Stick to baseball, 11/18/23.

I offered my opinions of the Aaron Bummer and Cal Quantrill trades for subscribers to the Athletic. That Jake Bauers trade really didn’t move the needle, but I’ll probably include a thought or two on the Vidal Bruján trade when we get another one so I can include it in a longer column.

On my podcast this week, I spoke with film critic Matt Singer about his new book Opposable Thumbs: How Siskel & Ebert Changed Movies Forever. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I appeared on Seattle’s 710 AM to discuss the Mariners’ possible offseason moves and the challenge of competing in the AL West in 2024.

My free email newsletter has returned, as I sent out a fresh edition last night, my second one this month.

And now, the links…

Junk Drawer.

Junk Drawer is another entry in the world of polyomino (think Tetris) tile-laying games, this one with a relatable theme – you’re trying to organize your junk drawer, which has 21 uniquely-shaped items in it, across four sections, each of which has a different requirement for scoring. The scoring changes each game and the order in which you place those items is random, so the challenge is new each time. I thought the way the game ended was completely backwards, however, and a lot of the scoring cards are needlessly arcane.

The concept here is pretty simple: Each player has those 21 tiles, each with its own shape and size, and each depicting a different item you might find in a junk drawer. (Guilty as charged.) Each player also has a board of four 5×5 sectors, and at the start of the game, the players draw scoring cards for each sector – so every player’s top left sector will score in the same way as every other’s, but their top right sectors will have their own scoring rubric, and so on. To play one round, the players draw the top four cards from the shuffled deck of 21, and then flip those four over one at a time. As you might have guessed, each card shows one of those items. Each player must place that tile somewhere on their board. The next three cards are flipped, and players must place those as well, but can’t place any item in a sector they’ve already used in this round, meaning that for the fourth item of a round, the players have only one choice.

That’s the whole game, and it is very simple to learn and quick to play, while suitable for kids under 10 as well (my 7-year-old had no problem grasping it). The game ends when one player can’t place a tile, which is fine – Planet Unknown, another tile-laying game, ends the same way – but here there is no penalty or drawback for being the first player to bust. It ends up rewarding players who aren’t very efficient at laying their tiles, and it’s counterintuitive to play that way, which is where I think younger and less experienced players will be at a disadvantage. I’ve seen comments from the designer that this is intentional and means that the optimal strategy is to try to “go out” when you think you have a high enough score. I understand this, but it feels very wrong to me.

The scoring cards come in easy, medium, and hard levels. The easy ones are straightforward – one point for every space you’ve covered in a sector, one point for every space you haven’t covered, three points if each if you cover the center space and each corner, and so on. They get more convoluted, and ridiculous, as they increase in difficulty, such as scoring for every row and column with exactly two spaces filled. Again, I understand the design here, but to me those sorts of scoring rules turn the game into work rather than play, and it feels like the designers were trying to make more of the game than is actually there.

Anyone can house-rule a game, and you can do that with Junk Drawer to play it as a light family title. The rules even suggest a variant where players continue playing until each can no longer legally place a tile, which I think is at least fairer than the standard rules. I’d probably stick to the easy and medium cards, and be judicious about which ones I use depending on who’s playing. I have to admit that Junk Drawer just didn’t do it for me, though – there are too many better games in this genre, like Patchwork, Isle of Cats, or New York Zoo.

Asteroid City.

I’m not a huge Wes Anderson fan, which I think is a key disclaimer if you’re going to talk about any of his films. I loved both his animated features and felt pretty close to that about Grand Budapest Hotel, but Bottle Rocket annoyed me throughout, and I turned off Rushmore after 20 minutes because I wanted to punch the television. He’s got a style, and clearly actors will go well out of their way to work with him, but you have to get on his wavelength and stay there for the length of a film, which doesn’t always work for me given his stilted dialogue and idiosyncratic ways of framing shots.

Asteroid City might have his most impressive cast ever, with at least three Oscar winners and twice that many more nominees, almost to the point where the value of a star cameo is diminished because you stop being tickled by the time Hong Chau (nominated last year for The Whale) shows up for five minutes. At the same time, the film requires so much of its actors because most of them get relatively little time on screen – and everyone talks so quickly, par for the Anderson course – and because, unfortunately, the story here kind of stinks. (It’s streaming on Peacock or available to rent on Amazon.)

The conceit behind Asteroid City is that we are watching a televised play within the movie, although the play itself shows up on our screens as a movie (rather than taking place on a stage, where we get some interstitial moments instead). The playwright (Ed Norton) and the host of the television series (Bryan Cranston) introduce the setting and, very briefly, some of the main characters, after which we are thrust into Asteroid City, population 78, a desert town in the American Southwest whose only claim to anything is that a very small meteorite hit the town and left a “crater” maybe slightly larger than a divot left by John Daly. In this town, there’s a convention for the Junior Stargazers science competition, and we meet several families, most of whom arrive with one parent and anywhere from one to four children in tow. The convention is hosted by Dr. Hickenlooper (a surprisingly normal Tilda Swinton) and General Griff Gibson (Jeffrey Wright), and after they give out the awards for the best projects, there’s a viewing using pinhole cameras, during which an alien shows up and takes the meteorite. Hilarity ensues. There’s also a group of grade schoolers led by teacher June (Maya Hawke), a weird country band led by Montana (Rupert Friend), and the hotel proprietor and the only resident of Asteroid City we meet (Steve Carell). Outside of the play, we get black-and-white shots of the playwright, the play’s director (Adrien Brody, so underutilized here), an acting teacher (Willem Dafoe), and an actress whose part in the play was cut (Margot Robbie).

Almost all of those folks do the best they can in very limited roles, with Wright and Hawke the real standouts, but the core of the movie is the relationship that forms between Augie (Jason Schwartzman) and the actress Midge (Scarlett Johanssen, made up to look a lot like Annette Bening), and the one that develops between Augie’s son (Jake Ryan) and Midge’s daughter (Grace Edwards). Schwartzman is one of Anderson’s most frequent partners in crime, but he has dialed it way back here in the most likeable performance I’ve ever seen him give, even though Augie himself isn’t all that likeable – it’s Schwartzman giving depth to a father who’s, well, out of his depth on multiple levels. He’s also able to provide a strong foil for Johanssen’s performance as a troubled film star, one that could have overwhelmed a lesser actor in the opposite role. Schwartzman also appears as the actor playing Augie in the play in several black-and-white segments showing us the actor and Norton’s playwright or the actor discussing the play with Robbie’s character.

The script requires a lot of tolerance for Anderson’s stilted dialogue, and he pushes that too far at many points, including most of the interactions among the various prize-winning teens – other than the memory game they play while they’re all quarantined in Asteroid City by the military, which is one of the best scenes in the movie – and some of the dialogue from the side characters. It’s also just overstuffed with ideas, so that quirky bits like Hawke’s nervous, I-didn’t-sign-up-for-this teacher trying to teach astronomy to a bunch of elementary schoolers who just saw an alien, wash over the audience too quickly. It is coherent, but it is not cohesive, and by the time the last tourists pack up and leave Asteroid City, the lack of a real through-line to connect most, let alone all, of the characters overshadowed the many funny or clever bits scattered through the film.

Stick to baseball, 11/11/23.

Nothing new from me at the Athletic as I wait for some real news, a trade or signing, that I can break down. I’ve also begun the offseason prospect work, although those rankings won’t run until late January or early February.

Over at Paste, I reviewed the wonderful game Fit to Print, which has a real-time aspect like Galaxy Trucker where players grab various tiles, then some tile-laying like Patchwork, as players try to fill out their woodland newspapers – with some hilarious text and art on the tiles – with articles, photos, and ads, playing over three rounds to represent three days of issues.

On the Keith Law Show, I spoke with Robert Kolker, author of Hidden Valley Road and The Lost Girls, primarily about the first book, which deals with a family where six of their twelve children developed schizophrenia, although we touched on his update to the latter since the case may have been solved. You can listen and subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I also appeared on NPR’s Marketplace, talking about Moneyball and the data revolution in baseball in the last twenty years. You can catch it on iTunes on the Marketplace Tech podcast.

I sent out a new edition of my free email newsletter last Saturday and will do another this weekend as I try to make this a weekly thing, although I might shift to Monday since that tends to be the slowest day of my week (in more ways than one).

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet.

Becky Chambers’ The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet is one of the biggest successes in self-publishing in the last decade or so, as she ran a successful Kickstarter to give her the time to finish the book, which sold well enough that Hachette’s Hodder & Stoughton picked it up and published their edition a year later. The book now has three sequels, winning the Hugo Award for Best Series in 2019, and all of the sequels earned nominations for the Hugo for Best Novel. This book, at least, has “first effort” all over it, though, and it’s kind of clunky and overdone in so many parts, especially the world-building, which detracted somewhat from a fun if very light story about a group of misfits becoming an ersatz family aboard a spaceship.

The Wayfarer is that ship, and as the series opens, Rosemary is heading for the Wayfarer to serve as its clerk, handling all of the paperwork the ship needs to move through space, across civilizations and, often, punching holes in the fabric of space to create shortcuts across great distances. These artificial wormholes are the Wayfarer’s main source of income, and they do it with a truly motley crew of specialists drawn from multiple species. Each crew member gets their own moment in the spotlight here, so rather than a single plot we get a series of episodes that allow the focus to move across everyone on the ship, from Corbin, the stubborn, meticulous biologist who grows the algae that helps power the ship; to Dr. Chef, the mechanic and, yes, chef, from a dying species who also serves as the ship’s counselor; to Jenks, the engineer who is – slight spoiler – in love with the ship’s AI. Really. (Needless to say I found that one a bit hard to take.)

I think the real problem I had with Long Way was the extensive exposition as Chambers builds out her universe, with giant civilizations of many species, endless rules, fictional technologies, and at least seven characters who need some sort of back stories. It’s a trap many first-time writers seem unable to avoid, and I at least attribute it to the benign desire to get all of these thoughts – the whole universe they’ve built up in their heads – out on to the page, as well as to prevent too much confusion on the part of readers. It also drives me up the wall, because 1) we can learn about this stuff as the story goes along and 2) if I really, really need to understand the technical details of how interstellar travel works in your books, or get a full description of every species’ cultural norms, that’s a bigger problem than just giving us a few pages of extrapolation can solve. Since Long Way visits a lot of planets and has such a diverse crew, we get a lot of that cultural stuff, and the book ends up spinning its wheels for pages and pages while Chambers describes trivial points about handshakes or mating customs.

The book does tackle some larger social themes, although it does so in a cursory way because there are so many smaller stories in the novel’s 438 pages. There’s a bit about cloning, a part about LGBT relationships, some stuff about war and the ethics of supplying one side (pretty timely right about now) when you’re not involved, and more, but none of tit gets more than superficial treatment.

The Long Way has to stand on the strength of its characters, since the plot is modest and the prose more akin to YA fiction, and there Chambers has some more success, although it’s a mixed bag. Rosemary is fine as the closest character we have to a protagonist, as her wide-eyed views and relative inexperience outside of her home planet make her a sensible lens for the reader to view most of the action. Some of the non-human characters are a little overdrawn, notably the navigator, Ohan, so again we get bogged down in details rather than seeing the characters develop. The more I write, the more I realize I just didn’t care for this book at all, other than that it was light and easy to read. It’s not The Calculating Stars bad, but I hope the remainder of the series spends more time developing the characters than explaining its fictional universe.

Next up: I’m about 2/3 done with Chester Himes’s If He Hollers Let Him Go.

Podcast guest author appreciation post.

I’ve been hosting my podcast at the Athletic (iTunes, Spotify) for over three and a half years now, and I’ve had the privilege of interviewing a number of authors whose work I’ve enjoyed. Of course, I boost their books on the show and on the site formerly known as Twitter, but I wanted to create a more lasting spot where you can find all of the books I’ve discussed on the podcast, allowing me to thank the authors once more for their time.

I’ve listed the book(s) I discussed with the authors on their episodes; it’s not an exhaustive bibliography and in some cases it’s not even my favorite book by that particular author. If a book is on this list, however, I have read it, and I recommend it. I’ve loosely organized them into categories, although some of them defied easy categorization. I’ll try to update this somewhat regularly as well.

All links go to Bookshop.org; if you order through those links I receive a small commission.

Business

Oliver Burkeman – Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals.

John A. List – The Voltage Effect: How to Make Good Ideas Great and Great Ideas Scale.

Children’s Books

Matthew Cherry – Hair Love.

Cooking

Michael Ruhlman – The Book of Cocktail Ratios, Ruhlman’s Twenty.

Nik Sharma – The Flavor Equation.

Culture

Matt Singer – Opposable Thumbs: How Siskel & Ebert Changed Movies Forever.

Fiction

Jasper Fforde – The Constant Rabbit.

Susanna Hoffs – This Bird Has Flown.

Will Leitch – How Lucky, The Time Has Come.

Elizabeth McCracken – The Hero of This Book.

History

Elizabeth Hinton – America on Fire: The Untold History of Police Violence and Black Rebellion Since the 1960s.

David Grann – The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny, and Murder.

Robert Kolker – Hidden Valley Road: Inside the Mind of an American Family.

Josh Levin – The Queen: The Forgotten Life Behind an American Myth.

Memoir

Jason Kander – Invisible Storm: A Soldier’s Memoir of Politics & PTSD.

Kathryn Schulz – Lost & Found: Reflections on Grief, Gratitude, and Happiness.

Music

Jonathan Abrams – The Come–Up: An Oral History of the Rise of Hip–Hop.

Philosophy

Scott Hershovitz – Nasty, Brutish, & Short: Adventures in Philosophy with My Kids.

Lee McIntyre – On Disinformation: How to Fight for Truth and Protect Democracy.

Justin E.H. Smith – The Internet is Not What You Think It Is: A History, A Philosophy, A Warning.

Politics

Dan Pfeiffer – Battling the Big Lie: How Fox, Facebook, and the Maga Media Are Destroying America.

Psychology

Max Bazerman – Complicit: How We Enable the Unethical and How to Stop.

Sian Beilock – Choke: What the Secrets of the Brain Reveal about Getting It Right When You Have to.

Angela Duckworth – Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance.

Ellen Hendricksen – How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety.

Katy Milkman – How to Change: The Science of Getting from Where You Are to Where You Want to Be.

Richard Nisbett – Mindware: Tools for Smart Thinking.

Michael Schur – How to Be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question.

Claude Steele – Whistling Vivaldi: How Stereotypes Affect Us and What We Can Do.

Ozan Varol – Awaken Your Genius: Escape Conformity, Ignite Creativity, and Become Extraordinary.

Science

Caroline Criado Perez – Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men.

Peter Hotez – Vaccines Did Not Cause Rachel’s Autism: My Journey as a Vaccine Scientist, Pediatrician, and Autism Dad.

Ed Yong – An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us.

Sports

Craig Calcaterra – Rethinking Fandom: How to Beat the Sports-Industrial Complex at Its Own Game.

Russell Carleton – The New Ballgame: The Not-So-Hidden Forces Shaping Modern Baseball.

Julie DiCaro – Sidelined: Sports, Culture, and Being a Woman in America.

Jessica Luther & Kavitha Davidson – Loving Sports When They Don’t Love You Back: Dilemmas of the Modern Fan.

Jonathan Mayo – Smart, Wrong, & Lucky: The Origin Stories of Baseball’s Unexpected Stars.

Joe Posnanski – Why We Love Baseball: A History in 50 Moments, The Baseball 100.

John Shea – 24: Life Stories and Lessons from the Say Hey Kid.

Stick to baseball, 11/4/23.

My ranking of the top 50 free agents this offseason went up this week for subscribers to the Athletic, and we’re updating it as options and other news (e.g., Clayton Kershaw’s shoulder surgery) affects the list, since it ran the day after the World Series ended. I’ll be breaking down any major signings where a player changes teams as well as any significant trades this offseason.

After a four-month hiatus, I sent out a new edition of my free email newsletter today, with some scattered thoughts on this World Series as well as a more thorough rundown of things I wrote in October.

And now, the links…

Nettle & Bone.

T. Kingfisher (the nom de plume of writer Ursula Vernon) won this year’s Hugo Award for Best Novel for Nettle & Bone, a light fantasy novel that subverts many tropes of the genre while adhering to others as it follows its protagonist on a quest to save her sister, the Queen of the North Kingdom. It is a blast to read, with some wonderful side characters alongside our hero and a great balance of humor and darkness, although I’m not sure it has the thematic depth of some of the best winners of that honor.

Our hero is Marra, the youngest of three sisters in the tiny Harbor Kingdom, a city-state located around the midpoint of the coast between the Northern and Southern Kingdoms, protected by its strategic location and the desire of both neighbors to avoid having it fall into their rival’s hands. As the story begins, Marra’s eldest sister, Damia, is married to the young Prince and heir to the throne of the Northern Kingdom, but she dies in an equestrian accident before she can produce a son, so the Prince then marries the middle sister, Kania. When Marra goes to see Kamia as her sister is about to give birth, however, Kania gives her a cryptic warning, and subsequent events cause Marra to realize her sister is the victim of a violent husband. She finds a dust-witch to try to obtain a way to kill the Prince, which ultimately leads her on a journey across two kingdoms with a party that grows to four, not counting the chickens, and ends with a showdown in the royal chambers.

Nettle & Bone is a quest novel, and we get a classic adventuring party of a cleric, a fighter, and a couple of mages, roughly speaking, where the pleasure is in the interplay between these characters as well as the world-building. Kingfisher has a Gaimanesque knack for crafting weird and creepy magical realms, with more delightful settings here than I can count – very reminiscent of a well-crafted RPG campaign, but with the detail of a Neverwhere or Among Others, where you’re immersed in the scene even as the writer asks you to believe any number of impossible things. The goblin market is an obvious homage to Gaiman’s work, among others, but Kingfisher gives it enough unique flourishes that it stands on its own merits.

I absolutely tore through this book, and I’ve already recommended it to two strangers who asked about it when I was reading it in public. That said, I have two major criticisms of the book, although only one of them affected my enjoyment of the work. That one is straightforward – Marra is not that interesting of a character. Kingfisher sure as hell tries to give her some personality, but beyond making her a worrywart, she doesn’t have much to distinguish herself. She’s the observer of the action, a Nick Jenkins (from A Dance to the Music of Time), but all three of her companions on the quest are more compelling characters. Marra’s whole family is boring, honestly; Kania’s a cipher, her mother doesn’t even have a name, I think, and her father is somewhere else. Kingfisher’s strength may lie in creating side characters, which is a real skill and not something I wish to diminish, but the time we spend with Marra alone forms some of the least interesting pages in the book.

My second criticism of Nettle & Bone is an academic one, which is that I don’t see much of a theme here – and for many readers, that won’t matter at all. It didn’t affect my pleasure in reading the book, either; it’s great fun, I laughed quite a bit, and I enjoyed a lot of the time I spent with these characters and in this world. I usually don’t think much about deeper themes or meaning until a book is done, after which it’s often all I think about – what is the author trying to say? What might they want the reader to take away from the book? Marra is a strong female lead, and her world, like ours, is patriarchal, while two of her three companions on the quest are also women, so there’s no question the book has a feminist bent. Beyond that, however, I couldn’t discern any greater themes here. That’s fine for the average reader, maybe for the vast majority of readers, but if we’re comparing books for the purpose of an award like the Hugo, I think questions of theme and meaning do matter. That said, I haven’t read any of the other nominees yet, so I have no opinion on whether this book was worthy other than to say I loved every minute while I was reading it.

Next up: Becky Chambers’ The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, a self-published, Kickstarted novel from 2014 that has spawned three Hugo-nominated sequels. I’m on page 10.

Rauha.

Rauha came out earlier this year through Hachette and is a sort of spiritual successor to Nidavellir, although there’s no formal connection between the two games, merely sharing some similar scoring and artistic elements. It’s a very tight game where you’re working in a small space and will have to make some difficult decisions to undo things you’ve done before, fighting the natural attachment you might have to moves you made earlier in the game. It was co-designed by Johannes Goupy, who’s had a slew of games come out in the last 18 months (Elawa, Rainforest, Orichalcum); and Theo Rivière, who’s worked with Bruno Cathala on such games as Draftosaurus, Sea Salt + Paper, and Naga Raja, and also co-designed The LOOP.

(I’m currently giving away a copy of the game via Instagram, entries due by midnight, November 5th.)

Players place one “biome” tile per turn on their 3×3 boards, taking 12 turns in total – so naturally they’ll have to cover some tiles with later ones, which is where things get difficult, although I’ll get to that in a moment. Each biome tile has several features – a terrain, an animal type, possibly a water source, and possibly a power/reward for when the tile is activated. After you place a tile, you activate the current row or column on your board indicated by the round marker; thus you don’t activate the tile you just placed unless it happens to be in the row or column for the current round. After every third round, there’s a scoring round you activate all of your tiles with “spores” on them; some tiles allow you to pay crystals to place more spores, and you’ll have to get at least a couple of those to be competitive in the game. Those scoring round also give points to the player with the most water sources. After twelve regular rounds and four scoring rounds, the game ends.

The tiles are a little complex, with a lot of icons to learn, which was one of the drawbacks I found in the game. There are four terrain types, three animal types, and water sources on tiles; most tiles have some kind of power when activated, although some don’t. The majority of tiles don’t cost anything to take, but some cost up to 5 crystals, and some tiles later in the game can only be placed in specific spaces on your board. Tile powers can include straight crystals or points, allowing you to trade crystals for points, allowing you to pay crystals to place a spore, or granting you points based on the number of tiles of a specific animal type you have. When you place three tiles in a row of the same terrain type or same animal type, you can gain a God that grants you a power when you gain it and again in the scoring rounds. You keep a God tile until someone else claims it by making the required pattern, even if you cover up one of the tiles in the pattern on your board.

Rauha packs a lot of game into a little board, and it’s extremely well balanced within those player boards. The terrain and animal types are just symbols with no additional powers beyond what you get from the God tiles, so they all function the same way. You’re really at the mercy of the tile draws and the draft in each round, though, and it’s way too easy to end up, say, never getting a water source to stay competitive in that category, which is one of only two ways you’re really competing directly with opponents (along with the God tiles). It’s not a planning game, although it looks like one. You can do a little preparation, placing tiles so that you can complete a row/column two different ways, but that’s about it. It’s still more a game of skill than of chance, certainly, but it’s the kind of game where the chance elements can drown a less skilled player. That’s a whole style of game that has its adherents. I’m just not one of them, I think.

The Guest Cat.

I picked up Takashi Hiraide’s slim novel The Guest Cat on a whim at Midtown Scholar, the wonderful independent bookstore in Harrisburg, about a month and a half ago en route to a Senators game, drawn by the quirky cover, the small format, and the description that referred to the author as a poet, which if nothing else should mean the prose is interesting. It’s a strange, lyrical little book, lovely in its way, but also very much about grief and change, reminding me very much of the two novels I’ve read by Max Porter.

There is a cat, although the cat needs a host, and the hosts are a nameless couple who have no children and have what seems like a staid life in a Japanese city, working, living together, but without much spark or interest to their lives. The husband is our narrator, and describes the arrival of a neighbor’s cat who begins visiting the couple every day as part of its routine, once its owners have left for the day. Neither husband nor wife is especially fond of cats, or so they say, yet this cat, whom they eventually nickname Chibi, captures them both – especially the wife, who is just a wisp on the pages, surprisingly incorporeal in the husband’s telling. We know so little about her, which implies that perhaps he does, too, and he’s fascinated by just how much she cares for and about Chibi, even frying little fish just for the cat (I know people do this, but cooking explicitly for your pet is a bit much for me), and the cat’s visits eventually become a part of their quotidian lives. They even venture out, exploring the grounds where their cottage is, to follow the cat, meeting some neighbors and even gaining use of the main house as its owner leaves for a retirement facility.

Until, of course, one day Chibi doesn’t arrive, and the two of them find their highly predictable lives upended by his disappearance. To this point, they appear to have avoided any tragedies or other major events that might have derailed their lives – birth, school, work, death as the song goes – yet Chibi’s brief time in their lives jolts them out of their doldrums, and when he’s gone, they’re completely thrown. The journey, if you can even call it that, from that point to the end of the novel, pushes both husband and wife to reevaluate some of the givens in their lives and to consider life’s transience, and they end by making what are, for them, some pretty significant changes.

The novel also has a metafictional aspect, as the husband reveals that he wrote the novel we’re reading after Chibi disappeared, while the prose is spare but not austere, setting the scene with lithe descriptions of trees, rooms, and, yes, cats. The whole thing feels like a meditation, a small idea that Hiraide expanded into a broader commentary on how easily we slip into routines and lose sight of the brief nature of our lives. Perhaps he’s a cat person now, too, and is arguing that pets can give surprising meaning to our lives, making us appreciate the brevity of our lives because theirs are even shorter, or to see their carefree ways as a model for letting go and being free. I took it as a broader comment on the need for change in our lives, to avoid becoming stuck in routines and the drudgery of living day to day if we have the luxury and privilege to do so. The beauty in The Guest Cat, though, is in how such a simple fable can lead to a myriad of interpretations, and linger with you long after its title character has left the scene.

Next up: I’m more than halfway done with this year’s winner of the Hugo Award for Best Novel, T. Kingfisher’s Nettle & Bone.