Space Oddity by Catherynne M. Valente
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

So, I was blown away.

Seriously now. I loved Valente's Space Opera (you know, the Eurovision of aliens, only if your species-chosen rock band comes in dead last, you're literally toast) novel. I even put it in my unofficial 6th-star category because it was just to freaking sharp, man.

And that has nothing to do with the fact that her unplanned sequel to THAT novel just happens to be a nod to our favorite Bowie, or so it seems from the title, and might have nothing needing doing with the first novel anyway -- and did anyone ask for this, bub? It lands in our laps and because it's Valente, a top-notch, brilliant, cut everyone's throats because she's JUST TOO SHARP, we've got to read this one, too.

And so I did. All this anti-glow-up just means that I had no idea what to expect. But now I know. And even after just a few pages in, I already knew -- that I was going to be exterminated by words.


Okay. So. Brass tacks. This novel is what Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's series would be if it went out on a cocaine bender laced with speed and PCP, got topped off with a powderized version of a seriously life-loving old hero-rockerboy, circled around for four more passes around the galactic center of a gigantic pulsating brain, and then sat down to seriously write one of the most seriously clever run-on songs of the universe. Sure, you could liken this to the best of Doctor Who, but screw that. This is the BBC as it would be if it was run by a really sweet, schizophrenic Shub-Niggurath who's really, really into sharing his poetry to every half-baked punter prioritizing his peonies over a right big wormhole shunt of beer.

Or so it seems.

Or don't take my word for it. This is one of the brightest books on my bookcase, and I'm going to be SINGING its praises until the universe, much like a mixed tape of the abyss, nods back at me in thanks.

Do I think it's deeper, funnier, and more glorious than the first book?

Yes, absolutely.

Do I love a certain Decibel Jones?

You know it.

And you know what? I think this time, it'll turn out all right.

*chef's kiss*


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