize what it means to be without adults and unable to reach help is the most interesting part of this book: "He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one’s waking life was spent watching one’s feet."

Whether Golding meant it as a reference or not, the fire plotline bears a resemblance to the results of the mutinous crew of the Bounty's stopover before reaching Pitcairn.

The pacing of this book is similar to any standard thriller and the historical/literary context require quite a bit of knowledge, still puzzled as to why this is marketed to middle school students.

There's an enchanting minimalism to the prose, so the cause of the plane crash, the location of the island and the reality or veracity of all other details is suspended. Scenes are maximized by a limited and authentic perspective. The story begins after some major events have already occurred, dropping the reader right in the middle of the action. Expository information is built into the narrative, wasting no time.

Why didn't anyone ever tell me this was a plane crash survival story? Thank you, Netflix, for keeping me literate:

"You should stick a pig," said Ralph fiercely, "they always talk about sticking a pig."

Everything in this book is in service of shock value and yet every major plot development is painfully predictable. Sure, we hadn't gotten self-mutilation yet, why not?...have we hit the vomit into an open wound mile marker? Oh right, yeah, after she wakes up from being raped by a sentient space ship. Just--so much has happened, hard to keep track of all these highlights.

We're supposed to forgive the contrived plot because it's so clearly not the point, the unimaginable gore is all we should be focused on, forget empathizing with characters or maintaining suspension of disbelief, who needs that stuff?

Knew the dog's death would be grisly and unnecessary and unjustified, but to make it such a footnote on top of everything else.

I was not aware that bio-horror or splatter-scifi were genres. Now, I'm aware. Thanks, Daniel.

Oort Behemoths are the sandworms of this universe, in the worst possible way--repeatedly referenced with no real description or discernible purpose. Another thing this book shares with Herbert's writing is that it makes 200 pages feel like 400. We've progressed from John Carmack presents David Cronenberg's Alien, and now we seem to be fully into Ridley Scott territory.

Another major development that should be seismic in terms of the plot but really just feels inevitable.

The pace is picking up but that was a heavy opening. Emotion without much empathy. And so bizarre.

Kraus did the work on this part. He preps the reader with ominous discussion of the "snarl" and then goes right into an extended section of experimental form, similar to the verse chapter from Angel Down, but maybe even more of an achievement. Unfortunately, I'm not enjoying this one as much as that book. So unique it's almost indescribable. The ex-stream of consciousness.

The most moving moments of this book come outta nowhere. They're not built up very well, but they are there and they're powerful.

Librarians as warrior-poets? Okay...points...

First the direct comparison of a dog's (any animal's) cognition and behavior to that of a robot--now a reference to using them as the proverbial canaries in a coal mine. Pulsing folds of mucus membrane for a bed is bad, but this is really gross. Probably the most interesting thing about this story is the teen protagonist who is impossibly self aware and able to regulate emotion. Vaguely Kwisatz Haderach.

I love Kraus' use of literary language and specialized terminology, but terms like "lacrimal" don't seem to add much besides arrogance. Also, why would a ship that is grown from and for its crew cause them to stumble as they walked?

Further Herbertisms--the lethal assassins smell like cinnamon. Maybe this and Ballingrud's The Strange are two different approaches to the same type of reimagining.

If Frank Herbert wrote Casino Royale...set on Deimos...starring Doomguy...it would be this book. Kraus showed some great insight and awareness of animal intelligence in Whalefall, but I don't appreciate the inclusion of a dog in this macabre tableau. The use of the term "innocent" by a sociopathic mercenary spoils any reverence Kraus might have been going for.

I guess neologisms and imaginative theoretical tech are de rigueur for hard scifi, but this is a little heavy. Mimics fantasy books in that way--worldbuilding. Glad we've backed off from the body horror a bit. Definitely a rich mythology, and how much can you really question Kraus after Whalefall and Angel Down. Scale beginning to approach Herbertesque levels.

It's a strange mix of nebulous new-agey spirituality and hard scifi. So far, a less convincing mix than Ballingrud's Lunar Gothic Trilogy.