This week I’m still working on Wool: Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey, the dystopian SF novel from last week. This is a big book and well worth the $3.99 Kindle price. It still mostly takes place in that giant silo (“They mostly stay in the silo. Mostly.”), and at this point my speculation last week that the title, which seemed to refer to the wool pads use to scrub sensors, might also refer to the old saw about “pulling the wool over one’s eyes” has been explicitly stated. Five points for me!
He looked down at her hands, both of them wrapped around one of his. She let go with one of them and picked a piece of lint off his shoulder, then cast the offending knot of string away from her precious son.
Hey, don’t waste that string! You’re locked in a giant silo. Every piece of string can be made part of a new garment. Reduce, reuse, recycle!
And of course here’s this week excerpt from The War of the Ravels, where Our Heroes’ long, stealthy journey across the plains has sort of run aground at the walls of someone’s castle stronghold.
Brennendah’s hands were outstretched and Bernard realized that the Rittandic had done it, had knocked them away from the trap even as it expanded to engulf them. As they came to rest some distance from the treacherous doorway, the only thing Bernard could think of was the old joke about carnival funhouses: Free to enter, but it costs you to get out again.
But what did it cost, exactly? Or should I say who? Hmm … Spoilers!