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林 酉酉 linyuwei — This book, along with Red Dragon by Thomas Harris (which was one of the scariest I've ever read), had great influence over my own writing. The Dark Before Dawn After all, he created an unforgettable villain in Hannibal Lecter. I love his style and have enjoyed his book. Laurie Stevens

Ariane Delacruz harrianedebd98 — This is the review I wrote about 5 years ago: This book was amazing! I was whisked away into their world, and I loved it. The way it was described I felt as if I was there. Then came the ending. It is what me and Ms. Lavoie dubbed a brick wall ending. It ends in the middle of the climax! I am dying to know what happens next, but the sequel doesn't come out into next year! All in all it was an amazing book with a terrible ending. I suggest waiting until the sequel comes out to read it, that way you won't have to suffer through the wait. And here is what I say now. This book was amazing. And I highly suggest not reading it. The writing is beautiful. And then it stops. Just stops. And the sequel has never come out, I doubt it ever will. So if you'd like to save yourself some agony, don't read this book.

Kellie Bridges kelliedawson — Fantasy/ Science fiction. Good for grades 6+....maybe late in fifth grade. About a boy names Jonas in the so-called perfect world.

Allen Butler allenbutler — War is absurd. Bureaucracy is absurd. Sometimes that is hilarious, often it is just absurd.

Lacco Endres _acco_ndres — hillarious

Katie Farritor katiefarritor — Feeling really burned after Nixonland, I meandered about my home horde, reading some Gass and Kronenberger essays, some of Prestowitz's Three Billion New Capitalists, dipping here and there into Borges, Scruton, and Posner, but nothing was really sticking other than my skin to the back of my chair. Then I espied my good ol' shelf of NYRB Classics, so beautifully formal, so stiffly aesthetic, redolent of that pulpy pureness that engenders almost a postcoital bliss—so why in the hell not? Summer and ciencia ficción go together like weed and inhalation psychosis, so it's Inverted World for the win. Which proved not to be much of a victory. This is one of those Eh books, so common, in my experience, to the milieu of science fiction—entertaining, certainly intriguing at the outset, but marred by paper-thin characters, clustered action, expository text that dissipates the sense of otherness so necessary to such fantastic fiction, and an ending that proved tricky but, ultimately, unsatisfying. What's more, I've got a few questions about the point-of-view of the City dwellers that haven't been answered in the course of the story's completion, and I believe that these questions undermine an integral aspect of the resolution provided: to wit, the aging effect, which I shan't get into further for fear of spoiling the plot for those yet to partake of Priest's imaginative offering, but it seems a gaping flaw that the developments at the end fail to deal with. I still mostly enjoyed this—stories that feature dystopian futures set amidst apocalyptic wastelands inhabited by the crude and regressive remnants of a once highly civilized humanity and centered upon an isolated collective vessel of said vanished civilization's descendants—struggling to preserve the faith, mores, and technologies of the old ways in the face of the mutations and temptations for a newer set to override and/or supersede them—always rock my boat: in this particular case, the conceit consists of a block-sized, multi-tiered City winching itself northwards along a tetrad of railway tracks that are immediately disassembled in the rear and positioned anew in the front as the city structure edges along, forever chasing the elusive optimum whose invisible geometric parameters are of a vital necessity to keep within a few miles of the city's physical structure. There's cool physics, archaic and hierarchical governing guilds, apprenticeship rituals, female population imbalance, and nifty perception perturbations that drive the story onwards, with a few narrative shifts that cast a new light upon what is taking place. Furthermore, Priest has crafted some sly allusions to our own hypertrophied hydrocarbonic era overlaid with a spicy sprinkling of Cold War bifurcations. So, there you have it—a book to which I bestow a somewhat tepid three-star rating. I'm sure that I've inflated its flaws in my mind, and downplayed its cleverness, but the bottom line is that my initial enthusiasm, which was appreciable, began to deflate roughly around the third part of the story, never to regain its momentum. I cannot shake the sense that I should be partaking of more serious fare, that such frivolous and flimsy material, whilst fine for a dude in his twenties, has been outgrown and should be consigned to my days of bong hits, beers, and Bits-n-Bites™. How in the hell can I possibly continue to leave Proust and Powell and Kundera and Serge and Marías idling upon the shelf to follow a track-bound city turtling across the open plains? Perhaps this explains why my Culture collection—Phlebas, Games, Weapons, Excession—gather dust in a corner. If I actually got into them, that recently promoted literary section of my reading consciousness would berate my escapist self to no end—and if Banks' fare proved no better than Inverted World, it just might have a point.

Jonathan Heckman _ — ARGH!! What's going to happen next!! Man, they keep you hanging. But the next one is suppose to come out this Spring, so I am excited to see how it all plays out. Fun series. I like!

Anindra Ahmad _nindra_arras — http://www.flickr.com/photos/7275613@...