John J. Vinacci

On the ‘softer’ side of sci-fi, The Kaiju Preservation Society clocks in as a light and catchy read (the author says of this work in the Afterword) that focuses on our protagonist and his friends, all newbies to the KPS, an organization dedicated to, well, preserving kaiju [monsters like Godzilla, for example] on an alternate earth. The novel begins set against the backdrop of the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic where our young protagonist, Jamie, finds himself unceremoniously fired from a job he actually cared about. Struggling to make ends meet, Jamie becomes instantly relatable and it’s only when a fortuitous meeting occurs that Jamie’s life takes a turn for the entirely unexpected. Most of the book reads as a fish-out-of-water tale and we don’t get around to the organization actually having to preserve any kaiju until late in the book. Until that point, most of what happens to Jamie on the alternate earth are about him and the particulars of his job, none of which are particularly e...

The second in my series of reading of sci-fi books in 2023, Blood Music is – how can I say this without spoiling much – well, it starts off as a by-the-numbers story of a scientist forced to experiment on himself. The story proceeds a bit predictably for a little while until things go completely off the rails and the plot becomes quite the opposite; completely unpredictable. Interestingly, the protagonist – and we have to use that term lightly here – turns out to not be our protagonist after all as we’re introduced to several new characters a third of the way through the book, one of whom the story rallies around though he had been a minor character up until that point. This makes the other characters somewhat superfluous, though they do serve as observers for a transformation of sorts. Unfortunately, none of the characters are much of anyone for the reader to bond with; our first protagonist gets the rug pulled out from under him then none of the new characters are really fleshed out...

Solaris is a classic sci-fi drama that follows the story of Kris Kelvin, a psychologist, as he arrives on a space station that is surveying the planet Solaris below. Solaris – the planet itself – appears to display signs of what might be intelligence, implying the planet is conscious. However, this intelligent consciousness is not like anything human, raising the question of why humans use themselves as the standard of consciousness for all ‘life.’ This however, is but a subplot of the book.   The book’s main focus is upon the humans studying it. Shortly after Dr. Kelvin arrives on the station, he is soon plagued by ‘visitors’ of which I will say nothing more other than said ‘visitors’ are implied to be explorations of the human psyche by the planet for reasons that are not readily apparent. The book’s strength lies in how Dr. Kelvin rationally, successfully – and emotionally, unsuccessfully – deals with the station’s ‘visitors.’ This is what makes the book more about the human psy...

* With Halloween 2022 fast approaching, here's a reprint from 2016. Enjoy the meal.   Laying here in wait With elegance and grace I’m patient as a clock With a little time to waste; I sharpen up my dagger Oh, would you like a snack? I invite inside your naïveté With a motive to attack.   “Come into my parlor,” Says this spider to your fly My tangled web of silkiness Betrays you, it’s a lie! I promise not to laugh If you promise not to cry When eventually you realize You’re my dinner guest tonight.   Now don’t mistake my nonchalance For arrogance my friend That’s the way the game is played At least inside my head; It’s nothing particularly personal Fate plotted this collision This poisoning of your luscious body With absolute precision.   Goodness, are you still moving Can I offer you a mint? I’m not good at condolences Much less at being friends; I assure you that it’s futile I sense you sense the end ...

  When I moved to Portland, Oregon in mid-July 2004, just like any other intelligent person I made the move with no job waiting for me. I figured I’d get a job when I needed one – basically, when I’d burned through my savings – and it wouldn’t be much of a task. Indeed, finding a job when the time came would have been easy had I’d been doing massage at the time. Alas, I was not. There was also the matter of having met my future wife my second day in the City of Roses, aka Rip Town, aka Stumptown, aka Bridgetown, aka Portlandia, aka PDX. Far more important than securing a job were late night escapades with mi amor in the vibrant new city. Like Death, though, the taxman cometh eventually.   As it turns out, my savings didn’t last long in an actual city when you’re dating, so getting a job ya bum became a priority sooner rather than later. It turned out to be no small task to the point I answered an intriguing job posting on Craigslist. A ‘prominent’ hotel in downtown was loo...

I hate these goddamn things. If I never go to another funeral it’ll be too soon.   Chuck’s mother is crying. She’s always crying. Everything’s a fucking Hallmark moment with her. Or do I mean Lifetime Special? My thinking gets cloudy in these situations, situations where you need to find some words of consolation, but words escape you. So I put my hand on her shoulder but it doesn’t ease her hyperventilating. It’s no use. I slip my hand in my pocket and fumble around. I need a cigarette.   I’ve smoked for a long time but I don’t need a cigarette; it’s just something you do in these situations when you can’t think of anything to do or say. It’s a distraction. There’s something comforting in the habit. I don’t even have to look; I’ve done it so many times I can slide a cancer stick out of the package and bring it to my lips like I’m on autopilot. I can even bring fire, the lighter, to the tip of the cigarette based on muscle memory alone. I thumb for the chick chick of...

  Lay the soft pink of your Destruction across my lips, Poison me ‘til I’m not whole It’s the quickest path to death; Escort me down that corridor To the far side of a kiss To bliss beyond the noise Take away my virgin breathes, Sweetly kill this saintly soul. All Rights Reserved © March 2017 John J Vinacci