The Water Knife is on my bedside table via inter-library loan. I took a run at it yesterday and struggled for a few pages with the realization that it has been a loooong time since I read anything fictional before putting it aside for later.
Oh heck yeah. I managed the transition from non-fiction Nagasaki to fiction Water Knife, thanks to an impassible driveway and lack of daily newspapers*, and I am thoroughly enjoying that read.
*I bought the NY Times, Washington Post and crappy Baltimore Sun the Friday before the storm hit. It took a 40 mile road trip to do find copies, but I have read every word, including the “Style” and “Arts” sections. Twice. Thank God I had books already laid in.
The Water Knife is some very cool dystopian stuff, with an intriguing element of slowly revealed terminology, “Zoners” and “Merry Perrys and “Fivers”. I kinda like the way Bacigalupi defines the origin of some of his dystopian terminology; contextually you know what a “Fiver” is, but it isn’t until half way through the book that he identifies it as a 5-digit arcology address; building, floor and unit number. Ohhhhhh, that makes sense.. . . .
Maybe I don’t want to move to SE Arizona. The cabin there does draw from a wet-cave spring and reliable water source that feeds a small orchard and a stock tank further down canyon, but I’m not sure I want to faceoff with that already always-armed rancher if I’m down to draining the flow from his livelihood stock tank.
Thanks for the Water Knife recommendation.
And my thanks to whomever (Ppine?) recommended “Daylight in the Swamp” (Robert Wells, 1978). I found a copy for a couple bucks Amazon used, book plated as withdrawn from the Hazel Mackin library in Roberts WI .
A history of lumberjack life in America.
Not a dull read. Packed with anecdotes and stories, techniques and advancements and fascinating asides.
To wit – pre-independence the Crown had claimed any tree larger than three feet in diameter as theirs, for use as sailing ship masts. Yeah, good luck with that your distant Highness. I’m guessing George never met a lumberjack.
Next group trip I may have to rouse my companions by banging on the fry pan and shouting the lumber camp cook’s traditional bellow “DAYLIGHT IN THE SWAMP!”