Fifteen-year-old Matt Cruse was born on an airship, and his heart has been in the clouds ever since. Even after his father fell to his death from
one of the great hydrium vessels, he longed to live on one, work on one, eventually even captain one. As cabin boy on his father's old ship, the
luxury liner Aurora, his dreams seem poised to come true.
One night, he helps rescue a half-mad balloonist who mutters something about strange "beautiful creatures" on his deathbed, for no one's ears but
Matt's. A year later, his dreams of a hard-earned promotion to sailmaker are dashed when the company president foists his untested Academy-trained son
on the ship, stealing the post that should have been his. On the heels of this disappointment arrives a strange passenger named Kate, a wealthy girl
about his age with a head full of facts and a heart full of fire, and an unshakeable belief that the dead balloonist's "beautiful creatures" are
real.
Review
At first, this looked like a typical steampunk type of story. Great blimplike airships in a world similar to our 1930's, a poor yet infinitely
skilled cabin boy who knows the ship better than the captain, a rich girl adventure-mate complete with uncaring, distant parents and an overbearing
nanny... nothing terribly ground-breaking here. But Oppel somehow makes his world come to life in its similarities and its differences, creating a
story reminiscent of older-style boy adventures yet nevertheless absorbing even to modern (and female, in this instance) audiences. The action takes a
little while to pick up, and there are a few givens in a story like this (no prizes for guessing whether or not the creatures are real, or whether or
not Kate's zeal gets them into trouble at least once) but I was entertained by it. I might be slightly generous on the top rating, but I read this just
after finishing A Wizard of Earthsea; after Ursula K. LeGuin's grandiose prose, Oppel's straightforward adventure story went down rather
nicely.
The reward money from his adventures aboard the luxury airship Aurora have bought former cabin boy Matt Cruse two years' tuition at
the Airship Academy in Paris, with enough left over that he needn't worry about sending money to his mother and sisters until after he graduates.
Heiress Kate, who accompanied Matt on his eventful voyage, is also in Paris, continuing her pursuit of all things intellectual and unladylike
despite the protests of her chaperone. During a two-week school-sponsored field study trip aboard the rickety freighter Flotsam, Matt
spies a legend as they escape the jaws of a tropical storm: the long-lost vessel Hyperion, dream of a mad millionaire scientist long
lost to the uncharted skies, drifting in the thin air 20,000 feet above the seas. She gets away, but Matt, Kate, and a number of others are
determined to get to her and the treasures said to be locked away in her icy hold. Reaching her will require the service of a skybreaker, an
airship outfitted with a new, half-experimental engine capable of functioning in the rarified atmosphere. It will also take determination, guts,
a disregard for convention, and a whole skyfull of luck... just the sort of odds Kate and Matt are used to.
Review
Like the previous book, this story has a the feel of an old-time adventure, best likened to the movie Sky Captain and the World of
Tomorrow and the serials it emulated. Men are brave and dashing, women are clever and headstrong (often troublesomely so), and the world is
bigger, brighter, and more full of wonder than our own ever was, or could ever be. It makes for a fun, wild read, though I got a little impatient
at how Kate seemed to end up either causing or being at the center of dangerous situations. I see a third (and hopefully final) book about Matt and
Kate is out, titled Starclimber; I hope to read it as soon as time and money become sufficiently abundant.
Matt Cruse, born aboard a hydrium airship, has come a long way since his days as a cabin boy aboard the luxury liner Aurora. He
has fought pirates, discovered new life forms, and seen a lost legend of the skies. With him on all these adventures has been Kate de Vries,
a wealthy socialite girl with the very unladylike qualities of curiosity and independence. Matt has long been in love with her, but despite
his heroism and hard work, he cannot overcome his class... and Kate, a headstrong girl and outspoken advocate for women's rights and
independence, has gone so far as to declare her own intentions never to marry, lest she be forced to sacrifice her dreams of scientific
exploration.
Before his final year at the Academy in Paris where Matt has been training to be a sky sailor, he takes a job as captain of an aerocrane
helping the French construct "the Eighth Wonder of the World": the Celestial Tower, already two kilometers tall, aiming to pierce the firmament.
But, proud as the French are, they haven't a clue that Canada is ready to beat them into space with a top-secret project... a project Kate and
Matt, both loyal Canadians, are recruited for. The Starclimber is like no other vessel known on Earth. Not a hydrium airship or a
powered ornithopter, it clings to and climbs an electrified cable spooled out from a rocket.
Among the first humans to peek above the atmosphere, Matt and his fellow astralnauts find themselves facing wonders and dangers beyond
imagination... and possibly beyond their ability to survive.
Review
The third book in Oppel's untitled series about Matt Cruse and his alternate-history Earth, this story reads like a finale. Like the first
two books, it's mostly a larger-than-life adventure tale, with people tending to fit into nicely predetermined roles to enable said adventure.
Matt continues to rise to the challenges presented, but not without struggle and the occasional failure; his victories, when he reaches them,
feel earned rather than simply granted by virtue of his status as protagonist. I found Kate less annoying here than in the previous installment
(Skybreaker), in no small part because she wasn't the one who kept getting them into trouble; trouble finds them without any help on her
part whatsoever. The story moves along at a nice pace, and Oppel presents some nice shiny-object ideas with this tale of pioneering steampunk space
explorers. A fun, fast read that makes a nice conclusion to the story of Matt and Kate. (I'm hoping Oppel knows how to quit when he's ahead...
though, of course, I'll happily read more in this series if he's got a worthy story to go with it.)
Ethan Rylance's mother passed away two years go, and nothing has gone right since. His father used to be one of the most sought-after
comic book creators in the industry, but he hasn't touched his pens since Mom died, and some days can't be bothered to climb out of bed,
let alone deal with his children. Ethan's kid sister Sarah, who has Down syndrome, struggles to process her grief and needs more care
than a sixth-grade boy can provide. Now, his English class is doing graphic novels as a group project and everyone expects him to do the
artwork; given how great his dad is (or was), surely Ethan must be kidding when he insists that he can barely draw a stick figure, though
Dad barely had time to try teaching his son art before Mom's death and certainly doesn't have the time or patience now. The Rylances are
stuck in a downward spiral of grief and anger... until something strange happens.
One night, the ink from Mr. Rylance's sketchbook comes to life and escapes the pages that trapped it. It feeds on ink and can draw just
about anything, and it quickly becomes young Ethan's lifeline when he realizes that it can help him ink a graphic novel that will knock
the socks off his entire class. But when other people learn of Inkling and its amazing abilities, Ethan will learn the hard way just how
much responsibility comes with a special friend like the living blob of ink... and how much damage it can do if it falls into the wrong
hands.
Review
Starring a boy mired in grief and anger and worry over a father who seems to have given up on life and a lively little sapient blob
of ink, Inkling uses art and humor to explore grief, hope, and creativity, as well as the dangers of artificial "creativity"
that isn't really creative (read: the current flood of theft-based AI). From the moment Inkling escapes the sketchbook, it knows deep
down it has a purpose, a reason it leapt to life, though it's very easily distracted by all the wonderful, tasty ink in the Rylance
household, learning to "speak" by devouring books and learning art by absorbing (and erasing) illustrations and comic books and any
other printed matter it encounters. When Ethan discovers it, and realizes that it can generate art and not just absorb it, he considers
it an answer to his prayers: his teammates in English class have been pestering him for his art contributions to their graphic novel
project, refusing to believe him when he says that stick figures are the best he can manage (his father was not the most patient
teacher even before Mom's death, and since then can barely muster the energy to get through a day out of bed, if that much), and he's
been putting them off as long as possible. True, he's supposed to be doing the art himself and Inkling is basing itself heavily on his
father's style, but it's not really cheating, is it? He did do the storyboarding with his stick figures for layouts, so Inkling is just
sort of helping him out, right? It's not until a friend asks to use Inkling to help him on a history test - absorb his notes and
regurgitate answers onto the test page - that Ethan realizes the risks in relying on Inkling so heavily. But by then Sarah has
discovered the living ink blob - calling "her" Lucy and insisting it's the pet dog their father has never let them get - and soon
Ethan's own father learns what Inkling can do. It feels like the little blob is getting the whole family unstuck from where it's been
after Ethan's Mom died, but instead it becomes another crutch... and when someone outside the family and Ethan's friend discovers the
little blob, the stakes get a lot higher a lot quicker. The classmate involved isn't a bully or evil, though; she's the daughter of
Ethan's dad's publisher, whose business is struggling as their lead creator hasn't produced new works in two years, to the point where
she fears they'll lose their home. After all, if Ethan can cheat by having Inkling do all his work for him, why can't her dad use
Inkling to do the work that Ethan's dad won't do and save the publishing company? As Ethan works to reclaim his friend, his family must
finally confront the grief that has been slowly smothering the life out of them all.
The story moves briskly and is fun, with some deep and emotional moments along with the humor and lightness, as well as a clear
appreciation for comic books and human creativity. It also serves as a warning about soulless, derivative AI works pumped out for profit
that short-circuit the whole process and completely misunderstand what it is that people enjoy about art and stories, and why people
feel the inherent need to create at all. I thought a couple subplots needed a little more fleshing out or resolution, and part of it
feels like it wanted to be part one of a longer series, but on the whole it was quite satisfying.
