Great Books by date published:
Matter, 2008: Three pairs of main characters discuss and exercise power and slowly come together for a climactic end-scene battle. The focused discussion allows a depth of discernment that staggers me. The varied writing and ensemble structure match the tale perfectly. Read it already.
Finity’s End, 1997: This novel perfects Cherryh’s writing and storytelling skills, a tour de force. Couching a normal, emotionally dramatic tale in a setting of science fiction allows the two to play off each other in illuminating ways.
Guards! Guards!, 1989: Confident satirizing, self-assured writing, breadth of humor, depth of characters, and drive of the story. This may be the best Discworld novel, and one of the best novels I’ve read.
Cyteen, 1988: Spectacular psychological thriller. Cherryh writes like no other author with her tight, third person, focused voice that almost disposes setting description to zoom in on the characters and story.
Downbelow Station, 1981: Military space opera done perfectly while focusing on both the psychology of the characters and adventures they go through. The writing shows varied voices for the character groups, and the novel works in surprising, inspiring ways.
Close on their heels are Good Books by date published:
Lincoln in the Bardo, 2017: A book that impressed me immensely, but will probably be relegated to the “Literary Nerds Only” pile. As confusing as Ulysses? No. Also destined to be a cult classic? Probably.
The Fifth Season, 2015: The word choices and redundant sex scenes keep this book from being great, but it was strong enough that buying the next book in the series was a no-brainer. And the third too.
Surface Detail, 2010: A solid book. I know this book doesn’t belong one category up, but I can’t tell you why. I wrote a bunch of notes trying to figure out why, and I still haven’t.
The Chronoliths, 2001: The violence is tempered by using it to explore deeper themes. Though the writing is a touch bland, the book is engrossing.
Look to Windward, 2000: Though the resolution of the central theme of death is a little unsatisfying, the novel is wonderfully written and the characters are particularly engaging. This also comes off as a rumination on international politics.
Pyramids, 1989: Pratchett takes swings at the nature of belief, reality, and perception. The results leave me laughing and thinking simultaneously, and if that’s not Pratchett, I don’t know what is.
Rimrunners, 1989: This book used sexual and physical violence to build a main character that was sympathetic to read. Cherryh doesn’t use the situations sensationally, but everything has meaning, as usual for Cherryh. Engaging throughout.
Wyrd Sisters, 1988: Almost perfect Shakespearean satire. The balance between humor, characters, ideas, and plot poises the novel for greatness.
Mort, 1987: The first time Pratchett put the novel in the driver’s seat instead of the jokes, and it works. It talks about employment, but in a typically satirising and humorous way that is more black humor than gag humor.
Merchanter’s Luck, 1982: This is a great adventure tale. Cherryh’s tightly focused voice fits this tale perfectly. It’s a bit more in depth than pulp fiction with psychological and political rumination.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, 1968: Yeah, the androids are allegorical. It might be too focused on the theme, and cavalier with some of the characters, but it filled my brain full, and that’s a positive.
Interesting Flawed Books, also known as Enjoyable Books, by date published:
Death’s End, 2010, (2016 Trans.): Inconsistent pacing and excessive scientific exposition of fictional phenomena kept the wonderful depth of the main character from entrancing me more.
Obelisk Gate, 2016: While Jemisin got better as a writer in her word choices and sentence structures, she regressed as a story-teller, writing a novel that doesn’t have legs of its own (sorry, Alabaster), and falls into an unfortunate sequel trap.
The Cinder Spires: The Aeronaut’s Windlass, 2015: Everything works out too perfectly all the time, and the book could’ve used an editor. But I enjoyed it. Just not enough to continue reading the series.
All the Light We Cannot See, 2014: Some over-the-top, redundant, character "development" pairs with a nagging lack of challenge to the reader, and lets this book’s structure, writing, and story down.
Hydrogen Sonata, 2012: Great dialogue and an unusual plot structure for a Culture novel do not overshadow the two dimensional protagonists and lazy use of violence to drive the plot.
A Visit from the Goon Squad, 2010: An above average ensemble book of interconnected short stories, potentially pretentious, but too clearly exhibits the typical downfalls of the type—quality control, depth of characters, and pacing.
Regenesis, 2009: Taking up right where Cyteen left off, this book doesn’t stand on its own. It needs the reader to have read Cyteen. But it’s a fun read and a great read.
Thief of Time, 2001: Scattershot satire that should have focused in on a few less themes. Seems more like an overview of Pratchett ideas than an aimed critique. But the humor-idea balance is perfect.
Tripoint, 1994: Good book, but doesn’t stand on its own. Cherryh needed to do a lot more heavy lifting about context in order to get this novel to stand on its own.
Hellburner, 1992: A sequel that reads like a sequel. It’s a great sequel, but even the author admits you need to read the first book in the series to get this one.
Reaper Man, 1991: Again, Pratchett bites off more than he can chew. Hugely enjoyable book while simultaneously moderately frustrating to comprehension.
Heavy Time, 1991: As Cherryh tries to find the appropriate level of detail for her tightly focused voice, she went a little too tight here. Not enough is on-page to keep me invested throughout.
Moving Pictures, 1990: Pratchett is focused here, but has an awkward time integrating his focus on satirizing Hollywood into his Discworld. The story gets away from him a bit, and it might require a cinema nerd to really love this book. Thankfully, I am a cinema nerd.
Sourcery, 1988: Characters lack depth. Themes and plots jump around so much that it comes off like a D&D campaign. But so much of fantasy is written like that, and this example stands out for good quality.
Equal Rites, 1986: Two stories that share a theme are crushed together. The problem is that each has their own arc, and the two arcs do not align very easily. Enjoyable for sure.
Forty Thousand in Gehenna, 1983: More of a study in a situation than a novel. As such, the characters are mostly viewpoints instead of characters, the writing delves into scientific reporting and memos instead of storytelling. But I enjoyed it way more than this description makes it sound.
Serpent’s Reach, 1980: Where the world-building is impressive in the way it integrates every little comment and aside into meaning later, the world built is pretty boilerplate.
Fires of Azeroth, 1979: She balances the darkness that is overbearing in the other books of this series, with some periods of calm and peace that make the book much more readable.
Well of Shiuan, 1978: Not bad, but also not good. It’s fine pulp fiction, but as a fan of her later work, I’m left anticipating her later strengths and clinging to what hints of them I find here.
A Time of Changes, 1971: Though the ideas and characters are well done, the structure and writing left me wanting.
Greylorn, 1959: Slavish story considerations kept this from sticking, but if you’re looking for simple pulp fiction, you can do worse. You can do a lot worse.
And Bad Books I wish I hadn't read, by date published, with quotes from my notes:
Seveneves, 2015: “First things first: after six hundred pages this book begins its last chapter with the phrase “5000 years later”, and that last chapter is three hundred pages long. Is it the world’s longest epilogue, or are the prior six hundred pages the preface to end all prefaces? Every character is now dead, even the earth and our solar system are changed beyond recognition. This works out exactly as well as you think. If I hadn’t been reading this book for a friend, I would’ve quit. After finishing the book, I’m sad I didn’t quit—it wasn't worth it to continue.”
Uprooted, 2015: “In all, I feel like I missed something here. It’s a well-told story in all its parts, but it feels like it wanders overall. It’s got an engaging main character but I’m typically annoyed at her reactions—also at the reactions of the other characters. It’s got no theme really, but the myths are still interesting. It builds an engaging world, but then tells a typical fantasy messianic tale. It tries to encourage working together, then spends hundreds of pages showing how people can’t work together. It goes one layer deeper into the myth, uncovering possible causes for some of the fairy tale tropes, but doesn't really coalesce into a consistent vision of the world or myths.”
The Sharing Knife: Beguilement and Legacy, 2006 & 2007: “The way the opening was written, I didn’t expect the romance and wasn’t looking for it. Therefore, it felt like a short story—a really good short story ending after the malice kill—that she then decided to tack a novel onto. It felt disjointed: after the malice kill, she has to reintroduce the reader to the second part, which takes up the rest of these two books, which deals with the romance and the families of the two paramours. I don’t find this restart to be smoothly accomplished: she paid so much attention to world building in the first part, that the second part switches tracks too awkwardly.”
Gate of Ivrel, 1976: “The beginning of this novel is difficult to get through: so self-indulgent in that density of unknown names in the intro info dump—fifteen or sixteen made-up fantasy names in a page and a half. Your reader has not been given the chance to know or care yet! This is the worst intro info dump I’ve read.”
The Wanderer, 1964: “The opening chapters left me wondering when he would leave off the fractured narrative jumping between the character groups, and dig into the ideas he left floating off, making them interesting. He didn’t. He just kept jumping around and missing opportunity after opportunity. [Yet awkwardly including sex with a space-cat.]”
They’d Rather be Right / The Forever Machine, 1955: “And that’s the problem with this story. Some interesting ideas are brought up, but they are dropped. The story shows promise, but progresses in fits and false starts so when the end finally comes, it is a relief. [...] It comes off like wish fulfillment of broadcasting telepathy for personal uses—which is problematic in all sorts of ways that are not even glanced at.”
Farmer in the Sky, 1950: “It didn’t have a plot so much as episodes, it didn’t have characters because it examined colonization from one sixteen year old boy's point of view instead, and it didn’t have much relatable to a reader who isn’t colonizing Ganymede.”
So you don't have to go through a process of elimination, I had already read:
The Light Fantastic, 1986: The continuation of The Colour of Magic added a central plot to the short stories being loosely strung together, and it’s better for it. Better, not great.
The Colour of Magic, 1983: Sloppily shoves four stories together that share little. Too focused on the jokes and fantasy tropes. But hilarious and endearing for all its awkwardness.
Last and First Men, 1930: Though the reread helped me appreciate the book more as a cultural artifact, it didn’t induce me to go and read Star Maker yet. It’s not a novel so much as a collection of straw men for Stapledon’s personal philosophy to win over.
