Lexifabricographer For when the right word just won’t do…

October 17, 2015

Half-baked Review – Musketeer Space by Tansy Rayner Roberts

Filed under: books of 2015,books read,reviewage,women writers challenge 2015 — lexifab @ 10:58 pm

Oh this book. THIS BOOK!

Musketeer
Tansy Rayner Roberts’ genderflipped retelling of The Three Musketeers, as space opera.

This book has flat-out my favourite D’Artagnan of all time (the character who hitherto has made every version of T3M drag for me, including the original book): Dana D’Artagnan is the sexy-smart wannabe Musketeer with high expectations, dubious impulse control issues and a habit of crashing through the plot like a meteor strike. I love her to bits. The actual Musketeers are fun as well.

This book is just fucking great, y’all. It’s funny, it’s smart, the action is fun, the sex is sexy, the characters are one delight after another, and the cake jokes are ridiculous and excessive i.e. perfect. And the plot makes sense all the way through (which I’ve never quite been sure is true of the source material).

I got to read it as an ebook because I was a Patreon backer, but you can check it out over at Tansy Rayner Roberts’ site. I gather she’s shopping it around to publishers. She should – a book this much fun deserves to be in print.

(It may seem to certain readers that this is less a review than a gushing outpouring of glee. Yes.)

September 25, 2015

Review – Last Year, When We Were Young by Andrew McKiernan

Andrew McKiernan’s collection Last Year, When We Were Young (2014 from Satalyte Publishing) is a fine example of a strong writer testing his limits by stretching in different directions. As you might expect from an Australian writer with a well-deserved reputation for compelling dark fantasy and horror, outback ghosts and urban nightmares are represented.

One of my favourite stories appears early in this volume: “White Lines, White Crosses” is a grimly familiar tragedy of teenage isolation, testosterone-fuelled recklessness and car culture, with a smear of the supernatural to amp up the stakes. “The Memory of Water” is haunted by childhood memories of beach holidays tinged with tragedy. And “The Haunting that Jack Built” is a classic yarn of strange and sinister goings-on in a country town.

But McKiernan shows his range with some unexpected variations on theme and setting: the Middle East appears in modern and mythological states, in “The Dumbshow”, “The Desert Song”, “They Don’t Know That We Know What They Know” and the excellent clash of espionage, battles handed down across generations, old gods and chess in “Daivadana”. He does a creditable Stephen King-like grotesque in “The Final Degustation of Doctor Ernest Blenheim”. He does old-fashioned SF horror in “The Wanderer in the Darkness”. He even does a noir tragedy soaked in betrayal and cheap whiskey in “Torch Song”.

But where this collection stands out is in the weird and absurd corners. The title story is a brief piece of deranged survival horror set in the aftermath of a more than usually disturbing apocalypse. But the jewel in the crown is probably “All the Clowns in Clowntown”, which is perhaps a parable about surviving an epidemic or could be a metaphor for involuntary unionism or hostile corporatism, but in any case is probably the only story you will ever read about the last surviving resistance members of the clown counter-revolution.

Last Year, When We Were Young had a remarkably high hit rate for me. McKiernan’s quality as a short story writer is consistently strong across the collection. Highly recommended.

August 3, 2015

Progress report – The whooshing sound they make

Filed under: books of 2015,books read,Uncategorized — Tags: — lexifab @ 2:27 pm

Per Douglas Adams’ famous observation “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they fly by,” I have predictably failed to type THE END on the A Flash of Black Wings manuscript before my self-imposed target date of the end of July. C’est la vie. To be fair to myself, I did pass the 75,000 word mark with a day or two to spare. It’s just that the story isn’t quite done yet. I estimate it will probably be closer to 90 to 95 K to get to the planned conclusion. So I am not as bad at keeping to a writing schedule as I am of estimating a project’s scope (or controlling scope creep, which I think is the likeliest culprit in this case).

So I will continue to plug away with a revised estimated completion date of the end of August. That’s a pretty good target to aim for, since I will be travelling overseas for work (briefly) at the start of September. I’d like that to be a nice clean transition point between this writing project and the next [1].

Forget about that, I’m going to talk about what I’m reading:

I have a stack of physical books next to my bed and a (much larger) stack of ebooks which is, um, also next to my bed, on the kindle. Feeling the tremendous shame of having a tendency for impulse purchasing that far exceeds my reading time, I have decided to concentrate on at least knocking off all the books by Australian writers in the TBR pile before the end of the year. I also have a vague plan to review all or most of them, but that will definitely have to wait until after I’m done with the novel. (My traditional Month of Relentless Positivity daily blogging project in October may well be a succession of book reviews and not much else).

So far I’ve knocked off works by Andrea Höst, Andrew Macrae and Alis Franklin, as well as a couple of issues of Aurealis and some anthologies.

(No, I’m not working through the list in alphabetical order).

I expect to be done with that before summer, after which I’m planning to embark on a Reading Project.

The next reading project (help wanted)

Paying attention to various podcasts and other discussions on the history of science fiction and fantasy, it has become appearent to me just how wide the gaps are in my reading of “the classics”. I’ve read, for example, bugger-all Heinlein (probably because the Heinlein I have read is from his baffling later years). I’ve not read Bester. I’ve not read Samuel Delaney or Octavia Butler or Joanna Russ or Poul Anderson or Frederick Pohl or James Tiptree – well, you name someone outside the biggest names in genre, and I probably haven’t read much of their stuff.

I plan to fix that by going back and investigating some of the great classic works of science fiction. Twelve of them to start with – perhaps one a month, but more likely I will binge – and exclusively skiffy for the first round (I’m better read in fantasy, although I’ll probably undertake an equivalent project there as well). But because I am a proud desktop social justice warrior, I have no intention of allowing the content of my reading to be dominated by dead white guys, so I am going to attempt (to the greatest extent possible) to include non-white and non-male authors in the mix. Since I have to cherry-pick what constitutes a classic anyway (because it’s impossible to read everything) I figure I might as well read as broadly as possible.

Thus far I have determined that I will include Dhalgren by Chip Delaney (which I tried to read in high school but gave up on for whatever reason), at least one of the C J Cherryh Alliance-Union books (probably Downbelow Station, but I’ll see what I can find), The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin, something by Joanna Russ (probably The Female Man), something by Octavia Butler (not sure what yet), something by James Tiptree Jr aka Alice Sheldon (son’t know what yet), something by Alfred Bester (probably The Stars My Destination, but maybe The Demolished Man, and no, I haven’t read either of those) and something by Robert Heinlein that isn’t Stranger in a Strange Land or The Number of the Beast (because fuck The Number of the Beast sideways; what a shitty book that was).

I’ve set some rules for this project:

  • I can’t have read it before (I’ll give a pass to Dhalgren because I know I didn’t finish it, and because it was the book that prompted this line of thinking)
  • Only one book by any given author
  • Novels only (I do read a lot of short stories, but for this particular project I am shoring up my novel background)
  • Science fiction only – I’ll do fantasy classics later
  • Only books published pre-1985 (arbitrarily picking the publication of Neuromancer as the point at which I started reading science fiction semi-widely, and 30 years seems like a reasonable period to establish a work’s classic-ness)
  • I am seeking parity between male and female authors (counting Tiptree as female for the binary purposes of this exercise)
  • I am seeking parity between white and POC authors.

I have a feeling that last criteria will be hard to live up to but I will do my best.

So, I’m after suggestions: given the criteria above, what do you recommend I add to my reading pile of the classics of science fiction? What do you think are the landmark works of great science fiction that I should have absorbed into my brain-meats before now? 

(Doctor Clam, I feel quite sure you have something to contribute here!)

[Edited later]

Here’s the list as I settle on it (not yet in a particular order):

  • Samuel R Delaney – Dhalgren
  • Ursula K Le Guin – The Left Hand of Darkness
  • Alfred Bester – The Stars My Destination
  • C J Cherryh – Downbelow Station
  • Frederick Pohl – Gateway

[1] The next writing project will be the small to medium-sized stack of short story ideas that have accumulated in my notebooks since I started the novel manuscript. It will be at least three new stories, plus two revisions, before I go back to revise the novel.

July 13, 2015

Progress report – Bad ideas abound

In retrospect I should have realised that aiming to finish my novel in July would be a terrible idea. That’s the time of the year when I have to manage my abnormally complex tax affairs. Work’s never busier than around the end of financial year. There’s school holidays. I’m the treasurer of a club with non-trivial membership and assets. And – oh shit, I completely forgot that the Ashes are being played in the UK at relatively viewable times of the evening.

Thinking about that now, and making the observation – obvious with hindsight – that I tend to approach complex jobs (like writing a novel) with a foot-dragging air of desperate procrastination, I probably could have planned this better. As I should have expected, I’ve left myself with a fifteen to twenty-thousand word sprint to complete in the next two-and-change weeks.

That would be challenging enough, but on top of that the process of writing the novel has (also predictably) caused me to depart from my original outline in fairly significant ways. So now instead of racing towards the finish line on a well-mapped track with safety rails, I’m rallying about in the dark with dodgy headlights and a drunk navigator. I could still cross the finish line on time, but it’s difficult to see how it might happen on purpose.

Still, it is do-able, and I have something that at least resembles a plan. I will allocate at least part of every day – typically lunchtimes – to rebuilding the outline. That will help to make sure that when I sit down to write each session, I won’t have to spend a lot of time thinking about what the  scene will be about etc. And because the act of writing invariably steers me off-course with respect to the outline, I need to make sure that the re-outlining process occurs as regularly (or almost so) as the writing sessions themselves.

Currently I am writing at a rate of about 5000 words a week (on the novel). To get to where I want to be that number will have to rise to about 8000 a week.

I can do that.

 

In other news

I am currently reading Capital in the Twenty-First Century by Thomas Piketty for a couple of reasons: one, because the library sent me a recommendation to do so; two, because I know enough about economics to know what an economic illiterate I am and I do like to have a better grasp of why the world works as it does; and three, because I have let my non-fiction reading skills atrophy over the last few years and this looks like a serious workout in that respect. So far I am following it pretty well – Piketty takes the time to explain his terms and then remind the reader what they meant, but otherwise does not refrain from diving into fairly complex matters. It also helps that I am at least passingly familiar with the last three hundred years of European history, so I understand the basic context that he is examining. I’ll get back with a proper book report after I’m finished.

I know eight chords on the tenor ukelele now. Not all of them are single-finger chords. (Two of them are). While I can feel myself making good progress, I haven’t advanced to the point of trying to work out how to play an actual song yet. STILL I am being a musician again for the first time in more than ten years. Assuming it continues to feel good, at some point I will promote myself to learning to play the bass guitar (ie an instrument that does not sound terrible to play).

I devoted four late nights to the cricketing debacle in Cardiff last week (and would have thrown last night’s sleep into the mix as well had the Australian capitulation not be so complete). Even though the prospects are grim of a reversal of fortunes for the Lord’s Test starting on Thursday, I will be doing to same again this week. I fear that if even the lumbering doldrums displayed by the likes of Watson and Haddin cannot break my addiction to watching cricket, then my condition must be both acute and incurable.

May 25, 2015

Smashing dolls together

Filed under: books of 2015,geekery — Tags: , , , — lexifab @ 3:46 pm

The big summer comics crossover events have been a bit odd this year. (Let’s ignore the fact that I’m in the southern hemisphere and so crawling into a deep freeze during these so-called summer events). The similarities are baffling, and they all seem to involve the publishing equivalent of an eight-year-old smashing together all of their super hero toys for eight to ten weeks straight and charging a couple of hundred bucks for it.

They all seem to be running on variations of the same premise: Universes collide. Epic hilarity ensues.

In the case of Marvel’s Secret Wars event, this is literally the premise: all of the various universes and timelines in the extended Marvel multiverse (where they keep their spinoff continuities, aborted timelines, alternate realities and so forth) have been colliding over the past few years like a Newton’s Cradles on the Beyonder’s office desk, until the two popular ones are all that’s left. So they fight.

At the same time, DC is two very similar events more or less in parallel. The first, of less relevance here, is Grant Morrison’s Multiversity, which in typical Morrison-esque batshit craziness attempts to pit every obscure character ever included in a DC comic, including multiple versions of Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman and so on, into the same cross-reality showdown with a weird ontological conspiracy that threatens to infect all reality including the one occupied by the readers of Multiversity. The series is also a magic ritual designed to make itself  happen, or something. (Don’t ask – it’s metacommentary piled on top of metacommentary piled on top of all the drugs Morrison consumed in the nineties.) It’s cool, and so Morrison that you’ll either embrace it with all your heart or shy away like Dracula from crossed garlic presses.

DC’s second event is called Convergence, in which cackling-evil-genius Braniac conspires to bring back all the old DC continuities that they wiped out a few years ago in the just-awful Flashpoint event, in order to have them fight one another. First of all, it’s an odd sort of decision for DC to make to be running two more or less completely independent and incompatible cross-multiverse events at the same time, but at this point in the post-New 52 DC I just have to kind of shrug. I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on over there these days. The premise of Convergence is a thinly-disguised excuse to reunite some of DC’s greatest creative teams with the titles that made them famous (Greg Rucka writing Renee Montoya as the Question is exciting, though I haven’t seen much else that I care about) as all the old continuities crawl from the woodwork.

But something about it has left a bad taste in my mouth – or rather, nothing about it has removed the bad taste in my mouth that started with the New 52 and drove me firmly into the Marvel camp. So screw Braniac’s ridiculous plot involving bottle cities. Let’s talk Secret Wars.

Marvel’s original Secret Wars series in the 1980’s was one of the early examples of the big summer event. In it, a godlike being called the Beyonder summoned a bunch of heroes and villains to his arena-planet called Battleworld to fight. Everybody obligingly fought, except Doctor Doom who took the opportunity (correctly) to overthrow the Beyonder, steal all his power and rule as Doom Omniscient. Which was pretty awesome if you were a teenager when you read it, as I was.

That Secret Wars series was dumb but fun. (The less said about the sequel series Secret Wars II, in which the Beyonder comes to Earth to learn what it is to be human, the better. Except you should know that it was very fucking awful and don’t make the mistake of reading it because ugh).

Which brings us to this year’s Secret Wars, in which Marvel blows up all its toys.

 

(SPOILERS FOLLOW for a series of comics you are very likely not planning to read)

 

The backstory: Ever since crazed philosopher-architect Johnathan Hickman started writing the Avengers a couple of years ago, the writing has been on the wall for the Marvel universe(s). Due to some great cosmic misalignment, that probably has something to do with all the time travelling that the X-Men do all the time, universes have been bonking together in pendulous mutual annihilation. “Adjacent” Earth’s have been forced to occupy the same position, such that if one or the other is not destroyed inside an eight-hour window, both are destroyed. So far, so apocalyptic. The Avengers and the big brains like Reed Richards and Tony Stark and T’Challa have spent the last couple of years running around trying to find a cure, but so far no dice.

Now, only the official Marvel Universe (designated the “Earth-616” continuity) and the Ultimates Universe (“Earth-1610”, home of the post-millenial hard-edged reboot of Marvel’s most popular characters, which among other benefits originally gave us the Samuel L. Jackson version of Nick Fury) remain. And as Secret Wars #1 begins, they merge.

Recsue plans are enacted. Evil schemes are initiated. Various heroes make “it’s us or them” calls and launch attacks to destroy one Earth or the other.

Nope.

Boom!

Everything dies (!)

…except that Secret Wars is an eight-issue mini-series with about forty or fifty related titles, so what’s going on?

So it turns out that Doctor Doom has once again stepped up to the plate. Through some insane sorcery-science machinations I don’t plan to investigate, which probably relates all the way back to the eighties when he briefly possessed the power of the Beyonder, Doom has created a new Battleworld, a cobbled-up eggshell of a reality held together by force of Doom’s will alone.

Doom is the All-Father now, bizzatches. Pay fealty or he’ll kick your arse into the zombie-zone. Doom’s will is enforced by an army of Thors (aw yeah). Doom’s laws are administered by Sherrif (formerly Doctor) Strange. Doom brooks no insurrection, scheming or likewise bullshit.

Battleworld is divided into conveniently isolated zones (like World-of-Hulks, or  fake-mythic Britain, or This-is-where-all-the-Spider-characters-are Island) and ruled over highly-recognisable Barons who pay fealty to Doom. Captain Britain is the boss of the Avalon area. Tony Stark runs Technopolis and a different version of Tony Stark runs The Warzone, where the Civil War event never ended. Mister Sinister runs a creepy zone full of clones of various Summers brothers and multiple Misters Sinister.

Yeah, maybe don’t visit those last couple of places.

Delightfully, She-Hulk is the Baron of Arcadia, which looks like Brooklyn by way of Wonder Woman’s Paradise Island, where female super-heroes protect ordinary citizens from (apparently) horrible dinosaur-sharks. (That one comes from G. Willow Wilson’s A-Force mini-series, which I can honestly recommend as great fun).

Each of the zones in battleworld corresponds with some event from Marvel’s past continuity. For example there are various zones tied up with X-men events of the past, like Age of Apocalypse, House of M, Inferno, E is for Extinction etc). Without looking, I’m guessing there’ll be a version of Wolverine in each one, even though he was already dead by the time the main Earth-616 continuity ended.

At the edges of the world, Doom’s put up a big wall to keep out the denizens of various less-salubrious Marvel continuities, like the one full of zombies and another one full of Sentinels hunting mutants in the future.

On this Shield, exiles and insurgents are banished to stand as protectors for the rest of reality. No, no, it’s totally different from The Wall in Game of Thrones. Honestly I have no idea where you got that idea.

(My head canon for this is that Doom was a huge Westeros fan before everything went belly-up, which honestly is just one more reason for George R R Martin to hurry up and finish the series. You don’t want to keep the God-Messiah Doom hanging, do you?)

So, having blathered about it for some time, what’s the verdict?

Secret Wars Issue one is a big, continuity-dependent free-for-all with helicarriers smashing into buildings, heroes and villains you may or may not recognise being heroic and/or getting killed off, and various geniuses putting desperate schemes into last-minute action. Taken by itself, it’s a dog’s breakfast that is barely comprehensible. But of course it’s not meant to be, since it’s the culmination or four or five years worth of interwoven plots from across two separate publication lines. Frankly, understanding everything that’s going on without a doctorate in Marvel continuity is probably out of the question. That said, it’s easy enough to pick up the gist – the stakes are as high as stakes go, not everyone is going to make it, and shit is, like, super-real.

Issue Two, on the other hand, is a work of insane genius. The army of Thors. The court of Doomstadt. Mister Sinister vs Captain Britain. Some weird stuff where evidence of the previous universes, which contradicts the doctrine of Doom as absolute divine author, is discovered and covered up.

It’s all great. I’m on board for the rest of the run. Even though I think it’s very likely that the series will end with a disappointing just-one-universe reboot (as the great DC universe-consolidation event of the early 80’s, Crisis on Infinite Earths, did), the sheer weirdness of the way Marvel has completely upended 50+ years of continuous storytelling is quite breathtaking.

Convergence can go jump. Sorry DC.

I’m in for the glorious, delirious, smash-those-dolls-together insanity of Marvel’s Secret Wars.

 

May 2, 2015

Review – Seeing Red (Ambassador #1) by Patty Jansen

I haven’t actually formally signed up for the Australian Women Writers Challenge 2015, but I am still trying to include as many Australian writers in my reading diet as possible. To that end I’m going to try to review at least one Australian writer (or editor/anthologist) a month in 2015 (yes, yes, I’m behind on that), keeping an eye on the gender balance as I go. To start with, here’s what I thought about the first volume of Patty Jansen’s Ambassador series of SF diplomacy.

***

Seeing Red is the first volume of Patty Jansen’s Ambassador series, featuring Cory Wilson, Earth’s brash neophyte representative to an alien coalition called the gamra. About equal parts science fiction mystery and conspiracy thriller, with romance and social commentary subplots thrown in for good measure, Seeing Red is a delicious meal.

On the eve of his appointment as the ambassador of Nations of Earth to the alien gamra, an explosive assassination attempt propels Cory Wilson from Earth to the alien city of Barresh where he must prevent an interstellar war, solve a murder and figure out which of several alien factions is behind it all. Wilson is behind the eight-ball almost the whole time: separated from his alien partner and his fiance, his resources cut off by a suspicious Earth, and caught between the interests of bickering alien governments.

Wilson’s a fun character – overconfident and arrogant, but resourceful and more dedicated to his job than anyone around seems to give him credit for. But the real entertainment value of Seeing Red comes from his navigation of the complicated politics of gamra, the alien organisation that runs the star-travel network known as the Exchange. Gamra is like a cross between Dune’s monopolistic Spacing Guild and a United Nations Security Council where everyone is expecting war to break out. By comparison, Nation of Earth is also like the UN, except that it occasionally behaves with the sophistication of an unruly local council Chamber of Commerce.

There are a few nice action set-pieces keeping the debates and conspiracy-hunting from slowing things down, and the linked central mysteries are well-constructed and satisfying. I found the ultimate villain of the piece was not too difficult to identify, but saying that there are plenty of surprises to be had. In terms of Wilson’s very complicated romantic life, I felt he was sometimes a bit improbably dense or in borderline-cruel denial, but it resolved well and I certainly never felt it got in the way of the intrigue or the shooting.

Seeing Red is an excellent thriller, with what seemed to me to be solid science underpinning the intrigue and action. I’m planning to read the sequels.

February 25, 2015

Review – Frost (The Flotsam Series Book 2) by Peter M. Ball

Filed under: books of 2015,books read,reviewage — Tags: , — lexifab @ 9:53 am

This action-packed supernatural thriller improves on the previous volume in Peter M. Ball’s Flotsam series, Exile. Continuing its deep dive into the hard-boiled supernatural underbelly of Queensland’s Gold Coast, the action in Frost centers on grimy, compromised monster hunter Keith Murphy’s bargain with a demonic crime boss and a brewing gang war with a bikie gang.

The action sequences are suitably brutal and inventive, and the tense working relationship between Murphy and the various demon-possessed criminals he is nominally allied with lends real bite to the stakes. It’s very much a vicious, backstabbing workplace drama turned up to eleven by the presence of demons, firearms, murderous ghosts and literal stabbings in the back.

I’m looking forward to the next (final?) chapter of the series, in which I presume the much-anticipated Ragnarok on the Gold Coast will arrive at last.

February 18, 2015

Review: The Obituarist II: Dead Men’s Data by Patrick O’Duffy

Filed under: books of 2015,books read,reviewage — Tags: , , , — lexifab @ 12:00 pm

Patrick O’Duffy’s followup to his wildly entertaining 2012 crime novella The Obituarist opens with the attention-grabbing line “ECCENTRIC MILLIONAIRE COMMITS SUICIDE-BY-BEAR”, then immediately subverts that declaration of delirious intent with a snarky deconstruction of its own cynicism and deceptiveness.

The book holds the same mirror up to its protagonist. Kendall Barber returns as Port Virtue’s resident social media undertaker, a systems analyst specialising in discretely closing down the online presence of the recently deceased on behalf of grieving relatives who may not want to know what their loved ones got up to online.

As before, Barber is a study in contradictions – a cynical, shifty smartarse with the cracking skills of a Russian spammer playing the part of a sensitive online undertaker. He’s a beaten-down has-been with a shaky assumed identity and a driving sense of justice undermined by a fluid ethical framework. Considering the rough treatment he collected in the previous story – beaten up, run over with a car, etc – he also has a surprisingly undeveloped sense of self-preservation when it comes to keeping his mouth shut.

Basically, he’s a perfect modern noir anti-hero. This time around he’s caught between an investigation of his racist demagogue client’s affairs, fending off a hot but nosy investigative journalist, getting the snot beaten out of him by the usual collection of brutal low-rent criminals and playing a game of cat and mouse with Port Virtue’s corrupt, violent police department. Oh, and being mauled by unexpected wildlife.

The setting of Port Virtue gets a little more flesh on its bones with this installment – Barber’s client is the local eccentric scrap merchant king, with a notorious private zoo and an off-the-book business as a right-wing crank-for-profit. The discovery of a collection of body parts looms over the story like a winter cloud. And Kendall Barber clearly has a love-hate relationship with the town where nobody knows he’s a native.

The Obituarist II: Dead Men’s Data is coarse, violent and awash with the weary bitterness of optimism dashed one too many times. And that’s a terrible description, because this book is also hilarious and brimming with righteous (and yeah, sometime self-righteous) anger. Kendall Barber is more devil than saint, and he knows it, but he’s determined to do as much good as possible before Port Virtue grinds him up for good. He just doesn’t plan to walk a righteous path to do it, not when tricks and lies will do the job just as well. (Spoiler: they don’t).

It’s short, it’s wild and contains even more creative swearing, grotesque thuggery and cautions against lazy password administration than the previous book. If nothing else, after reading this you will almost certainly want to tighten up your online security habits.

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