K. J. Parker
Orbit Books
ISBN: 1-84149-105-5
In the north of the Empire a man awakes. Around him lie the remains of a battle, dead soldiers of both sides scattered across the muddy floor of a river valley and crows fluttering eagerly overhead. Which side he was on, he can’t remember – in fact, he can’t remember anything. Who he is, how he got here, just where ‘here’ actually is… nothing. Seems to be pretty good with a sword, though.
Forgetting your past could get a man in a lot of trouble, especially when your past seems determined to seek you out and wrap you up in a whole complicated web of treachery and politics. Everything our hero learns about himself just seems to bring him more strife, and wandering the countryside in a rickety cart masquerading as the God of the Apocalypse certainly isn’t helping.
When too many sides in a conflict recognise you as one of their own, everything gets very confusing. Who to trust? The confidence trickster who uses the god-in-the-cart routine to scam villages for food? The politician with his eye on the Emperor’s throne? Or the voices in your head, telling you the ‘god’ swindle might not just be an act? Maybe it’d just be easier to abandon the man he was and start again anew. If only he could find a little corner of the world where trouble didn’t follow…
In a just world, K.J. Parker’s ‘Shadow’ would come with a large warning across the front cover, bold red letters informing the casual browser to steer well clear. Not that it’s unreadable, not by any means – Parker’s prose is light and breezy, agonisingly nonchalant and a dream to read. No, the problem lies with the reader’s attention span, their ability to concentrate whatever intellect they may possess on the tale within. For should you dare to leave ‘Shadow’ unread for a day or two you’ll find yourself hopelessly entangled in a lasso of half-remembered plot twists or trapped along with a whole shoal of red herrings.
In these pages nothing happens by accident, every chance encounter is significant – or at least it tries to make you think it is. Parker weaves a plot of breathtaking, mind-numbing, incomprehensible complexity; unless it has your full attention you are bound to miss something vital.
Forget trying to guess the ending, even if you’re good at that sort of thing. So many dead-ends and false trails are laid in this novel that it must be hard for the author himself to figure out what’s happening, never mind the reader. Such unpredictability is refreshing but to reach such dizzy heights without sacrificing the narrative’s plausibility and consistency is something very special indeed.
If ‘Shadow’ has one fault, it is that our hero’s lack of memory leaves him without direction and, fatally at times, without any real drive. Perhaps it is a deliberate act on the author’s part, but Poldarn (the name our hero ends up using, to avoid excessive and imprecise overuse of ‘he’ if for no other reason) seems very much an observer, separated from the world around him. It’s difficult to empathise with someone like that, the choices he makes difficult to predict and harder to understand. It all fits in with our hero’s blank-slate nature of course, but it makes him a troublesome protagonist.
As mentioned before, ‘Shadow’ is written in such a way that it is – despite all manner of confusion – blissfully easy to read. Parker has a way with words, a certain unconventional way of looking at things that makes him stand out from the crowd. It also strikes a chord with any reader whose mind has occasionally betrayed them, and we’ve all been there. If anything the author goes a little too far, the quirky running commentary inside Poldarn’s head detracting from scenes where a little more emphasis on the serious side of things might have added emotional weight. It’s a fine portrayal of the human brain’s tendency to shy away from danger, but it’s a trick that is overused.
Despite an unlikeable protagonist and a plot that’ll pull your brain out through your ears and knot it under your chin, ‘Shadow’ is a fantastic piece of work. Original, unique and thought-provoking, it ends with a revelation that asks more questions than it answers Anybody who reads this and doesn’t want to read the sequel immediately hasn’t been paying enough attention. It’s entertaining and intelligent, a book that has to be read a half-dozen times before it begins to make much sense. Some people would find that frustrating: I find it delightful. ‘Shadow’ now sits happily on my ‘aspirin included free of charge’ shelf, just waiting for the next time I feel like letting my mind out of its cage.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Saturday, 2 April 2005
Tuesday, 1 March 2005
Tanequil
Terry Brooks
Simon and Schuster
ISBN: 0-7432-5674-3
Things aren’t going too well for Grianne Ohmsford, the Ard Rhys of the Druid Order. Her attempts to bring peace and harmony to the Four Lands have (as such attempts often do) met with little success, the rulers of the various realms far more interested in continuing their bloody feuds than bringing about a golden age of prosperity. On top of her political problems, a rather more cold-blooded rival recently dropped her right in the middle of the Forbidding, that cheerful realm that the Demons call home, and took control of the Order for herself. Demons are devious things as everybody knows, so it’s not surprising poor Grianne found herself captured at the end of the last book. Foreign travel, eh?
Meanwhile in the more material world of the Four Lands, Grianne’s nephew Pen has been charged by the ethereal King of the Silver River with retrieving the talisman that will let him enter the Forbidding and rescue his aunt. The new High Druid, Shadea a’Ru, is understandably less than thrilled with the nature of Pen’s quest and has set both the Druids themselves and her shadowy assassin Aphasia Wye on his trail. Together with a handful of allies Pen tries desperately to find the Tanequil before it’s too late, while in the war-torn borderland of the Prekkendorran the totalitarian Federation unveils a terrible new weapon. Things are looking fairly bleak for the freedom-loving citizens of the Four Lands, but one has to keep these heroic types busy somehow. Heaven only knows what they’d get up to otherwise.
As the middle book of an ‘epic’ trilogy, ‘Tanequil’ was always going to have a few pacing problems. Following conventional dramatic form the middle act is the part where the heroes suffer the unrelenting hammer blows of defeat before rising up for a stirring and climatic finale, and this book is nothing but conventional. Unfortunately it’s also as bland as unflavoured porridge, our protagonists’ misfortunes raising not a squeak of interest in the reader. Perhaps it is that we’ve been through this before, in a stream of fantasy quest adventures reaching back through Eddings and dozens of others to ol’ master Tolkien. Everything here has been done already, not least of all by Brooks himself who has made a very successful career out of Tolkien impersonation. This is by-the-numbers fantasy and it’s all so very dull.
When Terry Brooks began the Shannara series it was just what the genre needed. Exciting, well written and epic in scope, it was a joy to read. But like a faded champion in search of past glories it has lingered and what made it special has long since departed. Instead of something new we get a re-hash of old plots and characters where only the names have changed. There’s nothing here we haven’t seen before.
To give the author credit, his writing style is as good as it’s ever been. To a fantasy virgin or someone who is unfamiliar with Brooks’ work ‘Tanequil’ could be entertaining enough, possessing as it does a certain effortless beauty. The descriptions are powerful and the world of the Four Lands is, as ever, an impressive creation. Even the recent addition of high technology such as sunlight-powered airships – something that doesn’t mesh terribly well with the grit and magic of the rest of the setting – can’t spoil that depth. The characters too are convincing, coming with flaws and neuroses built in. The dialogue occasionally stalls and it’s difficult to distinguish between speaking characters by speech patterns alone, but that’s neither here nor there. On the one hand you have the rich Shannara setting, built up over many years and a dozen or so novels, and on the other hand you have… a great vacant hole where the plot should be.
That is ‘Tanequil’s biggest flaw. The entire novel reads like an extended chase scene, with the Druids running along behind Pen Ohmsford like something from a Benny Hill sketch. The interludes with Grianne’s experiences in the Forbidding are something else, showing a spark of originality that the series is otherwise sorely lacking, but they are too few and far between. Only in those scenes does something resembling a plot arise and it is there that the emphasis should have been placed, not – as it sadly is – on the awkward and contrived love story that is Pen’s escape from the Druids.
Hopefully the third book in the trilogy will remedy the many faults of this one, but it certainly has a struggle ahead of it. Considering how slow things have been moving so far, the pace is also going to have to drastically pick up otherwise I can see ‘High Druid of Shannara’ becoming a trilogy of four, ‘Hitch-hiker’s Guide’ style. This series has nothing to recommend it over Shannaras past, and it’s those previous series’ that a newcomer to Brooks’ work should seek out. For the veteran, ‘Tanequil’ will be nothing but a disappointment.
Whether the third book ‘Straken’ can throw a log on the fuel-starved fire of originality remains to be seen, but Brooks certainly has the ability – all he needs now are a few fresh ideas. Until they arrive, ‘Tanequil’ will find a place on my ‘shadow of former glory’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Simon and Schuster
ISBN: 0-7432-5674-3
Things aren’t going too well for Grianne Ohmsford, the Ard Rhys of the Druid Order. Her attempts to bring peace and harmony to the Four Lands have (as such attempts often do) met with little success, the rulers of the various realms far more interested in continuing their bloody feuds than bringing about a golden age of prosperity. On top of her political problems, a rather more cold-blooded rival recently dropped her right in the middle of the Forbidding, that cheerful realm that the Demons call home, and took control of the Order for herself. Demons are devious things as everybody knows, so it’s not surprising poor Grianne found herself captured at the end of the last book. Foreign travel, eh?
Meanwhile in the more material world of the Four Lands, Grianne’s nephew Pen has been charged by the ethereal King of the Silver River with retrieving the talisman that will let him enter the Forbidding and rescue his aunt. The new High Druid, Shadea a’Ru, is understandably less than thrilled with the nature of Pen’s quest and has set both the Druids themselves and her shadowy assassin Aphasia Wye on his trail. Together with a handful of allies Pen tries desperately to find the Tanequil before it’s too late, while in the war-torn borderland of the Prekkendorran the totalitarian Federation unveils a terrible new weapon. Things are looking fairly bleak for the freedom-loving citizens of the Four Lands, but one has to keep these heroic types busy somehow. Heaven only knows what they’d get up to otherwise.
As the middle book of an ‘epic’ trilogy, ‘Tanequil’ was always going to have a few pacing problems. Following conventional dramatic form the middle act is the part where the heroes suffer the unrelenting hammer blows of defeat before rising up for a stirring and climatic finale, and this book is nothing but conventional. Unfortunately it’s also as bland as unflavoured porridge, our protagonists’ misfortunes raising not a squeak of interest in the reader. Perhaps it is that we’ve been through this before, in a stream of fantasy quest adventures reaching back through Eddings and dozens of others to ol’ master Tolkien. Everything here has been done already, not least of all by Brooks himself who has made a very successful career out of Tolkien impersonation. This is by-the-numbers fantasy and it’s all so very dull.
When Terry Brooks began the Shannara series it was just what the genre needed. Exciting, well written and epic in scope, it was a joy to read. But like a faded champion in search of past glories it has lingered and what made it special has long since departed. Instead of something new we get a re-hash of old plots and characters where only the names have changed. There’s nothing here we haven’t seen before.
To give the author credit, his writing style is as good as it’s ever been. To a fantasy virgin or someone who is unfamiliar with Brooks’ work ‘Tanequil’ could be entertaining enough, possessing as it does a certain effortless beauty. The descriptions are powerful and the world of the Four Lands is, as ever, an impressive creation. Even the recent addition of high technology such as sunlight-powered airships – something that doesn’t mesh terribly well with the grit and magic of the rest of the setting – can’t spoil that depth. The characters too are convincing, coming with flaws and neuroses built in. The dialogue occasionally stalls and it’s difficult to distinguish between speaking characters by speech patterns alone, but that’s neither here nor there. On the one hand you have the rich Shannara setting, built up over many years and a dozen or so novels, and on the other hand you have… a great vacant hole where the plot should be.
That is ‘Tanequil’s biggest flaw. The entire novel reads like an extended chase scene, with the Druids running along behind Pen Ohmsford like something from a Benny Hill sketch. The interludes with Grianne’s experiences in the Forbidding are something else, showing a spark of originality that the series is otherwise sorely lacking, but they are too few and far between. Only in those scenes does something resembling a plot arise and it is there that the emphasis should have been placed, not – as it sadly is – on the awkward and contrived love story that is Pen’s escape from the Druids.
Hopefully the third book in the trilogy will remedy the many faults of this one, but it certainly has a struggle ahead of it. Considering how slow things have been moving so far, the pace is also going to have to drastically pick up otherwise I can see ‘High Druid of Shannara’ becoming a trilogy of four, ‘Hitch-hiker’s Guide’ style. This series has nothing to recommend it over Shannaras past, and it’s those previous series’ that a newcomer to Brooks’ work should seek out. For the veteran, ‘Tanequil’ will be nothing but a disappointment.
Whether the third book ‘Straken’ can throw a log on the fuel-starved fire of originality remains to be seen, but Brooks certainly has the ability – all he needs now are a few fresh ideas. Until they arrive, ‘Tanequil’ will find a place on my ‘shadow of former glory’ shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Tuesday, 2 November 2004
The Well of Yearning
Caiseal Mór
Pocket Books
ISBN: 0-7434-6856-2
In the Ireland of a thousand years ago, the mundane and the magnificent are part of life. While Norman conquerors raise their banner over the rebellious natives, otherworldly things watch from the bogs and the shadowy forests.
A young monk and his ailing master come to the Emerald Isle in search of a heretical manuscript, held by a community of religious outcasts. At the same time, the greedy and shadow-hearted knight Guy d’Alville begins his attempts to carve a kingdom of his own, and revenge himself on his rival, Robert FitzWilliam. When his depredations lead to the release of the malevolent Nathairai from their centuries-old prison, he finds himself forced into the service of the Queen of the Night, Aoife, as she prepares to unleash her army of daemons on the mortal world.
“The Well of Yearning” is an odd little thing, flitting from coarse and irreverent humour to historical exposition to Monty Python surrealism as if unsure where to rest.
Narrated in a traditional oral fashion, it is blissfully easy to read and coloured throughout by the storyteller’s opinions and sly asides to the reader. This unconventional style does little to disguise the story’s shortcomings, however. Rather limp and uninspired, the basic premise relies too heavily on cliché for support, and on the unpredictable nature of the Otherworld’s residents to magick it out of the narrative cul-de-sacs it ends up in time and time again. Just because they’re be-fanged and monstrous eaters of men (and women, of course) doesn’t mean that the needs of the plot take precedence over their own personalities and apparent motivations, does it?
Plot-holes and unlikely changes of heart aside, “The Well of Yearning” isn’t too bad really. While the style takes some getting used to it’s certainly different, and once the narrator’s in full flow it has a delightfully personal feel to it, one that can also be found in the traditional Irish myths the novel draws so heavily on. A nice touch, granting the book mythological authenticity.
The historical background for the novel is accurate enough for a fantasy Ireland, the presence of magical swords and evil spirits always allowing a little more leeway in the accuracy stakes than is granted, say, a Bernard Cornwell tale. If the political and cultural issues that plagued the Emerald Isle are given only a cursory glance in favour of the demons and evil queens, that’s fair enough. It’s up to the author, after all, where the emphasis lies.
Except… much of the latter half of the book – excluding the occasional off-topic ramble on, for example, the art of cheese-making – is devoted to untangling the most unlikely of twists. This unexpected turn of events has nothing to do with the otherworldly armies or monsters that are by then rampaging across the land, but instead revolves around a stranger’s return from the crusades. Ill-conceived and out of place, it feels like an afterthought, yet somehow manages to override the greater issues at hand. Much of the build-up and suspense, such as it is, is lost in the process, leaving the reader asking, “Yes? Now what?”
Combine this confused focus with acts of what must be unintentional comedy of the most surreal kind (the most obvious offender is a scene where one of the Nathairai, giant and monstrous snake-things with the intelligence and emotional maturity of an eight-year-old on crack, pauses halfway through a meal of Norman mercenaries to flirt coquettishly with Guy d’Alville) and you’ve got a book which doesn’t seen to know where it belongs and, at times, defies all logic or sanity. That it suffers from these faults and still somehow manages to be an entertaining, enjoyable read only makes it more frustrating. It’s a tribute to the author’s skill, really, but just think of what he would be capable if he could stop chasing his tail long enough to write a decent story…
Intriguing, inexplicable, bizarre and occasionally beautiful, “The Well of Yearning” is very much a mixed bag of nuts. It gets by solely on the strength of the writing, its logic-defying core threatening to tip it into the mire at any moment. Yet somehow the novel comes through clean and crisp and smelling of roses, so I’ll grant it a place – hell, a whole shelf to itself. “All style, no substance.” Somehow I doubt it’ll be joined there any time soon.
At least until the sequel arrives, that is.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Pocket Books
ISBN: 0-7434-6856-2
In the Ireland of a thousand years ago, the mundane and the magnificent are part of life. While Norman conquerors raise their banner over the rebellious natives, otherworldly things watch from the bogs and the shadowy forests.
A young monk and his ailing master come to the Emerald Isle in search of a heretical manuscript, held by a community of religious outcasts. At the same time, the greedy and shadow-hearted knight Guy d’Alville begins his attempts to carve a kingdom of his own, and revenge himself on his rival, Robert FitzWilliam. When his depredations lead to the release of the malevolent Nathairai from their centuries-old prison, he finds himself forced into the service of the Queen of the Night, Aoife, as she prepares to unleash her army of daemons on the mortal world.
“The Well of Yearning” is an odd little thing, flitting from coarse and irreverent humour to historical exposition to Monty Python surrealism as if unsure where to rest.
Narrated in a traditional oral fashion, it is blissfully easy to read and coloured throughout by the storyteller’s opinions and sly asides to the reader. This unconventional style does little to disguise the story’s shortcomings, however. Rather limp and uninspired, the basic premise relies too heavily on cliché for support, and on the unpredictable nature of the Otherworld’s residents to magick it out of the narrative cul-de-sacs it ends up in time and time again. Just because they’re be-fanged and monstrous eaters of men (and women, of course) doesn’t mean that the needs of the plot take precedence over their own personalities and apparent motivations, does it?
Plot-holes and unlikely changes of heart aside, “The Well of Yearning” isn’t too bad really. While the style takes some getting used to it’s certainly different, and once the narrator’s in full flow it has a delightfully personal feel to it, one that can also be found in the traditional Irish myths the novel draws so heavily on. A nice touch, granting the book mythological authenticity.
The historical background for the novel is accurate enough for a fantasy Ireland, the presence of magical swords and evil spirits always allowing a little more leeway in the accuracy stakes than is granted, say, a Bernard Cornwell tale. If the political and cultural issues that plagued the Emerald Isle are given only a cursory glance in favour of the demons and evil queens, that’s fair enough. It’s up to the author, after all, where the emphasis lies.
Except… much of the latter half of the book – excluding the occasional off-topic ramble on, for example, the art of cheese-making – is devoted to untangling the most unlikely of twists. This unexpected turn of events has nothing to do with the otherworldly armies or monsters that are by then rampaging across the land, but instead revolves around a stranger’s return from the crusades. Ill-conceived and out of place, it feels like an afterthought, yet somehow manages to override the greater issues at hand. Much of the build-up and suspense, such as it is, is lost in the process, leaving the reader asking, “Yes? Now what?”
Combine this confused focus with acts of what must be unintentional comedy of the most surreal kind (the most obvious offender is a scene where one of the Nathairai, giant and monstrous snake-things with the intelligence and emotional maturity of an eight-year-old on crack, pauses halfway through a meal of Norman mercenaries to flirt coquettishly with Guy d’Alville) and you’ve got a book which doesn’t seen to know where it belongs and, at times, defies all logic or sanity. That it suffers from these faults and still somehow manages to be an entertaining, enjoyable read only makes it more frustrating. It’s a tribute to the author’s skill, really, but just think of what he would be capable if he could stop chasing his tail long enough to write a decent story…
Intriguing, inexplicable, bizarre and occasionally beautiful, “The Well of Yearning” is very much a mixed bag of nuts. It gets by solely on the strength of the writing, its logic-defying core threatening to tip it into the mire at any moment. Yet somehow the novel comes through clean and crisp and smelling of roses, so I’ll grant it a place – hell, a whole shelf to itself. “All style, no substance.” Somehow I doubt it’ll be joined there any time soon.
At least until the sequel arrives, that is.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
The Scrolls of the Ancients
Robert Newcomb
Bantam Press
ISBN: 0-593-04963-2
The third and apparently final book in Robert Newcomb’s ‘Chronicles of Blood and Stone’, ‘The Scrolls of the Ancients’ sees our hero Prince Tristan and his entourage once again assailed by the servants of darkness.
Following the collapse of the Gates of Dawn and the death of Tristan’s villainous son, you’d think that the crown prince and his surviving wizards would be busy rebuilding their shattered realm. Nope, apparently the effort of putting paid to Nicholas’ nefarious schemes was a bit much for them, and while the people of Eutracia suffer hunger and banditry we find our gallant hero and his friends shacked up in the royal palace, enjoying a little R&R.
Only when their card game is rudely interrupted by the megalomaniacal Krassus, master of the sinister arts of the Vagaries, does their bubble burst. After handily defeating the combined might of the protagonists, Krassus in his gloating reveals a new and deadly threat to the world.
Prince Tristan and his sister Shailiha are the Chosen Ones, but unbeknownst to them another exists to rival them; their lost half-brother Wulfgar. If Krassus were to find him, he could use the newly uncovered power of the Scroll of the Vagaries to turn him to the dark side and destroy the benevolent magic of the Vigours forever! Gasp!
After giving his helpless enemies his annotated plans for world domination, Krassus departs in dramatic fashion, leaving the heroes unharmed. Hot on his tail Tristan and co. begin the search for Wulfgar and the other Scroll of the Ancients, in an attempt to thwart the archwizard’s schemes.
Their hunt will take them from Eutracia’s poverty-stricken capital to the hidden pirate fortress of Sanctuary and beyond, as the climatic confrontation with the servants of the Vagaries draws inevitably nearer. Featuring demons, birdmen, pirates and exploding herbs, the adventures of Tristan must be seen to be believed.
Never a truer sentence was written. Some part of me deep inside wonders if Robert Newcomb’s books and ‘the Scrolls of the Ancients’ in particular are some sort of incredibly sophisticated satire attempt. If that should be the case, then labelling ‘The Chronicles of Blood and Stone’ as serious fantasy was the most inspired marketing decision this world has ever seen.
As it is, the series’ concluding novel is the most head-shakingly, hair-tearingly, book-hurlingly diabolical excuse for literature I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. It is the written equivalent of ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space’, only Ed Wood had a better grasp of plot and dialogue. There is no way any reader could make it to the last page with their sanity intact; what that says for me, I’m not sure. ‘The Scroll of the Ancients’ has hit the barrier marked ‘point of no return’ and carried on accelerating, past ‘so bad it’s good’ and on into uncharted territory.
Lets start with the characters. These are no living, breathing individuals, complete with their own hopes, fears and idiosyncrasies. Instead we have a collective of cardboard cutouts whose sole reason for existence is to prod the narrative in the right direction.
Tristan, for example, is a paragon of virtue with the emotional range of a brick wall. He exists simply to dish out bloody and unrealistic violence and give the wizards Wigg and Faegan cue to begin another chapter-length block of expositionary dialogue. Krassus, on the other hand, is a pantomime villain in the most traditional sense, complete with insane laughter, random acts of senseless cruelty, and no redeeming features whatsoever. There are no attempts to grant him any particular humanity, or explain his actions. He is Evil (with a capital ‘e’), and that’s enough.
In real life there are shades of grey, but in Robert Newcomb’s world everything is black or white, good or bad. More than anything else this lack of human ambiguity in either heroes or villains makes it impossible to empathise with the characters, or even care about the events unfurling.
The supporting cast are no better. Either they act as humanoid milestones marking Tristan’s bloody progress through the novel or they exist as lesser replicates of our hero, fulfilling his twin duties of slaying and stupidity when the prince royal is unavailable. Only the wizards are exempt, for they serve a different purpose. They must ensure that the reader (via the transparent mechanism of informing their selectively idiotic companions) understands in intricate and soul-sapping detail every tiniest aspect of how the unusual magic system works. I can only imagine that Robert Newcomb somehow grew so enamoured of his creation that he mistakenly believed his readers would prefer great swathes of the book devoted to its workings, rather than to the plot.
In fact, it seems as though the author is fascinated by minutiae in general. To give him credit the descriptive writing in ‘the Scroll of the Ancients’ is above par, occasionally surprising the reader with an elegantly turned phrase or an evocative image. Newcomb overdoes it, though, and as such the half-page description of a character’s clothing in the middle of a battle scene is enough to break the mood before it’s really got started. Outside of combat it gets even worse, with – among other things – the step-by-step process for separating different types of magical herb relayed in coma-inducing detail. This level of description is admirable but ultimately counter-productive, destroying any reader immersion and leaving one frustrated.
While the plot that drives it all is a far-reaching and ambitious one that in the right hands could provide a solid foundation for a novel, in this case it is criminally mismanaged. To stay afloat ‘The Scroll of the Ancients’ relies on the ability of each and every character to second-guess their opponents with uncanny and ridiculous accuracy, as well as some truly nonsensical behaviour on both sides. It is the story that drives the characters, not the other way around. This, combined with inconsistencies and logic flaws a child could see, is what sinks the ship.
As the book drew to a close and I counted the remaining pages with glee, several major issues remained unresolved. As the unread paragraphs grew fewer and fewer it became apparent that these matters would, in fact, never be brought to a conclusion. This seems a very bizarre thing in what is supposed to be the series’ final book, not least because the entire trilogy has been laying the groundwork for certain events. There have been prophecies and omens and no end of discussion, but then… nothing. On top of that at least one unrequited romance and one major villain remain outstanding, as though the author totally forget about them. The only thing I can think of is that there is to be a further book in the series; the alternative is just too unlikely. As you may imagine, this strange absence of any kind of closure makes the novel even more frustrating than ever.
Possessing of some decent writing, ‘the Scrolls of the Ancients’ is nonetheless damaged beyond any hope of recovery by poor characterisation, non-existent pacing and truly abominable dialogue. Perfectly balanced between idiotic, boring and frustrating, this book should be avoided like a particularly virulent plague – unless you liked the first two, of course, in which case I can only hope the disease isn’t catching. I’d prefer never to see the book again, keeping painful flashbacks to a minimum, but if I were forced to place it in my collection, it would be on the shelf entitled ‘abandon hope, all ye who enter here’.
You have been warned.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Bantam Press
ISBN: 0-593-04963-2
The third and apparently final book in Robert Newcomb’s ‘Chronicles of Blood and Stone’, ‘The Scrolls of the Ancients’ sees our hero Prince Tristan and his entourage once again assailed by the servants of darkness.
Following the collapse of the Gates of Dawn and the death of Tristan’s villainous son, you’d think that the crown prince and his surviving wizards would be busy rebuilding their shattered realm. Nope, apparently the effort of putting paid to Nicholas’ nefarious schemes was a bit much for them, and while the people of Eutracia suffer hunger and banditry we find our gallant hero and his friends shacked up in the royal palace, enjoying a little R&R.
Only when their card game is rudely interrupted by the megalomaniacal Krassus, master of the sinister arts of the Vagaries, does their bubble burst. After handily defeating the combined might of the protagonists, Krassus in his gloating reveals a new and deadly threat to the world.
Prince Tristan and his sister Shailiha are the Chosen Ones, but unbeknownst to them another exists to rival them; their lost half-brother Wulfgar. If Krassus were to find him, he could use the newly uncovered power of the Scroll of the Vagaries to turn him to the dark side and destroy the benevolent magic of the Vigours forever! Gasp!
After giving his helpless enemies his annotated plans for world domination, Krassus departs in dramatic fashion, leaving the heroes unharmed. Hot on his tail Tristan and co. begin the search for Wulfgar and the other Scroll of the Ancients, in an attempt to thwart the archwizard’s schemes.
Their hunt will take them from Eutracia’s poverty-stricken capital to the hidden pirate fortress of Sanctuary and beyond, as the climatic confrontation with the servants of the Vagaries draws inevitably nearer. Featuring demons, birdmen, pirates and exploding herbs, the adventures of Tristan must be seen to be believed.
Never a truer sentence was written. Some part of me deep inside wonders if Robert Newcomb’s books and ‘the Scrolls of the Ancients’ in particular are some sort of incredibly sophisticated satire attempt. If that should be the case, then labelling ‘The Chronicles of Blood and Stone’ as serious fantasy was the most inspired marketing decision this world has ever seen.
As it is, the series’ concluding novel is the most head-shakingly, hair-tearingly, book-hurlingly diabolical excuse for literature I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. It is the written equivalent of ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space’, only Ed Wood had a better grasp of plot and dialogue. There is no way any reader could make it to the last page with their sanity intact; what that says for me, I’m not sure. ‘The Scroll of the Ancients’ has hit the barrier marked ‘point of no return’ and carried on accelerating, past ‘so bad it’s good’ and on into uncharted territory.
Lets start with the characters. These are no living, breathing individuals, complete with their own hopes, fears and idiosyncrasies. Instead we have a collective of cardboard cutouts whose sole reason for existence is to prod the narrative in the right direction.
Tristan, for example, is a paragon of virtue with the emotional range of a brick wall. He exists simply to dish out bloody and unrealistic violence and give the wizards Wigg and Faegan cue to begin another chapter-length block of expositionary dialogue. Krassus, on the other hand, is a pantomime villain in the most traditional sense, complete with insane laughter, random acts of senseless cruelty, and no redeeming features whatsoever. There are no attempts to grant him any particular humanity, or explain his actions. He is Evil (with a capital ‘e’), and that’s enough.
In real life there are shades of grey, but in Robert Newcomb’s world everything is black or white, good or bad. More than anything else this lack of human ambiguity in either heroes or villains makes it impossible to empathise with the characters, or even care about the events unfurling.
The supporting cast are no better. Either they act as humanoid milestones marking Tristan’s bloody progress through the novel or they exist as lesser replicates of our hero, fulfilling his twin duties of slaying and stupidity when the prince royal is unavailable. Only the wizards are exempt, for they serve a different purpose. They must ensure that the reader (via the transparent mechanism of informing their selectively idiotic companions) understands in intricate and soul-sapping detail every tiniest aspect of how the unusual magic system works. I can only imagine that Robert Newcomb somehow grew so enamoured of his creation that he mistakenly believed his readers would prefer great swathes of the book devoted to its workings, rather than to the plot.
In fact, it seems as though the author is fascinated by minutiae in general. To give him credit the descriptive writing in ‘the Scroll of the Ancients’ is above par, occasionally surprising the reader with an elegantly turned phrase or an evocative image. Newcomb overdoes it, though, and as such the half-page description of a character’s clothing in the middle of a battle scene is enough to break the mood before it’s really got started. Outside of combat it gets even worse, with – among other things – the step-by-step process for separating different types of magical herb relayed in coma-inducing detail. This level of description is admirable but ultimately counter-productive, destroying any reader immersion and leaving one frustrated.
While the plot that drives it all is a far-reaching and ambitious one that in the right hands could provide a solid foundation for a novel, in this case it is criminally mismanaged. To stay afloat ‘The Scroll of the Ancients’ relies on the ability of each and every character to second-guess their opponents with uncanny and ridiculous accuracy, as well as some truly nonsensical behaviour on both sides. It is the story that drives the characters, not the other way around. This, combined with inconsistencies and logic flaws a child could see, is what sinks the ship.
As the book drew to a close and I counted the remaining pages with glee, several major issues remained unresolved. As the unread paragraphs grew fewer and fewer it became apparent that these matters would, in fact, never be brought to a conclusion. This seems a very bizarre thing in what is supposed to be the series’ final book, not least because the entire trilogy has been laying the groundwork for certain events. There have been prophecies and omens and no end of discussion, but then… nothing. On top of that at least one unrequited romance and one major villain remain outstanding, as though the author totally forget about them. The only thing I can think of is that there is to be a further book in the series; the alternative is just too unlikely. As you may imagine, this strange absence of any kind of closure makes the novel even more frustrating than ever.
Possessing of some decent writing, ‘the Scrolls of the Ancients’ is nonetheless damaged beyond any hope of recovery by poor characterisation, non-existent pacing and truly abominable dialogue. Perfectly balanced between idiotic, boring and frustrating, this book should be avoided like a particularly virulent plague – unless you liked the first two, of course, in which case I can only hope the disease isn’t catching. I’d prefer never to see the book again, keeping painful flashbacks to a minimum, but if I were forced to place it in my collection, it would be on the shelf entitled ‘abandon hope, all ye who enter here’.
You have been warned.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Saturday, 2 October 2004
Code Noir
Marianne de Pierres
Orbit.
ISBN: 1-84149-257-4)
Following on from the events of 'Nylon Angel', 'Code Noir' sees our punk heroine, Parrish Plessis, become further tangled in the complicated politics of the slum city known as the Tert. After the gang war that led to the deaths of two major crimelords, Parrish finds herself in an unwanted position of power, forced to take control before someone else does. Still wanted for the murder of the media darling Razz Retribution, she needs all the protection she can get but finds that a ganglord's power can go a long way towards improving the lives of the Tert's diseased and drug-addicted inhabitants.
To add to Parrish's troubles, the fanatical aborigine Loyl Daac still seeks to regain control over his tribe's ancestral lands - territory the Tert happens to be slap-bang in the middle of. His attempts to harden his people to the poisoned soil through gene alteration have released the Eskaalim, a parasitic organism long dormant in humanity's DNA. Parrish is infected and the creature is slowly eroding her humanity, feeding on aggression and lust as it twists her genetic coding into something totally alien. Unless she can find a way to stop it her fate is sealed. Like the ganglord Jamon Mondo, whose unnatural aggression caused the war, she will become a monster.
As Parrish struggles to resist the Eskaalim's effects another problem lands straight in her lap. The Cabal Coomera, the sinister sect to whom Parrish owes her life, need her to recover four of their kidnapped shamans. But the mystics are only the first to vanish in what turns out to be the opening shot of a spiritual war that will again shake the Tert to its foundations, sending Parrish on a quest into the darkest heart of the
criminal underworld, the slum town of Dis. As Parrish searches through its bizarre and twisted streets, she will discover the root of a conspiracy that reaches beyond the slums into the pristine opulence of Viva City itself, where the media rule supreme...
Sounds confusing? Trust me, it is. Throughout the novel, Marrianne De Pierres weaves a bewildering array of plot threads together and just as in real life they twist up into a great tangled ball. Threads split and merge, twisting back and forth as revelations come and go. So much is going on at once that it's difficult to grasp just what's happening at any one time. Refreshingly unpredictable, yet not so much that realism is sacrificed, 'Code Noir' delivers fast-paced tension and futuristic cool by the bucket-load.
Written in the first person, 'Code Noir' uses Parrish's perspective to relay the story. Her emotions and knowledge vividly colour the tale and she is often struggling to keep up with the numerous twists and turns, reacting to events as they unfold in a desperate attempt to remain in control of the situation. De Pierre's heroine is an impressive piece of work, fully realised in all her contradictions from the tough-girl façade to her weakness for children and small animals. While none of the novel's other characters are as complex or well-rounded, they still pass as convincing human beings. A great many, however, seem to have been imagined from the more mentally unstable end of the gene-pool, possessing traits ranging from fanaticism to full blown psychosis. Clearly the future is lacking in reliable therapists.
While the first half-dozen chapters are concerned with Parrish's attempts at damage control as she struggles to keep her newly obtained territory and her own skin intact, it is the trek into Dis that takes up the majority of the book and for good reason. Parrish is forever getting side-tracked, running into old acquaintances and obligations that often tie in a little too conveniently to the main plot. Much is made of foreshadowing and while most is good, De Pierres is occasionally a little heavy-handed, inserting give-away clues to later events. The retroactive insertion of one or two details that one would have thought important enough to mention in the first book is a little irritating, but something forgivable.
Less so is the bewildering chaos that begins to set in once Parrish reaches Dis itself and becomes involved in a spiritual conflict between the Cabal and a particularly nasty voodoo shaman. This newly introduced mystical side refuses to mesh well with the cyberpunk setting, instead giving the end of the book a messy, confused feel. Why was there no mention of shamanism's sudden substantiation before? It becomes the central theme of 'Code Noir', but it feels out of place in this high-tech, fancy-free world.
At its best, when dealing with the dark unpleasantries of life in the Tert, 'Code Noir' flounders when it strays into new and fantastic territory. By the finale, things are back on track and the writing is vivacious enough that it is easy to forgive the novel's occasional fault. So I place 'Code Noir' on my 'genre-blurring' shelf and await the third instalment.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Orbit.
ISBN: 1-84149-257-4)
Following on from the events of 'Nylon Angel', 'Code Noir' sees our punk heroine, Parrish Plessis, become further tangled in the complicated politics of the slum city known as the Tert. After the gang war that led to the deaths of two major crimelords, Parrish finds herself in an unwanted position of power, forced to take control before someone else does. Still wanted for the murder of the media darling Razz Retribution, she needs all the protection she can get but finds that a ganglord's power can go a long way towards improving the lives of the Tert's diseased and drug-addicted inhabitants.
To add to Parrish's troubles, the fanatical aborigine Loyl Daac still seeks to regain control over his tribe's ancestral lands - territory the Tert happens to be slap-bang in the middle of. His attempts to harden his people to the poisoned soil through gene alteration have released the Eskaalim, a parasitic organism long dormant in humanity's DNA. Parrish is infected and the creature is slowly eroding her humanity, feeding on aggression and lust as it twists her genetic coding into something totally alien. Unless she can find a way to stop it her fate is sealed. Like the ganglord Jamon Mondo, whose unnatural aggression caused the war, she will become a monster.
As Parrish struggles to resist the Eskaalim's effects another problem lands straight in her lap. The Cabal Coomera, the sinister sect to whom Parrish owes her life, need her to recover four of their kidnapped shamans. But the mystics are only the first to vanish in what turns out to be the opening shot of a spiritual war that will again shake the Tert to its foundations, sending Parrish on a quest into the darkest heart of the
criminal underworld, the slum town of Dis. As Parrish searches through its bizarre and twisted streets, she will discover the root of a conspiracy that reaches beyond the slums into the pristine opulence of Viva City itself, where the media rule supreme...
Sounds confusing? Trust me, it is. Throughout the novel, Marrianne De Pierres weaves a bewildering array of plot threads together and just as in real life they twist up into a great tangled ball. Threads split and merge, twisting back and forth as revelations come and go. So much is going on at once that it's difficult to grasp just what's happening at any one time. Refreshingly unpredictable, yet not so much that realism is sacrificed, 'Code Noir' delivers fast-paced tension and futuristic cool by the bucket-load.
Written in the first person, 'Code Noir' uses Parrish's perspective to relay the story. Her emotions and knowledge vividly colour the tale and she is often struggling to keep up with the numerous twists and turns, reacting to events as they unfold in a desperate attempt to remain in control of the situation. De Pierre's heroine is an impressive piece of work, fully realised in all her contradictions from the tough-girl façade to her weakness for children and small animals. While none of the novel's other characters are as complex or well-rounded, they still pass as convincing human beings. A great many, however, seem to have been imagined from the more mentally unstable end of the gene-pool, possessing traits ranging from fanaticism to full blown psychosis. Clearly the future is lacking in reliable therapists.
While the first half-dozen chapters are concerned with Parrish's attempts at damage control as she struggles to keep her newly obtained territory and her own skin intact, it is the trek into Dis that takes up the majority of the book and for good reason. Parrish is forever getting side-tracked, running into old acquaintances and obligations that often tie in a little too conveniently to the main plot. Much is made of foreshadowing and while most is good, De Pierres is occasionally a little heavy-handed, inserting give-away clues to later events. The retroactive insertion of one or two details that one would have thought important enough to mention in the first book is a little irritating, but something forgivable.
Less so is the bewildering chaos that begins to set in once Parrish reaches Dis itself and becomes involved in a spiritual conflict between the Cabal and a particularly nasty voodoo shaman. This newly introduced mystical side refuses to mesh well with the cyberpunk setting, instead giving the end of the book a messy, confused feel. Why was there no mention of shamanism's sudden substantiation before? It becomes the central theme of 'Code Noir', but it feels out of place in this high-tech, fancy-free world.
At its best, when dealing with the dark unpleasantries of life in the Tert, 'Code Noir' flounders when it strays into new and fantastic territory. By the finale, things are back on track and the writing is vivacious enough that it is easy to forgive the novel's occasional fault. So I place 'Code Noir' on my 'genre-blurring' shelf and await the third instalment.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Wednesday, 1 September 2004
On Spec: The Canadian Magazine Of The Fantastic vol 16 no. 1 (#56)
Copper Pig Writers Society.
ISSN: 0843-476X.
This particular issue of 'On Spec' is a mix of unusual non-generic fiction and non-fiction articles, though the magazine leans heavily in favour of the former. Just to be contrary, however, I'll give the non-fiction a quick once-over before moving on to the meat of the magazine.
Issue 56 boasts an editorial that imparts to the reader everything that stand-up comedy can teach writers about writing. A tenuous link at the best of times and the editorial suffers a little by it. All told, this is little more than submission guidelines for aspiring writers plus jokes. The points it raises are valid and will generally be useful for those rising stars of prose who have as yet managed - somehow - to avoid such rules.
The only other official non-fiction is a dialogue discussing the merits of 'The Lord Of The Rings' films. Frankly the debate will sail merrily over the heads of anybody lacking a substantial knowledge of cinematography, both its history and technicalities. This seems like it belongs in a degree-level Film Studies course, not in a magazine dedicated to fantasy - only through the nature of the films under discussion is any link maintained. The article seems more interested in discussing the trilogy's cinematic merit rather than its success or failure as an adaptation of the genre's pivotal work.
Classified as fiction yet giving the impression of a very tongue-in-cheek non-fiction article, we'll call 'Alternative Therapy For Your Computer' from Karl Johanson a crossover piece and leave it at that. In brief, it explains how homeopathic and spiritual remedies can be used to clear up your PC's bugs and crashes. As a satire of alternative medicine it performs admirably and is guaranteed to raise a chuckle or two, but the piece lacks subtlety for the most part. The author's need to explain for the hard-of-thinking those jokes that aren't blindingly obvious is particularly irritating in places.
Oh well, on to the real fiction. Nine pieces ranging from half a side to near twenty pages, their quality as variable as their length. Trailing the pack is Michael Brockington's 'Jumpstart Heart', a bizarre and jumbled piece with a sideline in time-travel via the second law of thermodynamics. That's about all I could grasp from the story - everything else blurs together in a nonsensical mess, though the dialogue is fairly sharp. 'Printed Matter' from Cliff Burns is a little better, at least managing to maintain a sense of coherence. Taking the form of one correspondent's side of a conversation-by-post, it suffers from the unpleasant character that the letters reveal. The even more depraved silent partner in these dialogues comes across well through the responses he generates, a sign of good writing on Burns' part, but the material itself is not up to par.
A great step upwards in terms of quality, Catherine MacLeod's 'Stick House' is a strange tale of death delayed and the problems that creates. The situation is little more than window dressing. It's the relationship between the narrator and her lover that takes centre stage, portrayed with touching sincerity and an impressive talent for creating memorable phrases. 'View Of A Remote Country' by Karen Traviss, on the other hand, is difficult to read but rewarding. Its everyman hero is somebody easily identified with and while the tale is slow, the dialogue has an air of realism about it.
At only half a page and a couple of hundred words, 'Ribbons Lightning' by Joanne Merriam is over before it's really got going. As a snapshot it succeeds, painting a picture both beautiful and dark with admirable brevity.
Todd Bryanton's 'Ruby Bloom' is, by contrast, one of the longer pieces. An intriguing glimpse into the life of a psychotic, it is made even more fascinating by taking the point of view of the patient himself. I'm not going to spoil the twist ending which throws the whole story into a new light, but suffice to say that the reader is kept guessing throughout. The depiction of paranoia and numerous other psychoses are also excellently done. It all seems to make so much sense, from the patient's point of view.
Six down, three to go. 'Reunion' is up next, by Jack Skillingstead. Like most of the pieces in this magazine it's unconventional to say the least. Something of a redemption story as a cold-hearted businessman revisits his past in a very accurate sense of the word. The story feels somewhat padded out with over-exacting description but the characterisation is solid as a rock and the plot's clever enough to make it an absorbing read.
'Resurrection Radio' from Patrick Johanneson is another quality piece. Thought-provoking and original, it's a fresh look at spirituality from a very down to earth position, written with real empathy. Its ending is particularly intelligent, the sort of thing to send you back to the beginning hunting for clues. Suddenly, it's staring you in the face, but you'd never suspect. Foreshadowing at its best.
Last but not least, we have 'Seven Years' by Megan Crewe. Another of the short pieces, it nonetheless manages with remarkable economy to outdo the other works in this magazine. A bittersweet moment from the life of a Frankenstein-esque scientist, it is poignant to the point of heartbreak. A shame it's not longer but then, maybe, that would have spoiled it. Either way, I'd like to read more of Crewe's work which means it has to be a success.
So there you go. A mixed bunch but sound overall and containing a couple of gems that give it enough lustre to catch the eye and keep you interested. If you can get your hands on this, I'd suggest you do so. There's certainly nothing of the conventional about On Spec #56.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
ISSN: 0843-476X.
This particular issue of 'On Spec' is a mix of unusual non-generic fiction and non-fiction articles, though the magazine leans heavily in favour of the former. Just to be contrary, however, I'll give the non-fiction a quick once-over before moving on to the meat of the magazine.
Issue 56 boasts an editorial that imparts to the reader everything that stand-up comedy can teach writers about writing. A tenuous link at the best of times and the editorial suffers a little by it. All told, this is little more than submission guidelines for aspiring writers plus jokes. The points it raises are valid and will generally be useful for those rising stars of prose who have as yet managed - somehow - to avoid such rules.
The only other official non-fiction is a dialogue discussing the merits of 'The Lord Of The Rings' films. Frankly the debate will sail merrily over the heads of anybody lacking a substantial knowledge of cinematography, both its history and technicalities. This seems like it belongs in a degree-level Film Studies course, not in a magazine dedicated to fantasy - only through the nature of the films under discussion is any link maintained. The article seems more interested in discussing the trilogy's cinematic merit rather than its success or failure as an adaptation of the genre's pivotal work.
Classified as fiction yet giving the impression of a very tongue-in-cheek non-fiction article, we'll call 'Alternative Therapy For Your Computer' from Karl Johanson a crossover piece and leave it at that. In brief, it explains how homeopathic and spiritual remedies can be used to clear up your PC's bugs and crashes. As a satire of alternative medicine it performs admirably and is guaranteed to raise a chuckle or two, but the piece lacks subtlety for the most part. The author's need to explain for the hard-of-thinking those jokes that aren't blindingly obvious is particularly irritating in places.
Oh well, on to the real fiction. Nine pieces ranging from half a side to near twenty pages, their quality as variable as their length. Trailing the pack is Michael Brockington's 'Jumpstart Heart', a bizarre and jumbled piece with a sideline in time-travel via the second law of thermodynamics. That's about all I could grasp from the story - everything else blurs together in a nonsensical mess, though the dialogue is fairly sharp. 'Printed Matter' from Cliff Burns is a little better, at least managing to maintain a sense of coherence. Taking the form of one correspondent's side of a conversation-by-post, it suffers from the unpleasant character that the letters reveal. The even more depraved silent partner in these dialogues comes across well through the responses he generates, a sign of good writing on Burns' part, but the material itself is not up to par.
A great step upwards in terms of quality, Catherine MacLeod's 'Stick House' is a strange tale of death delayed and the problems that creates. The situation is little more than window dressing. It's the relationship between the narrator and her lover that takes centre stage, portrayed with touching sincerity and an impressive talent for creating memorable phrases. 'View Of A Remote Country' by Karen Traviss, on the other hand, is difficult to read but rewarding. Its everyman hero is somebody easily identified with and while the tale is slow, the dialogue has an air of realism about it.
At only half a page and a couple of hundred words, 'Ribbons Lightning' by Joanne Merriam is over before it's really got going. As a snapshot it succeeds, painting a picture both beautiful and dark with admirable brevity.
Todd Bryanton's 'Ruby Bloom' is, by contrast, one of the longer pieces. An intriguing glimpse into the life of a psychotic, it is made even more fascinating by taking the point of view of the patient himself. I'm not going to spoil the twist ending which throws the whole story into a new light, but suffice to say that the reader is kept guessing throughout. The depiction of paranoia and numerous other psychoses are also excellently done. It all seems to make so much sense, from the patient's point of view.
Six down, three to go. 'Reunion' is up next, by Jack Skillingstead. Like most of the pieces in this magazine it's unconventional to say the least. Something of a redemption story as a cold-hearted businessman revisits his past in a very accurate sense of the word. The story feels somewhat padded out with over-exacting description but the characterisation is solid as a rock and the plot's clever enough to make it an absorbing read.
'Resurrection Radio' from Patrick Johanneson is another quality piece. Thought-provoking and original, it's a fresh look at spirituality from a very down to earth position, written with real empathy. Its ending is particularly intelligent, the sort of thing to send you back to the beginning hunting for clues. Suddenly, it's staring you in the face, but you'd never suspect. Foreshadowing at its best.
Last but not least, we have 'Seven Years' by Megan Crewe. Another of the short pieces, it nonetheless manages with remarkable economy to outdo the other works in this magazine. A bittersweet moment from the life of a Frankenstein-esque scientist, it is poignant to the point of heartbreak. A shame it's not longer but then, maybe, that would have spoiled it. Either way, I'd like to read more of Crewe's work which means it has to be a success.
So there you go. A mixed bunch but sound overall and containing a couple of gems that give it enough lustre to catch the eye and keep you interested. If you can get your hands on this, I'd suggest you do so. There's certainly nothing of the conventional about On Spec #56.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
Sunday, 1 August 2004
Sirius The Dog Star
Edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Alexander Potter
DAW
ISBN: 0-7564-0186-0)
'Sirius The Dog Star' is a compilation of short pieces by authors intending to place the spotlight firmly on their canine friends and the majority of the stories in this book fulfil that remit admirably. However, there are one or two where the presence of the dog seems little more than an afterthought, with little impact on the tale itself as if the author wrote the story on request rather than out of a genuine love of man's best friend. As such, the quality of the stories vary wildly from the good to the truly awful and the anthology itself becomes a rather average hit-and-miss affair. Nonetheless, the best of the fiction within makes this a worthwhile read, if not a vital buy.
Things begin well with a pair of stories from Tanya Huff and Julie Czerneda that show an impressive ability to convey an animal's point of view on Huff's part and Czerneda's knack for creating imaginative, emotionally complex situations. Fiona Patton's 'Heartsease' is less enjoyable, a garbled and overly explanatory account of psychic powers among four close-knit families in the vicinity of Lake Ontario. India Edghill brings the first quarter of the book to a close with an interesting piece called 'A Spaniel For The King' about the succession of the English crown following the death of Charles II. How it qualifies for a place in a Science Fiction compilation is not clear, but it's nonetheless a good read, well written and engaging.
Stephen Leigh is next up, with a truly impressive piece of writing that examines the moral implications of tinkering with the genetic makeup of animals. Given a rudimentary intelligence, Leigh's Enhanced Canines (E.C.s or Easies) labour like slaves for humanity. When random breeding results in Madra, whose intelligence places him far above his peers, the supervising scientists consider whether they have the right to destroy him as a threat, unaware that the choice is no longer entirely in their hands... Speculative, original and entertaining, the story ends in a cracking cliff-hanger that will have you tearing your hair out in frustration.
'After The Fall,' a sort of 'Christmas Carol' with dogs and strange fey creatures is up next. Kristine Kathryn Rusch creates a readable if derivative piece here, but there is little to set it above the masses. Rosemary Edghill fares less well, her short story 'Final Exam' based upon ideas that seem at best ill-conceived and at worst ludicrous. Even ignoring the highly suspect premise, the story is uninspiring and limited in scope - the worst tale in this compilation.
Thankfully, Bernie Arntzen's 'Precious Cargo' quickly puts 'The Dog Star' back on track. Funny and engaging, this tale of interstellar traders transporting a batch of genetically engineered puppies to their new owner is filled with memorably scribed scenes and clever twists, while the dialogue is sharp and witty. Light-hearted and guaranteed to raise a giggle, this is the best of the many stories in 'Sirius' and together with Stephen Leigh's 'Among The Pack Alone', mentioned earlier, makes the book worth buying.
'Hair Of The Dog' by Doranna Durgin and 'All The Virtues' from Mickey Zucker Reichert represent another trough in the erratic line of quality. The former reads like an excerpt from a larger tale, making references to characters and events that have no real bearing on this short story yet which seem far more significant than what occurs within. As such, it is hard to keep track of what's going on amid all the confusion and easy to lose interest. 'All The Virtues', on the other hand, goes too far in the opposite
direction, taking the form of an extended flashback heavy with exposition. Dulled by the unnecessary detail, the story itself is a simple and lifeless one that seems totally out of place in a Science Fiction compilation.
The next tale in the compilation is one of a private detective hired to recover a missing experiment, a genetically engineered dog with human intelligence. 'Dog Gone' is somewhat pulp in style, John Zakour's writing light-hearted and pleasant to read. The case is rather easily solved however and limited by the length of the tale is lacking the twists and turns which make a good detective story.
'Life's A Bichon', despite its terrible pun-title is an entertaining piece of dark storytelling from Bethlyn Damone. A naïve city man finds himself caught up in a werewolf hunt with a difference, one that will change the way he looks at the world forever. Nicely written and with an interesting twist on the usual werewolf myths as well as a handful of other good ideas. It is an engaging if short read. The next tale, 'Keep The Dog Hence' by Jane Lindskold, continues the supernatural theme with a dark little chronicle of a pack of ghostly hunting dogs that take revenge on the owner of a mistreated mongrel. The writing is good and reflects the changing moods of the piece - sinister and chilling in places, sympathetic in others, gritty in the rest.
Finishing off the supernatural triumvirate, 'Snow Spawn' is a confusing jumble of ideas that revolve around a violent trapper and his broken-spirited wife after he kills her pet dog. A blizzard descends on the cabin, and a great white dog appears... After that, things get too bizarre to follow and while the writing is evocative the story is a bewildering mess that defies any attempts to make sense of it.
The penultimate tale is 'Improper Congress' by Elaine Quon, an amusing piece that should serve as a warning of just how badly things can go wrong when a transporter malfunctions. Certainly novel, the story is short and sweet, though the future-slang is somewhat irritating and overused.
Finally, we reach 'Huntbrother' by Michelle West, by far the longest story in the book, telling of a young noblewoman whose love perishes in a far away war. However, her beau is granted one night of release from death, one night with his true love and it is on that night, filled with their god's power, that their son is conceived. 'Huntbrother' is the story of that child, Stephen, and how he grows to fulfil his destiny as the son of the god Bredan. Slow to start and overly concerned from time to time with the unremarkable daily events in his life, the story is nonetheless a powerful one, detailing the conflicts as the young mother struggles to bring up her son. The world they inhabit is a fascinating one, renaissance-like in its social setting yet curiously medieval in other ways. By the end of the account, as Stephen faces the first true test of his semi-divinity in a brutally fast-paced and climatic finale, the reader finds themselves absorbed and intrigued. The only major qualm I had with 'Huntbrother' is that, once again, it reads as though taken from a much larger story, leaving the tale curiously truncated as though it were merely the opening chapter of some great saga. Still, as an incentive to search out Michelle West's other novels it is very effective and a solid piece of work.
Despite the occasional misfire, 'Sirius: The Dog Star' is a readable collection of tales. A couple of standout pieces keep it afloat where otherwise it might have sunk and while a few of the stories seem only tangentially dog-related, they may be forgiven. All in all, 'Sirius' is a worthy addition to my 'just makes the grade' shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
DAW
ISBN: 0-7564-0186-0)
'Sirius The Dog Star' is a compilation of short pieces by authors intending to place the spotlight firmly on their canine friends and the majority of the stories in this book fulfil that remit admirably. However, there are one or two where the presence of the dog seems little more than an afterthought, with little impact on the tale itself as if the author wrote the story on request rather than out of a genuine love of man's best friend. As such, the quality of the stories vary wildly from the good to the truly awful and the anthology itself becomes a rather average hit-and-miss affair. Nonetheless, the best of the fiction within makes this a worthwhile read, if not a vital buy.
Things begin well with a pair of stories from Tanya Huff and Julie Czerneda that show an impressive ability to convey an animal's point of view on Huff's part and Czerneda's knack for creating imaginative, emotionally complex situations. Fiona Patton's 'Heartsease' is less enjoyable, a garbled and overly explanatory account of psychic powers among four close-knit families in the vicinity of Lake Ontario. India Edghill brings the first quarter of the book to a close with an interesting piece called 'A Spaniel For The King' about the succession of the English crown following the death of Charles II. How it qualifies for a place in a Science Fiction compilation is not clear, but it's nonetheless a good read, well written and engaging.
Stephen Leigh is next up, with a truly impressive piece of writing that examines the moral implications of tinkering with the genetic makeup of animals. Given a rudimentary intelligence, Leigh's Enhanced Canines (E.C.s or Easies) labour like slaves for humanity. When random breeding results in Madra, whose intelligence places him far above his peers, the supervising scientists consider whether they have the right to destroy him as a threat, unaware that the choice is no longer entirely in their hands... Speculative, original and entertaining, the story ends in a cracking cliff-hanger that will have you tearing your hair out in frustration.
'After The Fall,' a sort of 'Christmas Carol' with dogs and strange fey creatures is up next. Kristine Kathryn Rusch creates a readable if derivative piece here, but there is little to set it above the masses. Rosemary Edghill fares less well, her short story 'Final Exam' based upon ideas that seem at best ill-conceived and at worst ludicrous. Even ignoring the highly suspect premise, the story is uninspiring and limited in scope - the worst tale in this compilation.
Thankfully, Bernie Arntzen's 'Precious Cargo' quickly puts 'The Dog Star' back on track. Funny and engaging, this tale of interstellar traders transporting a batch of genetically engineered puppies to their new owner is filled with memorably scribed scenes and clever twists, while the dialogue is sharp and witty. Light-hearted and guaranteed to raise a giggle, this is the best of the many stories in 'Sirius' and together with Stephen Leigh's 'Among The Pack Alone', mentioned earlier, makes the book worth buying.
'Hair Of The Dog' by Doranna Durgin and 'All The Virtues' from Mickey Zucker Reichert represent another trough in the erratic line of quality. The former reads like an excerpt from a larger tale, making references to characters and events that have no real bearing on this short story yet which seem far more significant than what occurs within. As such, it is hard to keep track of what's going on amid all the confusion and easy to lose interest. 'All The Virtues', on the other hand, goes too far in the opposite
direction, taking the form of an extended flashback heavy with exposition. Dulled by the unnecessary detail, the story itself is a simple and lifeless one that seems totally out of place in a Science Fiction compilation.
The next tale in the compilation is one of a private detective hired to recover a missing experiment, a genetically engineered dog with human intelligence. 'Dog Gone' is somewhat pulp in style, John Zakour's writing light-hearted and pleasant to read. The case is rather easily solved however and limited by the length of the tale is lacking the twists and turns which make a good detective story.
'Life's A Bichon', despite its terrible pun-title is an entertaining piece of dark storytelling from Bethlyn Damone. A naïve city man finds himself caught up in a werewolf hunt with a difference, one that will change the way he looks at the world forever. Nicely written and with an interesting twist on the usual werewolf myths as well as a handful of other good ideas. It is an engaging if short read. The next tale, 'Keep The Dog Hence' by Jane Lindskold, continues the supernatural theme with a dark little chronicle of a pack of ghostly hunting dogs that take revenge on the owner of a mistreated mongrel. The writing is good and reflects the changing moods of the piece - sinister and chilling in places, sympathetic in others, gritty in the rest.
Finishing off the supernatural triumvirate, 'Snow Spawn' is a confusing jumble of ideas that revolve around a violent trapper and his broken-spirited wife after he kills her pet dog. A blizzard descends on the cabin, and a great white dog appears... After that, things get too bizarre to follow and while the writing is evocative the story is a bewildering mess that defies any attempts to make sense of it.
The penultimate tale is 'Improper Congress' by Elaine Quon, an amusing piece that should serve as a warning of just how badly things can go wrong when a transporter malfunctions. Certainly novel, the story is short and sweet, though the future-slang is somewhat irritating and overused.
Finally, we reach 'Huntbrother' by Michelle West, by far the longest story in the book, telling of a young noblewoman whose love perishes in a far away war. However, her beau is granted one night of release from death, one night with his true love and it is on that night, filled with their god's power, that their son is conceived. 'Huntbrother' is the story of that child, Stephen, and how he grows to fulfil his destiny as the son of the god Bredan. Slow to start and overly concerned from time to time with the unremarkable daily events in his life, the story is nonetheless a powerful one, detailing the conflicts as the young mother struggles to bring up her son. The world they inhabit is a fascinating one, renaissance-like in its social setting yet curiously medieval in other ways. By the end of the account, as Stephen faces the first true test of his semi-divinity in a brutally fast-paced and climatic finale, the reader finds themselves absorbed and intrigued. The only major qualm I had with 'Huntbrother' is that, once again, it reads as though taken from a much larger story, leaving the tale curiously truncated as though it were merely the opening chapter of some great saga. Still, as an incentive to search out Michelle West's other novels it is very effective and a solid piece of work.
Despite the occasional misfire, 'Sirius: The Dog Star' is a readable collection of tales. A couple of standout pieces keep it afloat where otherwise it might have sunk and while a few of the stories seem only tangentially dog-related, they may be forgiven. All in all, 'Sirius' is a worthy addition to my 'just makes the grade' shelf.
This review was originally written for SFcrowsnest.com
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