I finished Jack McDevitt’s The Engines of God on the train ride home this evening. I wasn’t nearly as impressed by it as I was Chindi and I think in part it’s because he took so long to get to where he was going. I’m not saying it was a bad story or even bad writing; to me it seemed too long. Perhaps it would have made a good novella.
I hurried my way through the ending in part because I was eager to get started on the next book, Robert Silverberg’s Son of Man. It’s on of his books from the early 1970s and I have a particular fondness of that era. I’ve only read a handful of Robert Silverberg books, far fewer than I should have. But at least two of those have been outstanding. Dying Inside is on my list of 5-star books. Not quite as amazing, but still a very enjoyable book was The World Inside. I’ve just finished the first chapter fo Son of Man and already I like what I am reading. It’s very different from McDevitt (obviously). Silverberg’s writing is much more like Malzberg’s (or vice versa). It’s a dramatic change of style going from McDevitt to Silverberg, but so far, a very enjoyable one.
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