Robert E. Howard
Gollancz
0-575-07766-2
These are the tales of Conan the Cimmerian, whose life of slaughter and thievery leads him from lost cities to decadent ones, from the deepest jungles to the dark heart of underground kingdoms, and pitted him against warriors, foul sorcerers, and supernatural horrors summoned from nightmarish realms. He is the quintessential barbarian, whose animal cunning and primitive strength of arms has carried him from humble beginnings amid the uncivilised tribes of the north to the throne of the greatest kingdom of the Hyborian Age and back to the gutter again.
Robert E. Howard’s stories of Conan, first published in pulp magazines over seventy years ago, are considered some of the most definitive works of fantasy ever written. Together with Tolkien, Zelany, Vance and a handful of other great names, Howard stands as the cornerstone upon which much of modern fantasy is based. But how well have his tales stood the test of time?
The Complete Chronicles contains twenty-seven stories, varying from a few pages to near two hundred, and Howard’s own invented history of the Hyborian Age. An afterword details Howard’s life and the development of Conan from pulp pages to comic book hero to Hollywood, while an appendix and a map detailing the various people and kingdoms of the Hyborian Age provide additional depth to Conan‘s world. But it is the stories themselves which are the core of this compilation, and Howard’s visceral, emotive storytelling makes for some powerful tales of adventure.
His hero is an old-fashioned one, straight-forward in both his desires and his approach to realising them. Quick to anger, larger than life, and a paragon of physical prowess, Conan is the very archetype of the barbarian warrior. However, in reading Howard’s stories together they all begin to blend into one. While Conan’s adventures take him to fantastic locations and pit him against terrible foes, little stands out but the Cimmerian himself. The women who stand at his side are invariably weak and timid stereotypes of the fainting heroine, unable to resist the barbarian‘s fierce passion. Only Bêlit, the eponymous co-heroine of ‘Queen of the Black Coast’, shows any real deviation from this pattern and even she can do nothing to resist Conan’s feral charms. The exotic locations Conan visits are wildly imaginative and richly painted, but serve only as a backdrop to the barbarian’s exploits and as such are given little depth in their own right. As for the villains of each piece, they range from ancient iron giants to monstrous snake-demons to greedy merchants. But the most common of Conan’s foes is the dark magician, whose sorcery calls upon creatures from beyond the pale… so many versions of the same character, with little difference between them but their names. Another, more uncomfortable trend is the common portrayal of black people as unsophisticated, brutish and bestial. While it might be understood as a result of the period in which the stories were written, this aspect of the tales is no less distasteful for it.
However, the main cause of the tales’ similarity is their sharing of the same basic narrative template. A woman is threatened by some dark beast or sorcerer, and Conan confronts the villain and defeats them through sheer force of arms. An effective story generally requires some sort of significant challenge, the possibility of the hero’s failure. But this is Conan, and there is no spell or supernatural horror that he can’t defeat through stubborn will and straightforward violence. Such a simplistic structure makes for unsatisfying conclusions, a trend not helped by the lack of any real resolution. Conan kills things and goes on his way, caring little for loose ends or the devastation he leaves in his wake. Each story ends in much the same place as it starts, but with a woman in Conan’s arms. By the time the next story begins, however, she has vanished as if she had never been. James Bond would be proud.
Howard’s stories of Conan are sexist, rife with unsettling hints of racism, and struggle to show any real depth. They do contain, however, what is without a doubt some of the most exciting and visceral fantasy ever written. This is a book to be dipped into rather than devoured whole, and in such small doses the tales’ flaws are concealed behind a fast-moving rush of action and adventure. As a result ‘The Complete Conan’ will find a place on my ‘all style no substance’ shelf, where I can get to it quick when I need an antidote for more complex tales.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Monday, 2 July 2007
The Smoke Thief
Shana Abé
Bantam Books
0-553-80448-0
In eighteenth-century London, the nobility speak in whispers of the Smoke Thief. The police cannot catch him, baffled by the thefts. Only the best are taken, the rarest jewellery and the purest gems vanishing from their lockboxes. The thief must be a magician, for the police are baffled. He must be able to walk through walls…
Christoff, Marquess of Langford, knows the truth: the thief is no human, but a renegade drákon escaped from isolated Darkfrith in the north. As the ruler of those ancient, noble creatures, the duty of recapturing the runaway is his… before humanity discovers the secret and exposes the drákon.
Yet unbeknownst to him, the Smoke Thief is not a man but a woman. The first in centuries to be able to take dragon form, she is his equal in every way. As they hunt one another through the streets and sky of old London, growing ever closer, another danger rises to threaten the drákon and their ancient way of life…
First and foremost, ‘The Smoke Thief’ is a romance novel. The period setting and fantasy elements combine to evoke a sophisticated air of old-fashioned romanticism, and just as well. The relationship between Christoff and the runaway drákon Rue is cliché-ridden and on occasion veers dangerously close to Mills and Boon territory: she’s a strong-willed woman who despises his forceful nature even as she is attracted to his strength; he’s a charismatic, Byronic figure, admiring her will even as he tries to break it. The result is inevitable, and never seems anything but a foregone conclusion. Yet the romantic, heady atmosphere evoked through Shana Abé’s deft writing does much to hide the flaws, and somehow makes this well-trodden ground worth walking one more time.
‘The Smoke Thief’s London is the real star of the show; romantic and yet possessed of a Dickensian authenticity. A little too clean, perhaps, but still possessing that complex vitality for which it’s known. The novel’s opening chapters, set among the nobility and following Rue through a heist, succinctly paints a picture of intimacy and deception among the upper classes. With both hero and heroine inhabiting the nobility working class London should receive somewhat shorter shrift, but through a secondary character Abé efficiently conveys the misery and squalor of such an existence.
In comparison, the drákon lands of Darkfrith seem pale and empty. When the action shifts away from London, ‘The Smoke Thief’ loses much of its energy. The quiet of the countryside, ably evoked by Abé’s clever, poetic descriptions, feels a little disjointed and leaves the reader suddenly struggling to change down a gear.
Such scenes aren’t helped by the characters than inhabit them. Christoff and the council who help him rule the drákon have an unpleasantly fascist air to them, and his overbearing arrogance in particular seems the least likely thing to endear him to a woman… or the reader. Small wonder that Rue fled Darkfrith, but the conventions of romantic fiction seem to over-rule Christoff’s utter unsuitability as a protagonist. However, his unsympathetic nature is more than made up for by a superb piece of characterisation in the form of Rue herself. Sympathetic (apart from her inexplicable infatuation), conflicted and intriguing, she is as well-crafted as the city in which she thrives.
The rest of the plot is paper thin, and fades into insignificance against the romance between the leads. And while there may be nothing innovative about that particular tale, in ‘The Smoke Thief’ Shana Abé tells it with flair enough that any flaws might be forgiven.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Bantam Books
0-553-80448-0
In eighteenth-century London, the nobility speak in whispers of the Smoke Thief. The police cannot catch him, baffled by the thefts. Only the best are taken, the rarest jewellery and the purest gems vanishing from their lockboxes. The thief must be a magician, for the police are baffled. He must be able to walk through walls…
Christoff, Marquess of Langford, knows the truth: the thief is no human, but a renegade drákon escaped from isolated Darkfrith in the north. As the ruler of those ancient, noble creatures, the duty of recapturing the runaway is his… before humanity discovers the secret and exposes the drákon.
Yet unbeknownst to him, the Smoke Thief is not a man but a woman. The first in centuries to be able to take dragon form, she is his equal in every way. As they hunt one another through the streets and sky of old London, growing ever closer, another danger rises to threaten the drákon and their ancient way of life…
First and foremost, ‘The Smoke Thief’ is a romance novel. The period setting and fantasy elements combine to evoke a sophisticated air of old-fashioned romanticism, and just as well. The relationship between Christoff and the runaway drákon Rue is cliché-ridden and on occasion veers dangerously close to Mills and Boon territory: she’s a strong-willed woman who despises his forceful nature even as she is attracted to his strength; he’s a charismatic, Byronic figure, admiring her will even as he tries to break it. The result is inevitable, and never seems anything but a foregone conclusion. Yet the romantic, heady atmosphere evoked through Shana Abé’s deft writing does much to hide the flaws, and somehow makes this well-trodden ground worth walking one more time.
‘The Smoke Thief’s London is the real star of the show; romantic and yet possessed of a Dickensian authenticity. A little too clean, perhaps, but still possessing that complex vitality for which it’s known. The novel’s opening chapters, set among the nobility and following Rue through a heist, succinctly paints a picture of intimacy and deception among the upper classes. With both hero and heroine inhabiting the nobility working class London should receive somewhat shorter shrift, but through a secondary character Abé efficiently conveys the misery and squalor of such an existence.
In comparison, the drákon lands of Darkfrith seem pale and empty. When the action shifts away from London, ‘The Smoke Thief’ loses much of its energy. The quiet of the countryside, ably evoked by Abé’s clever, poetic descriptions, feels a little disjointed and leaves the reader suddenly struggling to change down a gear.
Such scenes aren’t helped by the characters than inhabit them. Christoff and the council who help him rule the drákon have an unpleasantly fascist air to them, and his overbearing arrogance in particular seems the least likely thing to endear him to a woman… or the reader. Small wonder that Rue fled Darkfrith, but the conventions of romantic fiction seem to over-rule Christoff’s utter unsuitability as a protagonist. However, his unsympathetic nature is more than made up for by a superb piece of characterisation in the form of Rue herself. Sympathetic (apart from her inexplicable infatuation), conflicted and intriguing, she is as well-crafted as the city in which she thrives.
The rest of the plot is paper thin, and fades into insignificance against the romance between the leads. And while there may be nothing innovative about that particular tale, in ‘The Smoke Thief’ Shana Abé tells it with flair enough that any flaws might be forgiven.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Wednesday, 2 August 2006
Shadow of the Giant
Orson Scott Card
Tor Books
0-812-57139-8
Almost ten years after the child-general, Ender Wiggin, and his chosen ‘Jeesh’ annihilated the alien buggers and destroyed their home planet, Earth stands at a crossroads. Down one road lies unity and cooperation; down the other, war and self-destruction. With Ender himself exiled off-planet, his chosen – with their preternatural gifts for strategy and manipulation – have become the greatest weapons in the arsenals of their respective countries. Yet some are not content with simply being used – they want to lead. The Caliph of a united Islam, the new Emperor of China and India’s self-titled ‘Goddess’ are all graduates of the Battle School where they learned the arts of war alongside Ender, and now they seem dead-set on putting those lessons to the test against one another.
All is not in their favour, however. Julian ‘Bean’ Delphiki, Ender’s most brilliant companion, and his similarly gifted wife Petra stand alongside Ender’s brother Peter in an effort to bring lasting peace to the world. Yet the young couple have problems of their own. The genetic manipulation that gave Bean his unparalleled genius is killing him – and worse, the IV fertilised embryos of their children, stolen and scattered around the world, might bear the same condition. Soon he will have to choose how to spend his last remaining days: reuniting his family, or helping Peter create a lasting peace.
Whatever you might think about the author’s politics, there’s no denying that Orson Scott Card writes an entertaining story. Just like its predecessor in this series, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ paints a fascinating picture of just what World War Three might look like, and has the courage to admit that the major players are far more likely to spring from the rising East than the fading western superpowers. India, China and the Islamic nations, with their vast manpower, make for an interesting yet potentially authentic take on an old idea.
‘…Giant’ focuses more on the political side than the military, however. The machinations of the Hegemon, Peter Wiggin, take centre stage, as he attempts to put an end to war and bring all the nations of the world together under one banner. Similarly, the alliances and assassination attempts at the head of the other powers take precedence over any military action. When troops do begin to march, despite much emphasis on the idea of war as a political necessity battle seems almost an afterthought.
The greatest flaw of ‘Shadow of the Giant’, however, lies in its wavering focus. Despite the title of the novel, this is not Bean’s story but really Peter’s. Bean seems relegated to the background, a tool in the Hegemon’s hands. Meanwhile, his search for his children seems somewhat insignificant in comparison to the global politicking. even to the character himself. Neither the urgency or the agony of Bean’s decisions comes through, and it renders much of the subplot unfortunately irrelevant.
With the epilogue comes an unexpected pleasure – the last encounter, via faster-than-light comms, between the Wiggin brothers. Theirs is the relationship which has cast such a great shadow over both the ‘Shadows’ series and ‘Ender’s Game’, and to see them interact again grants a real sense of closure, even as it once more emphasises Bean’s background role.
Other threads are not so neatly tied off. The matter of Bean’s children remains somewhat unresolved, and a series of interludes regarding the spectre of Achilles, Bean’s old enemy, that was built up from the first few pages frustratingly leads the reader nowhere. Yet despite these flaws, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ remains an absorbing read and a satisfactory conclusion to the series. Orson Scott Card’s style and strong grasp of character allow the reader to really feel involved in the story, while the passage of time has allowed his child characters to mature to the point where such adult dialogue no longer seems an oddity in their mouths. As such, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ finds a welcome place on my ‘psychological warfare’ shelf, together with its companion novels.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Tor Books
0-812-57139-8
Almost ten years after the child-general, Ender Wiggin, and his chosen ‘Jeesh’ annihilated the alien buggers and destroyed their home planet, Earth stands at a crossroads. Down one road lies unity and cooperation; down the other, war and self-destruction. With Ender himself exiled off-planet, his chosen – with their preternatural gifts for strategy and manipulation – have become the greatest weapons in the arsenals of their respective countries. Yet some are not content with simply being used – they want to lead. The Caliph of a united Islam, the new Emperor of China and India’s self-titled ‘Goddess’ are all graduates of the Battle School where they learned the arts of war alongside Ender, and now they seem dead-set on putting those lessons to the test against one another.
All is not in their favour, however. Julian ‘Bean’ Delphiki, Ender’s most brilliant companion, and his similarly gifted wife Petra stand alongside Ender’s brother Peter in an effort to bring lasting peace to the world. Yet the young couple have problems of their own. The genetic manipulation that gave Bean his unparalleled genius is killing him – and worse, the IV fertilised embryos of their children, stolen and scattered around the world, might bear the same condition. Soon he will have to choose how to spend his last remaining days: reuniting his family, or helping Peter create a lasting peace.
Whatever you might think about the author’s politics, there’s no denying that Orson Scott Card writes an entertaining story. Just like its predecessor in this series, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ paints a fascinating picture of just what World War Three might look like, and has the courage to admit that the major players are far more likely to spring from the rising East than the fading western superpowers. India, China and the Islamic nations, with their vast manpower, make for an interesting yet potentially authentic take on an old idea.
‘…Giant’ focuses more on the political side than the military, however. The machinations of the Hegemon, Peter Wiggin, take centre stage, as he attempts to put an end to war and bring all the nations of the world together under one banner. Similarly, the alliances and assassination attempts at the head of the other powers take precedence over any military action. When troops do begin to march, despite much emphasis on the idea of war as a political necessity battle seems almost an afterthought.
The greatest flaw of ‘Shadow of the Giant’, however, lies in its wavering focus. Despite the title of the novel, this is not Bean’s story but really Peter’s. Bean seems relegated to the background, a tool in the Hegemon’s hands. Meanwhile, his search for his children seems somewhat insignificant in comparison to the global politicking. even to the character himself. Neither the urgency or the agony of Bean’s decisions comes through, and it renders much of the subplot unfortunately irrelevant.
With the epilogue comes an unexpected pleasure – the last encounter, via faster-than-light comms, between the Wiggin brothers. Theirs is the relationship which has cast such a great shadow over both the ‘Shadows’ series and ‘Ender’s Game’, and to see them interact again grants a real sense of closure, even as it once more emphasises Bean’s background role.
Other threads are not so neatly tied off. The matter of Bean’s children remains somewhat unresolved, and a series of interludes regarding the spectre of Achilles, Bean’s old enemy, that was built up from the first few pages frustratingly leads the reader nowhere. Yet despite these flaws, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ remains an absorbing read and a satisfactory conclusion to the series. Orson Scott Card’s style and strong grasp of character allow the reader to really feel involved in the story, while the passage of time has allowed his child characters to mature to the point where such adult dialogue no longer seems an oddity in their mouths. As such, ‘Shadow of the Giant’ finds a welcome place on my ‘psychological warfare’ shelf, together with its companion novels.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Tuesday, 1 August 2006
The Lies of Locke Lamora
Scott Lynch
Gollancz
0-575-07802-2
In the ancient city of Camorr, where bridges and towers of indestructible Elderglass stand as a reminder of the ancient race who once made their homes here, Locke Lamora makes his living running confidence games on the rich. He and his tight-knit gang, the Gentlemen Bastards, are just one of the hundreds that pay fealty to Capa Barsavi, the criminal overlord of Camorr, but they are the only ones that dare breach the crime lord’s Secret Peace with the nobility and prey upon the upper classes. They play a dangerous game; not only is the Duke of Camorr’s disturbingly competent spymaster searching for them, but any slip might see them on the receiving end of the Capa’s famously terminal displeasure.
Just as Locke and his companions make ready to embark on their latest and most ambitious scheme, things are about to get much more complicated. Caught up in a web of intrigue, murder and deception, the Gentlemen Bastards will have to use all the tricks of their trade to stay ahead of the pack… and stay alive.
‘The Lies of Locke Lamora’ isn’t just fun to say out loud – it’s fun to read, too. The lyrical style present in the novel’s title can be found throughout, from flowing and evocative descriptions to catchy, witty dialogue. Scott Lynch has a genuine talent for turning old clichés on their heads, and the resultant writing is as fresh as new-baked bread.
Lynch’s style makes something new of his setting, too. Camorr is a bustling fantasy city in the middle of a semi-renaissance, busy with organised crime and foppish nobles, and seems to owe a little something to every city from Rome, Venice and Dickens’ London to Pratchett’s Ankh-Morpork or China Miéville’s Bas-Lag. Yet in Lynch’s description it’s possible to see something new: a place divided between the rich and the criminal where the poor are left to suffer without any protection at all. It’s a city of uncommon, casual brutality, where floating amphitheatres house bloody shark-baiting matches and the Watch are a credible threat. Yet there’s beauty, too, in the twilight glow of the Elderglass towers and the razor-edged glass flowers of the Hungry Garden, and it’s the author’s poetic descriptions that make Camorr stand out in the Fantasyland Tour Guide.
If characterisation suffers a little in comparison to such well-crafted scene-setting, that’s no great surprise. Locke and his gang suffer the two-edged curse of sharing the same wit and verve in their dialogue, which can make them difficult to tell apart in conversation. Hints of that selfsame wit can be found in other groups and characters, too, and enjoyable as it is to read such eloquent speech, realistic depiction would be better served if each character possessed a distinct voice of their own.
Still, much effort seems to have been put into fleshing out Locke and his friends. They might all talk the same, but the flashbacks to their younger days that appear throughout the narrative do much to build them up as individuals – while also serving to weave the necessary exposition into the tale without too much of a break in pace. Rather than break up the flow of the narrative, these flashbacks also somehow manage to fit well into natural pauses and heighten the anticipation for a return to the tale, while still proving entertaining in their own right.
The structure of the novel, then, does an excellent job of spicing up what is at heart a fairly simple plot. Locke Lamora’s adventures feel something like a cross between ‘The Godfather’ and the BBC TV con-artist show ‘Hustle’, with treachery and revenge as standard. Yet for all his vaunted brilliance, when things fail to go according to plan our hero seems strangely incapable of improvising. Admittedly he seems to land himself so deeply in trouble that there’s no obvious choice but to cross his fingers and hope, but you’d think that a master con-man whose expertise in planning complicated deception might be capable of taking a more active role in his fate.
Minor flaws aside, ‘The Lies of Locke Lamora’ is an excellent work and all the more astonishing for being Lynch’s debut novel. It shows its author to have a genuine talent for storytelling and particularly for descriptive prose, and one that I look forward to seeing develop over the course of the ‘Gentlemen Bastards’ series. As such, the novel will find pride of place on my ‘Magic and Misdirection’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Gollancz
0-575-07802-2
In the ancient city of Camorr, where bridges and towers of indestructible Elderglass stand as a reminder of the ancient race who once made their homes here, Locke Lamora makes his living running confidence games on the rich. He and his tight-knit gang, the Gentlemen Bastards, are just one of the hundreds that pay fealty to Capa Barsavi, the criminal overlord of Camorr, but they are the only ones that dare breach the crime lord’s Secret Peace with the nobility and prey upon the upper classes. They play a dangerous game; not only is the Duke of Camorr’s disturbingly competent spymaster searching for them, but any slip might see them on the receiving end of the Capa’s famously terminal displeasure.
Just as Locke and his companions make ready to embark on their latest and most ambitious scheme, things are about to get much more complicated. Caught up in a web of intrigue, murder and deception, the Gentlemen Bastards will have to use all the tricks of their trade to stay ahead of the pack… and stay alive.
‘The Lies of Locke Lamora’ isn’t just fun to say out loud – it’s fun to read, too. The lyrical style present in the novel’s title can be found throughout, from flowing and evocative descriptions to catchy, witty dialogue. Scott Lynch has a genuine talent for turning old clichés on their heads, and the resultant writing is as fresh as new-baked bread.
Lynch’s style makes something new of his setting, too. Camorr is a bustling fantasy city in the middle of a semi-renaissance, busy with organised crime and foppish nobles, and seems to owe a little something to every city from Rome, Venice and Dickens’ London to Pratchett’s Ankh-Morpork or China Miéville’s Bas-Lag. Yet in Lynch’s description it’s possible to see something new: a place divided between the rich and the criminal where the poor are left to suffer without any protection at all. It’s a city of uncommon, casual brutality, where floating amphitheatres house bloody shark-baiting matches and the Watch are a credible threat. Yet there’s beauty, too, in the twilight glow of the Elderglass towers and the razor-edged glass flowers of the Hungry Garden, and it’s the author’s poetic descriptions that make Camorr stand out in the Fantasyland Tour Guide.
If characterisation suffers a little in comparison to such well-crafted scene-setting, that’s no great surprise. Locke and his gang suffer the two-edged curse of sharing the same wit and verve in their dialogue, which can make them difficult to tell apart in conversation. Hints of that selfsame wit can be found in other groups and characters, too, and enjoyable as it is to read such eloquent speech, realistic depiction would be better served if each character possessed a distinct voice of their own.
Still, much effort seems to have been put into fleshing out Locke and his friends. They might all talk the same, but the flashbacks to their younger days that appear throughout the narrative do much to build them up as individuals – while also serving to weave the necessary exposition into the tale without too much of a break in pace. Rather than break up the flow of the narrative, these flashbacks also somehow manage to fit well into natural pauses and heighten the anticipation for a return to the tale, while still proving entertaining in their own right.
The structure of the novel, then, does an excellent job of spicing up what is at heart a fairly simple plot. Locke Lamora’s adventures feel something like a cross between ‘The Godfather’ and the BBC TV con-artist show ‘Hustle’, with treachery and revenge as standard. Yet for all his vaunted brilliance, when things fail to go according to plan our hero seems strangely incapable of improvising. Admittedly he seems to land himself so deeply in trouble that there’s no obvious choice but to cross his fingers and hope, but you’d think that a master con-man whose expertise in planning complicated deception might be capable of taking a more active role in his fate.
Minor flaws aside, ‘The Lies of Locke Lamora’ is an excellent work and all the more astonishing for being Lynch’s debut novel. It shows its author to have a genuine talent for storytelling and particularly for descriptive prose, and one that I look forward to seeing develop over the course of the ‘Gentlemen Bastards’ series. As such, the novel will find pride of place on my ‘Magic and Misdirection’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Sunday, 2 July 2006
Star Wars: Outbound Flight
Timothy Zahn
Del Rey Books
ISBN: 0-345-45683-1
Before the Clone Wars swallowed the Republic, the Jedi Master Jorus C’boath launched his plans for the Outbound Flight project: a grand experiment, taking fifty thousand Republic citizens and a handful of Jedi beyond the edge of the known galaxy on a mission of exploration and colonisation. He has a lot to content with – opposition from the Jedi Council, determined to focus the Order’s dwindling resources on more important matters; bureaucrats and red tape hampering the project’s realisation; the machinations of the Sith Lord, Sidious, who sees Outbound Flight as just another playing piece in his game.
But his enemies within the Republic’s borders may be the least of C’boath’s worries. For in the Unknown Regions, in the path of Outbound Flight, the alien known as ‘Thrawn’ has come across a smuggler ship whose inhabitants could set in motion a chain of events to doom the Outbound Flight project...
If this latest addition to the weight of Star Wars books on my groaning shelves has one major flaw, it’s that the novel doesn’t seem sure who to cater to. Those die-hard readers intimately familiar with Zahn’s other works will most likely find ‘Outbound Flight’ a little too familiar – the events that unfold within are a foregone conclusion, long ago revealed, and the ‘how’ simply isn’t interesting enough to support a whole novel. Those new to Star Wars’ Extended Universe, on the other hand, should find another place to start. ‘Outbound Flight’ jumps into the middle of a series Zahn’s been writing for close to fifteen years, and the sheer weight of baggage here is telling.
As can be expected from so enduring an author, the style of ‘Outbound Flight’ is solid enough. Zahn’s characters are well-detailed and authentic, those we’ve seen before remaining consistent to their established personalities and motivations. It’s not enough to save the novel from sinking into the mundane, however. The lacklustre plot, issues with pacing (particularly near the beginning, where a sub-plot involving diplomatic negotiations which could have been summarised in a sentence or two stretches on for dozens of pages) and the sheer inevitability that hangs over the storyline render ‘Outbound Flight’ both tedious and predictable.
In addition, Zahn’s need to tie the story in to already existing tales is painfully apparent. The presence of Obi-wan Kenobi and a teenage Anakin Skywalker aboard Outbound Flight is both an unnecessary and pointless complication and an insult to the reader’s intelligence. We’ve seen Star Wars books that don’t feature the films’ central characters before, and the setting is strong enough to cope. If the story of Outbound Flight were also strong enough, there would be no need for such an obvious crutch.
On top of that, ‘Outbound Flight’ is weighed down by the constant introduction of characters from ‘Outbound Flight’s sister novel, ‘Survivor’s Quest’, regardless of whether they have a role to play within this particular story, and the occasional name-check of characters from Zahn’s earlier works. Such interlinking serves no purpose, and slows the narrative to a crawl. The relationship between novels is clear enough that only the most inattentive reader would require such constant reminders, and as such they only serve to irritate.
‘Outbound Flight’s one saving grace is the appearance of Sidious’ agent on the scene. A political manipulator in the style of his master, he is smart, well-motivated and interesting to follow. His interactions with Thrawn himself are fascinating, and would have proved a far more credible viewpoint on the alien’s actions and motivations than the embarrassingly contrived arrival of Republic smugglers in the Unknown Regions. A shame, then, that he isn’t granted the page space that Kenobi and Skywalker gobble up to little purpose.
Too familiar for established fans and requiring too much foreknowledge from new ones, ‘Outbound Flight’ hovers uncomfortably between the two. If the tale it tells were strong enough, that wouldn’t matter, but the whole work feels a little too much like an exercise in joining the dots. As such, it’ll find a place on my ‘filler material’ shelf, and I doubt I’ll open it again.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Del Rey Books
ISBN: 0-345-45683-1
Before the Clone Wars swallowed the Republic, the Jedi Master Jorus C’boath launched his plans for the Outbound Flight project: a grand experiment, taking fifty thousand Republic citizens and a handful of Jedi beyond the edge of the known galaxy on a mission of exploration and colonisation. He has a lot to content with – opposition from the Jedi Council, determined to focus the Order’s dwindling resources on more important matters; bureaucrats and red tape hampering the project’s realisation; the machinations of the Sith Lord, Sidious, who sees Outbound Flight as just another playing piece in his game.
But his enemies within the Republic’s borders may be the least of C’boath’s worries. For in the Unknown Regions, in the path of Outbound Flight, the alien known as ‘Thrawn’ has come across a smuggler ship whose inhabitants could set in motion a chain of events to doom the Outbound Flight project...
If this latest addition to the weight of Star Wars books on my groaning shelves has one major flaw, it’s that the novel doesn’t seem sure who to cater to. Those die-hard readers intimately familiar with Zahn’s other works will most likely find ‘Outbound Flight’ a little too familiar – the events that unfold within are a foregone conclusion, long ago revealed, and the ‘how’ simply isn’t interesting enough to support a whole novel. Those new to Star Wars’ Extended Universe, on the other hand, should find another place to start. ‘Outbound Flight’ jumps into the middle of a series Zahn’s been writing for close to fifteen years, and the sheer weight of baggage here is telling.
As can be expected from so enduring an author, the style of ‘Outbound Flight’ is solid enough. Zahn’s characters are well-detailed and authentic, those we’ve seen before remaining consistent to their established personalities and motivations. It’s not enough to save the novel from sinking into the mundane, however. The lacklustre plot, issues with pacing (particularly near the beginning, where a sub-plot involving diplomatic negotiations which could have been summarised in a sentence or two stretches on for dozens of pages) and the sheer inevitability that hangs over the storyline render ‘Outbound Flight’ both tedious and predictable.
In addition, Zahn’s need to tie the story in to already existing tales is painfully apparent. The presence of Obi-wan Kenobi and a teenage Anakin Skywalker aboard Outbound Flight is both an unnecessary and pointless complication and an insult to the reader’s intelligence. We’ve seen Star Wars books that don’t feature the films’ central characters before, and the setting is strong enough to cope. If the story of Outbound Flight were also strong enough, there would be no need for such an obvious crutch.
On top of that, ‘Outbound Flight’ is weighed down by the constant introduction of characters from ‘Outbound Flight’s sister novel, ‘Survivor’s Quest’, regardless of whether they have a role to play within this particular story, and the occasional name-check of characters from Zahn’s earlier works. Such interlinking serves no purpose, and slows the narrative to a crawl. The relationship between novels is clear enough that only the most inattentive reader would require such constant reminders, and as such they only serve to irritate.
‘Outbound Flight’s one saving grace is the appearance of Sidious’ agent on the scene. A political manipulator in the style of his master, he is smart, well-motivated and interesting to follow. His interactions with Thrawn himself are fascinating, and would have proved a far more credible viewpoint on the alien’s actions and motivations than the embarrassingly contrived arrival of Republic smugglers in the Unknown Regions. A shame, then, that he isn’t granted the page space that Kenobi and Skywalker gobble up to little purpose.
Too familiar for established fans and requiring too much foreknowledge from new ones, ‘Outbound Flight’ hovers uncomfortably between the two. If the tale it tells were strong enough, that wouldn’t matter, but the whole work feels a little too much like an exercise in joining the dots. As such, it’ll find a place on my ‘filler material’ shelf, and I doubt I’ll open it again.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Wednesday, 1 March 2006
Golem
Greg Vilk
Ricochet Press (self-published)
ISBN: 0-9772189-0-2
It’s 1942, and the Second World War is raging across Europe. Far removed from the conflict, in the icy wastes of Greenland, a crack team of U.S. Rangers is sent to destroy a secret Nazi research facility and rescue the American scientist forced to work there.
Saddled with the scientist’s daughter and a bureaucrat from the War Department, the Rangers set off on their assignment. But the base is not all it seems, and the Germans’ meddling has unleashed something dark and hateful. As the Americans scrabble to survive, their mission is suddenly the least of their worries.
Greg Vilk’s ‘about the author’ gives his day job as visual effects director on a number of blockbusting Hollywood films, and ‘Golem’ is written in that same cinematic tradition. Description and characterisation are so sparse that the novel could pass for a film script, with only the dialogue possessing any sign of effort on the author’s part. Even that is barely passable; when they’re not spouting action-movie clichés, characters both heroic and otherwise announce their plans and motivations to all and sundry.
Characterisation is paper-thin, with most of the Rangers apparently lifted straight from the Dirty Dozen or Kelly’s Heroes. Carrying a picture of one’s daughter and kissing it from time to time does not a realistic character make… though it does mark the poor sod for ‘tragic’ and ‘heroic’ death. The traitor – and isn’t there always a traitor? – is sprung without any foreshadowing, and his actions never explained beyond the novel’s desperate need for a diabolical villain. As if a big faceless monster stomping around the place wasn’t enough.
Ah, the monster. Pulp horror excels when it builds an atmosphere of suspense, and keeping your nasty in the shadows is a simple and effective way to build that tension. Strange, then, that on its first appearance Vilk’s Golem does the literary equivalent of tap-dancing in front of the camera. It kills, and we know how and what it is. Fear of the unknown, the greatest terror of all, never even gets a chance.
That doesn’t stop Vilk constantly trying to up the ante, however. Each time the golem kills, it grows a little more powerful… and a couple of feet bigger. By the time the dramatic climax arrives, you could practically see the thing on an atlas, but it’s still no more frightening. Size is not the same thing as scary. The golem is a wasted opportunity – just think of the possibilities for creepy and genuinely disturbing horror. A thing that builds its body from the inanimate matter about it could be terrifying, insidious and utterly alien. Instead the critter just stomps around hitting people with spades and ice, and getting bigger.
You’d think a man who works in cinema would have seen The Thing, or Alien, and taken a few valuable lessons away. But there’s nothing new here, and everything unrolls just how you expect it might. The pace is fast and the action never lets up, but that only means there’s no time for readers to develop any connection to the cardboard cut-out characters. When they die, it’s almost a relief. At least now their eyes can ‘bug out’ no more; they’re saved from enduring Greg Vilk’s endlessly repeated expression of surprise. And to save myself ever from having to read this again, I’m going to bury Golem in the depths of the shelf marked ‘abominable screenplay in disguise’.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Ricochet Press (self-published)
ISBN: 0-9772189-0-2
It’s 1942, and the Second World War is raging across Europe. Far removed from the conflict, in the icy wastes of Greenland, a crack team of U.S. Rangers is sent to destroy a secret Nazi research facility and rescue the American scientist forced to work there.
Saddled with the scientist’s daughter and a bureaucrat from the War Department, the Rangers set off on their assignment. But the base is not all it seems, and the Germans’ meddling has unleashed something dark and hateful. As the Americans scrabble to survive, their mission is suddenly the least of their worries.
Greg Vilk’s ‘about the author’ gives his day job as visual effects director on a number of blockbusting Hollywood films, and ‘Golem’ is written in that same cinematic tradition. Description and characterisation are so sparse that the novel could pass for a film script, with only the dialogue possessing any sign of effort on the author’s part. Even that is barely passable; when they’re not spouting action-movie clichés, characters both heroic and otherwise announce their plans and motivations to all and sundry.
Characterisation is paper-thin, with most of the Rangers apparently lifted straight from the Dirty Dozen or Kelly’s Heroes. Carrying a picture of one’s daughter and kissing it from time to time does not a realistic character make… though it does mark the poor sod for ‘tragic’ and ‘heroic’ death. The traitor – and isn’t there always a traitor? – is sprung without any foreshadowing, and his actions never explained beyond the novel’s desperate need for a diabolical villain. As if a big faceless monster stomping around the place wasn’t enough.
Ah, the monster. Pulp horror excels when it builds an atmosphere of suspense, and keeping your nasty in the shadows is a simple and effective way to build that tension. Strange, then, that on its first appearance Vilk’s Golem does the literary equivalent of tap-dancing in front of the camera. It kills, and we know how and what it is. Fear of the unknown, the greatest terror of all, never even gets a chance.
That doesn’t stop Vilk constantly trying to up the ante, however. Each time the golem kills, it grows a little more powerful… and a couple of feet bigger. By the time the dramatic climax arrives, you could practically see the thing on an atlas, but it’s still no more frightening. Size is not the same thing as scary. The golem is a wasted opportunity – just think of the possibilities for creepy and genuinely disturbing horror. A thing that builds its body from the inanimate matter about it could be terrifying, insidious and utterly alien. Instead the critter just stomps around hitting people with spades and ice, and getting bigger.
You’d think a man who works in cinema would have seen The Thing, or Alien, and taken a few valuable lessons away. But there’s nothing new here, and everything unrolls just how you expect it might. The pace is fast and the action never lets up, but that only means there’s no time for readers to develop any connection to the cardboard cut-out characters. When they die, it’s almost a relief. At least now their eyes can ‘bug out’ no more; they’re saved from enduring Greg Vilk’s endlessly repeated expression of surprise. And to save myself ever from having to read this again, I’m going to bury Golem in the depths of the shelf marked ‘abominable screenplay in disguise’.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Wednesday, 1 February 2006
Star Wars: Survivor’s Quest
Timothy Zahn
Del Rey
ISBN: 0-099-47263-5
Fifty-odd years ago the Outbound Flight Project departed, a Jedi-led exploration of the uncharted areas on the edge of the galaxy. They didn’t get very far. Ambushed by a fleet of the alien Chiss, led by soon-to-be Grand Admiral Thrawn, the project was destroyed and little was ever heard of it again.
How things can change. After half a century the wreckage of Outbound Flight has been found, and the Chiss are willing to allow the New Republic to recover their dead. Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara Jade, are despatched to represent the Republic, but to their surprise things are not quite what they seem. Other parties have become involved, from alien species wishing to pay their respects to stormtrooper envoys from the remnants of the Empire. Are their motives as peaceful as they say? Can anyone be trusted?
Arriving at the ruins of Outbound Flight, the Jedi are in for another surprise. With uncertain allies all about them, cut off from the Republic and their friends, they must discover the truth of Outbound Flight and escape the twisted plans of enemies new and old.
Timothy Zahn has a reputation as one of the best authors in the Star Wars universe, but ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is the first faltering step he’s made. Outbound Flight, Mara Jade, Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Chiss; the typical ingredients of his better works are all present, yet something is missing. Star Wars is about the choices between light and dark, the seductive power of evil and the difficulty of walking the path of good, but that central theme is absent here.
Of course Star Wars is also about explosions, lightsaber battles, blaster guns and diabolical villains, and here at least ‘Survivor’s Quest’ doesn’t disappoint. It seems almost as though Zahn has tried to make up for the lack of depth with an overdose of action, but this all gives the novel a rather schizophrenic feel. The first half of the book is a pulp detective story, with the Jedi sneaking around and trying to figure out just what’s going on. Then, once all is revealed, the lightsabers kick in and the reader may as well leave their brain elsewhere.
Not that I have a problem with mindless action – it’s mindless, tension-free action that upsets me. ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is part of the franchise, so one can always be fairly sure the heroes are immune to serious harm, but here you never really feel as though they’re working up a sweat. The enemy underestimate them at every turn, and though the epilogue explains the villains’ short-sightedness, seeing the heroes wade through wave after wave of doomed mooks does not make exciting reading. In such a case, it’s the secondary characters that stand in jeopardy but here, for once, Zahn’s characterisation has let him down. With a single exception, none of these minor characters have enough personality to make the reader care. Giving names to stormtroopers does not make the reader sympathetic to their plight, particularly when their intentions remain dubious.
While the first act of the book dedicates much of its length to setting up such ambiguity, and allows a little depth to show in some of the characters, it nonetheless manages to avoid any foreshadowing of the inevitable twist. Surprises are good, yes, but only if the reader can look back and say ‘but of course!’. In this case, the surprise comes from out of the blue and falls flat on its face. That there was no way to predict or even suspect what might happen is as poor a piece of storytelling as any Deus Ex Machina.
Speaking of which… The epilogue of ‘Survivor’s Quest’ comes as a serious disappointment. To find out that the Jedi were little more than pawns in a ‘master plan’ renders their choices irrelevant, and the story itself somewhat pointless. It turns the entire novel into some bizarre version of a shell game, but one where there’s a ball under each of the three cups. While it makes an impressive show of the puppet-masters’ machiavellian manipulations, it fails to make an enjoyable read.
Despite Zahn’s undeniable descriptive skills, ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is hampered by nonsensical plotting, an awkward mid-story gear change, and a sad lack of the themes that make Star Wars great. There simply isn’t enough challenge here, for either the heroes or the reader. The novel also can’t seem to decide whether to focus on action or suspense, ends up doing a poor job of both, and earns itself a spot on my ‘genre-confused’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Del Rey
ISBN: 0-099-47263-5
Fifty-odd years ago the Outbound Flight Project departed, a Jedi-led exploration of the uncharted areas on the edge of the galaxy. They didn’t get very far. Ambushed by a fleet of the alien Chiss, led by soon-to-be Grand Admiral Thrawn, the project was destroyed and little was ever heard of it again.
How things can change. After half a century the wreckage of Outbound Flight has been found, and the Chiss are willing to allow the New Republic to recover their dead. Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara Jade, are despatched to represent the Republic, but to their surprise things are not quite what they seem. Other parties have become involved, from alien species wishing to pay their respects to stormtrooper envoys from the remnants of the Empire. Are their motives as peaceful as they say? Can anyone be trusted?
Arriving at the ruins of Outbound Flight, the Jedi are in for another surprise. With uncertain allies all about them, cut off from the Republic and their friends, they must discover the truth of Outbound Flight and escape the twisted plans of enemies new and old.
Timothy Zahn has a reputation as one of the best authors in the Star Wars universe, but ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is the first faltering step he’s made. Outbound Flight, Mara Jade, Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Chiss; the typical ingredients of his better works are all present, yet something is missing. Star Wars is about the choices between light and dark, the seductive power of evil and the difficulty of walking the path of good, but that central theme is absent here.
Of course Star Wars is also about explosions, lightsaber battles, blaster guns and diabolical villains, and here at least ‘Survivor’s Quest’ doesn’t disappoint. It seems almost as though Zahn has tried to make up for the lack of depth with an overdose of action, but this all gives the novel a rather schizophrenic feel. The first half of the book is a pulp detective story, with the Jedi sneaking around and trying to figure out just what’s going on. Then, once all is revealed, the lightsabers kick in and the reader may as well leave their brain elsewhere.
Not that I have a problem with mindless action – it’s mindless, tension-free action that upsets me. ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is part of the franchise, so one can always be fairly sure the heroes are immune to serious harm, but here you never really feel as though they’re working up a sweat. The enemy underestimate them at every turn, and though the epilogue explains the villains’ short-sightedness, seeing the heroes wade through wave after wave of doomed mooks does not make exciting reading. In such a case, it’s the secondary characters that stand in jeopardy but here, for once, Zahn’s characterisation has let him down. With a single exception, none of these minor characters have enough personality to make the reader care. Giving names to stormtroopers does not make the reader sympathetic to their plight, particularly when their intentions remain dubious.
While the first act of the book dedicates much of its length to setting up such ambiguity, and allows a little depth to show in some of the characters, it nonetheless manages to avoid any foreshadowing of the inevitable twist. Surprises are good, yes, but only if the reader can look back and say ‘but of course!’. In this case, the surprise comes from out of the blue and falls flat on its face. That there was no way to predict or even suspect what might happen is as poor a piece of storytelling as any Deus Ex Machina.
Speaking of which… The epilogue of ‘Survivor’s Quest’ comes as a serious disappointment. To find out that the Jedi were little more than pawns in a ‘master plan’ renders their choices irrelevant, and the story itself somewhat pointless. It turns the entire novel into some bizarre version of a shell game, but one where there’s a ball under each of the three cups. While it makes an impressive show of the puppet-masters’ machiavellian manipulations, it fails to make an enjoyable read.
Despite Zahn’s undeniable descriptive skills, ‘Survivor’s Quest’ is hampered by nonsensical plotting, an awkward mid-story gear change, and a sad lack of the themes that make Star Wars great. There simply isn’t enough challenge here, for either the heroes or the reader. The novel also can’t seem to decide whether to focus on action or suspense, ends up doing a poor job of both, and earns itself a spot on my ‘genre-confused’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)