hc.newton

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Cursed Cocktails About?

The cynical side of me wants to summarize this as a gender-flipped Legends & Lattes with a couple of twists. But as apt as that is, it feels petty and dismissive.

Rhoren is a retired blood mage. I won’t get into what a blood mage is, but it’s about as pretty as the name would lead you to believe. The fact that his nickname “Bloodbane” (a nickname known throughout the nine kingdoms, I should add), is another clue. The “retired” part of Rhoren’s description is a rarity, not many blood mages survive long enough to retire. Those who do, like Rhoren, aren’t in the best of health. Rohren’s given some advice about relocating to the coast (and away from the cold) for his health. Needing a change of pace and scenery, that’s just what he does.

And it’s just the right call for him.

Being in the military (and a fairly active part of it), he didn’t have a lot of chances—or reasons—to spend his earnings, so he has a pretty nice nest egg in addition to his pension. A new place to live and a good amount of funding—just what you need to start the second part of your life.

One of the first things he does when he moves to his new city is befriend a bartender, Kallum. Kallum loves his job, but dreams of being able to be more creative with a menu and creating new cocktails.

Rhoren needs a new purpose in his life and finds an open storefront building with an apartment above it. Sure, it’s open because it seems to be haunted, but what’s a rogue spirit (if the place is actually haunted) for a guy like Rhoren? So he buys the place, moves in, and suggests a partnership with Kallum.

It’s not smooth sailing by any means from this point forward, but chasing dreams (old or new) is worth a few risks, right?

Bloodbane

Rohren doesn’t like to think about his days of service—and likes to talk about it even less. He doesn’t want anyone to know he was a blood mage—especially not Bloodbane. He’s ready to shed that name, that vocation, and the reputation that follows both.

Also, using that kind of power the way he has for decades is the biggest thing impacting his health—the very reason he had to move.

But even the best-kept secrets have a tendency to come to light—especially when events outside of Rohren’s control might call upon him to unleash his abilities.

While I really have no complaints about anything in this book, I thought this was its strongest point. Rowland depicted Rohren’s desire to get away from his past, dealing with his health (both how he’s still limited, and how he’s improving with the weather), and having to step up and tell people about his past, with sensitivity and precision. That was really well done.

The Cozy-ness

After a little peak at the hardships of those who serve and protect in the north and the hazards they face, we shift into the cozy atmosphere we’re promised in this book. And aside from a scene or two (which don’t detract that much), that atmosphere pervades the rest of the book.

There’s some light humor (including some fantastic liquor names—and a cameo from a distinctive bottle design)—there’s a warmth between the characters, a largely supportive populace in the city, and the setting is ripe for stories.

You just can’t help but feel comfortable while reading this. You really might as well be kicking back in your favorite cocktail bar while reading this (and, I should add, you really should have something to drink—not necessarily alcoholic—nearby), you just feel content and warm.

So, what did I think about Cursed Cocktails?

There’s just enough conflict and danger to keep this from being the coziest fantasy that I’ve ever read—but it’s close. In fact, one source of potential conflict never produced any (which was a relief, but also a mild irritation), making the whole thing cozier.

That doesn’t mean the book is dull—far from it. It’s just that you turn the pages for another reason—instead of being on the edge of your seat to see what happens next. You keep going to keep the warm and fuzzy feelings going. It’s here that my mostly joking comparison to Baldree’s book really comes into play, if you got into one, you’ll get into the other.

And that’s a feeling that I don’t mind in the slightest. If you need a break from mayhem and suspense in your reading—or an escape from the world at large—Cursed Cocktails will give you the oasis you need. With at least two more books in this series that promise the same kind of thing, you’d best be hopping on board—you’ll be glad that you did.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Winter Lost About?

Mercy’s brother Gary shows up at their front door late one night in a royal mess—he’s almost unidentifiable. More than that, he’s having a hard time understanding what’s going on around him and is having a worse time communicating it. No one has any idea why he’s there, where he came from, or what happened.

A quick consultation with a couple of Fae sends Adam and Mercy to Montana—the type of magic that zapped Gary is characteristic of a particular Fae. Along the way, an epic winter storm engulfs Western Montana, Idaho, Eastern Washington—and perhaps more.

Adam and Mercy meet the one responsible for Gary’s state—to free him, they have to complete a task (the guy’s not being a jerk by this, it’s literally a condition of the spell). They have just a couple of days to find something, free Gary, save a wedding, and…I kid you not…save the world.

Everything Else

While the main story is plenty to talk about, there are a couple of other things to note. There’s some good development with Mary Jo, Honey is making some interesting choices, Tad and Jesse are up to something fun, Zee and Adam are involved in a project, and plenty of other things are afoot.

We continue the whole jockeying-for-dominance thing under Adam with Warren, Darryl, and Sherwood—but it seems to be going better than it was in the last book—but it feels like there’s some sort of slow-burn story going there and I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy where it ends up.

There’s more action on the building conflict with various witch groups and the conflict with Bonarata. I want to be super-vague about both of these, but want to mention them. They both took very little space in the novel as a whole and part of me wonders if we really needed them now—we could’ve come back to them in book 15 and spent more time on both (while assuming things were ongoing with both). But…I really liked the way that Briggs wrote both of them.

Bonarata is conducting some psychological warfare on Mercy, which seems to be pretty effective. As part of that, he’s hurting other people. The best example the readers get in this book is a certain kind of horrific. I don’t know if Briggs has shown something so depraved since Iron Kissed—but this time the victim is someone we don’t even know the name of. Part of me is really impressed with how Briggs wrote this, most of me wishes she hadn’t.

So, what did I think about Winter Lost?

There are a couple of things to say—first: I had a whole lot of fun with this one. Yeah, the stakes are higher than they sometimes are. But this felt more fun than the last couple of books, things have felt very weighty since Silence Fallen. This was closer to River Marked, it seems.

But more than that, Briggs was trying some new things narratively, both in the order and way she was telling the story—and in the way the cast of characters were spread out in this book. And everything she tried worked really well. At the moment, I can’t think of a way to talk about this with any level of detail and not spoil some big things—so let’s just leave it with Briggs trying some new things for the series and succeeding. I don’t know if she’ll want to try to tell another story like this anytime soon (and I’m not sure she should), but I like to see her experimenting—and hope she continues.

There’s not much more to say—there’s some great action, some solid character moments, a nice bit of new mythology, and Briggs has planted all sorts of seeds for a couple (or more) future installments in the series. This is just what Mercy fans needed, and I hope we get more of it soon.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Where Does Grave Cold Take Place?

In a dystopian future the geography of the (what we’d now consider) the Western U.S. looks much different—states are a thing of the past, and two major population centers are the District of Utah (which does contain Salt Lake City) and the District of Portland (Oregon, not Maine). There are people who have been Genetically Modified for one reason or another—and in the D.P. they’re largely feared and ostracized because of what they are and what they can do.

D.P. is where the action takes place in the novel—and it feels like it came out of Portland, OR, too. And not just because Voodoo Doughnuts still exists. Yes, even in a quasi-dystopia people want their donuts. Maybe they need them more than we do, come to think of it.

There’s a lot of the tech, etc. that one usually associates with more utopian-looking/feeling SF. And maybe for many people it’s just that. But D.P.’s government is definitely of the dystopian type (and, boy howdy, do we learn more about that as the book continues), and the area outside the District feels that way, too, filled with mutants and who knows what else.

If you’re one of those readers who really gets into worldbuilding, you’re going to be happy with this read.

What’s Grave Cold About?

Cait’s a beautician with a lot flair and very little money. She’s scraping by, barely. When she sleeps (which she tries not to), the dead come to her and talk to her, trying to get her to do things. So…it’s easy to understand why she doesn’t like to sleep.

A man named Nyle sneaks into Portland after having been prevented legal entrance by a guard—and he’s not the only one like him who has been denied entrance. Nyle, however, is older, more experienced, more powerful, and probably more determined. He and those like him are called “ravens” (although there are other, more contemporary(?) names like “ferrymen”)—they’re tasked with freeing the spirits of the dead from their bodies. It’s been so long since they’ve been permitted in D.P. that Nyle has been compelled to come so he can do his work.

He and Cait have a strong rapport right away, she has some friends (and some family she has a troubling relationship with), but not that many. The two of them click right away, and Cait helps Nyle change his appearance so he can hide from the authorities. He tells her that she’s not Genetically Modified, she has supernatural abilities like him—she’s a necromancer.

While it’s not the same power, it’s close to his and he has experience with necromancers and guides her to use her abilities better.

Working together, they begin to free the spirits of the dead and learn why ravens have been blocked from entering D.P.—those spirits are being used by newly developed technology. This pits the pair against the authorities and other powerful people.

Here’s the Thing

I don’t get magic/paranormal/supernatural systems like this one where someone/something is required to separate souls from bodies at/around/near death. Whether it’s this book (and it’s oncoming sequel), Amber Benson’s Calliope Reaper-Jones series, the TV show Dead Like Me, or any of the other examples I had in mind for weeks to bring up that disappeared as soon as I started composing this post. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.

This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy these works of fiction. I just don’t understand what ties these non-corporeal entities/substances/existences/whatever to the body at or after death and why someone has to come along and separate them.

So I guess I’m saying two things here—1. If you’re like me on this point, you can still get into this book. I honestly didn’t think about it while reading the Grave Cold, it’s only when I think about the book/system that it gives me pause. 2. If you’re not like me…can you explain this?

So, what did I think about Grave Cold?

I cannot describe it to my satisfaction, but Knight has embued this novel with an atmosphere, a texture that you can’t help but feel as you read. Her descriptions are pretty sparse, but at the same time, I really think I know what Cait’s environs look and feel like.

It’s difficult to think of spirits as capable of being mistreated or abused—they’re spirits of dead people, right? But in Knight’s world that’s exactly what’s happening. Abusing the dead ranks right up there with elder-abuse somehow. As Nyle says,

“It’s easy to see the dead as non-persons when you’re alive. It’s harder when you know them.”

Instead of going on to whatever is next once the spirit is released, the former citizens of D.P. are trapped and exploited.

While this story is dark and harrowing, there’s a real pleasure (and sometimes lightness) in watching the friendship between Nyle—a centuries-old being—and Cait deepen and grow stronger. It’s a tricky thing to attempt (much less pull off), but Knight does it well.

Great world-building, questionable (to me) magic system—but it’s cool to see in action, some well-designed characters (including all of them that I didn’t mention here), a plot that moves well and is intricate enough that you’re kept wondering where it’s going until the end. Knight has written (on my blog) about coming up with the sequel, so I know one is coming. And I’m looking forward to it—at the same time, were this a stand-alone, it’d be very satisfactory as one.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Bad Actors About?

Matt Spiller, Man Down‘s actor turned cab driver turned vigilante made it to Hollywood. His first feature film is about to drop, he’s on the verge of starring in a premier TV show—all his dreams have come true.

And then his agent from England drops in unannounced—blackmailing Spiller for a significant amount of his earnings.

Then the detective who couldn’t quite put him away in England shows up, wanting to pin the murder of another action star to him.

And a would-be up-and-coming actor starts acting aggressively toward him.

His ex-wife and her new flame are coming to town.

Maybe some of his nightmares are coming true, too.

Spiller being Spiller, there’s really only way way for him to react—and that’s violently.

But before it’s over, there’s going to be a lot more going on than Spiller trying to keep his career and money going on. He’s going to make some powerful enemies and may stop some horrible people from doing some horrible things. But he’s not going to be able to lie down with these pigs and not get dirty himself.

A Manifesto on the Movies

In between the mayhem and hijinks—several people from various backgrounds sound off on the state of movies today. I think they speak for a lot of us when it comes to complaining about violence, spectacle, shallow characters, and more at the cost of story, plot, and craft.

These complaints—coming from Pepper’s characters, and any number of people in the real world—aren’t going to change things. But it’s sure nice to read. Choir members do appreciate being preached to.

From Everyman To . . . ?

So, in Man Down, Matt Spiller was kind of an everyman who found himself in a situation beyond his control and reacted in ways that…well, few everymen would.

In Bad Actors, Spiller is on the verge of a Hollywood career. His first movie is about to be released, and the buzz is pretty strong (particularly after a memorable appearance on a late-night show). He has more money than he knows what to do with.

It’s harder to root for him this time—partially because of his success, but only minimally really. Actually, Spiller doing well after everything he endured is vicariously encouraging. But it’s everything that he does to maintain his new position in life that makes it difficult. Things go up and down—so your estimation of his actions and motivations fluxuate as well (as they may have during Man Down).

This has no effect on the entertainment value of the novel—just your perspective on Spiller.

So, what did I think about Bad Actors?

This is a sequel to Man Down, but there’s also an aspect that makes it more—if you’ve read Pepper’s Veteran Avenue or Man on a Murder Cycle

Do you need to have read Man Down before this? Nope. You learn everything you need to know about Spiller and the rest here. Would it add to the experience? Sure. And I enjoyed Man Down more, so it wouldn’t be the worst idea to pick it up.

As for Bad Actors? It was a heckuva ride. I was less than satisfied with the way that several aspects of the storylines wrapped up—and not merely due to the outlandish nature of them. I still recommend it.

I’m a little unsure how to wrap this up beyond that—so I’m just going to borrow my conclusion from my Man Down post—Bad Actors is a good sequel in that way.

This was a bonkers read—that’s a compliment, in case that wasn’t clear. On the one hand, it’s impossible to predict how Pepper is going to start at Point A and end up anywhere near Point Z, but he does, and when you look back at it, the logic is clear and sound.

I can’t tell you how many times he pulled the rug out from under me (he does the same to Matt almost as often)—sometimes eliciting a laugh, sometimes shock and dismay, sometimes I was so dumbfounded as not to know how to react. [deleted because of the stuff I talked about in the above section]

The humor is dark, the action is frequent and dynamic, with [many] characters that you want to get to know better and see more of. I’m not sure what else to say at this point without giving away everything, so let’s just go with if you’re in the mood for a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of a thriller, get your mitts on this one pronto.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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Every Who is shaped by a Where.

In this case, the Where is a tiny coastal village named Seaside. from the beach there is a constant, breathy shhh-ahhh sound as the waves flow first in, then out, each exhalation coating the simple, whitewashed buildings with a fine, salty mist. Through the village center runs the Queen’s Road, a winding ribbon that traces the curving shoreline of the island nation to which Seaside belongs. Grassy, rolling hills surround the village to the north, so that when viewed from above, it appears as a single pearl on a string nestled on a bed of seagrass.

Seaside was given its unimaginative name by its unimaginative people. In fact, hostility toward creativity and change is a central feature of the Seasider mentality, a proud tradition handed down from generation to generation. They value simplicity, practicality, and—above all—uniformity. For this reason, it has been decreed that every building in the village must adhere to the same basic plan: squarish shape, white walls, dark roof. This arrangement makes it obvious which villagers are lax in their home maintenance, and are therefore not to be trusted. The same principle applies to matters of appearance, behavior, and topics of conversation. Unsurprisingly, the most popular topic of conversation is the failure of others to conform….

With the matter of Where set aside, it is time to meet our Who—Sophie Farrier, a kind-hearted and imaginative young girl who fits into Seaside about as well as a whale fits into a rowboat, and has been just as uncomfortably shaped.

What’s The Glass Frog About?

Thankfully for her, Sophie will not spend the entire novel in Seaside. But she has indeed been shaped by that village, and try as she might, she will act in the way she was shaped (both in ways she recognizes and ways she doesn’t). She’s also been shaped by books she’s read—a scandalous notion to many people in Seaside—and a devoted older brother, Damon, who has stepped up in so many ways that her deceased parents cannot and that her guardian aunt will not. Without her books and her brother, Seaside would’ve turned Sophie into a successfully conformed young woman.

Things change in Seaside one day when some kelp harvesters find an unconscious stranger who had the absolute temerity to wash up on shore. It’s rude, unheard of, and not at all fitting with the unimaginative ethos they prefer. There’s some debate amongst the villagers—with a majority wanting to send this stranger back to the sea he came from—but a couple of stalwarts (including Damon) refuse and arrange for him to be cared for by the local doctor. Sophie helps the doctor in her own way—and the doctor beings to think she might have a future in medicine.

When the stranger finally awakes, he wastes little time before he sets out to leave Seaside and resume his interrupted quest. Something about him, about what he says to her—and some drama at home—drives Sophie to follow him. Or try to, anyway. He has a pretty solid headstart and can move much more quickly than she can. Also…Sophie’s never left Seaside, so she really doesn’t know what to expect or how to interact with people who aren’t from there.

Meanwhile, a powerful group arrives at Seaside, demanding that the stranger be returned to them or the city will be destroyed. Everyone in the Village who was ready to throw him back into the sea are more than ready to give him up. If they only knew where he was.

So, what did I think about The Glass Frog?

I’m not certain who Lowry’s audience is, like the BlueInk Review cited on the back cover says, it can work for “discerning reader[s], from middle grade to adult.” I can think of readers I know/have known up and down that range who would appreciate the book, and I can’t think of any reasons to try to wave off a middle grader (which is refreshing).

It’s hard not to like Sophie—and I don’t understand why anyone would resist it—her brother is a little tougher to like, but that’s not necessarily his fault. Most people that she encounters after she leaves Seaside are pretty likable, too (with some notable, and easy-to-identify exceptions). The people of Seaside are an interesting mix—most (maybe all of them, I didn’t take a census) are good fictional characters and the reader will appreciate them as such. As people? Eh, it’s a mixed bag. But it’s a more complicated question than you’d expect from the early descriptions of the village.

I don’t believe Lowry’s prose was particularly purple at the beginning of the book, but it was headed to that end of the visible light spectrum. My notes said something like, “you’d better not use every adjective in your account too early or you won’t have any leftover for the last chapters.” I do think he got it under control pretty quickly—or I became inured to it, I’d believe either, but I think it’s the former.

There was some pretty solid comedy in this book (particularly involving the citizenry of Seaside), but it’s not a humorous fantasy in the mode of Terry Pratchett or Sean Gibson. I’d categorize it as a light, whimsical fantasy with some really funny moments. But there are some serious moments, too. A lot of heartbreak and loneliness—some self-destructive behaviors on display, too. Maybe a dash or two of romance. Plus some villainy, cowardice, avarice, xenophobia, and manipulation to balance out the acts of heroism (intentional or inadvertent). A little bit of everything, really.

I don’t know that I want a sequel to this—but I would like other books set in this work (with Sophie and those close to her showing up in the background). There’s just so much to explore, and Lowry has created a bunch of fun places and ideas to play with. Some of the minor characters from this book would be great to see again as protagonists—or at least, playing a larger role than they got to here.

But most of all, I’m curious about what the next novel (in this world or another) from Lowry will look like, I bet it’ll be worth the time—just like The Glass Frog was. You should check it out.

What’s The Legendary Mo Seto About?

This is one of those books that I could easily tell you everything in my enthusiasm, but that’d take away the need for you to read the book—and Chan’s much more entertaining than I could be. So, I’ll try to keep it to the essentials.

Modesty (please call her Mo) Seto is a devoted student of taekwondo and has been competing—and dominating—in competitions for years. But a fellow student recently hit a growth spurt that passed Mo by and he has started to beat her in competitions. This is getting to her, it’s just not fair. After coming in second to him (again), she sees a call for open auditions for people in her age range for a role in an upcoming martial arts movie starring her favorite movie star/martial artist in the world.

Technically, Mo is too short for their requirements—the height issue again, will she ever just grow? She comes up with a cunning plan* to get into the auditions anyway with the help of her best friend and his grandfather posing as her guardian. Why a faux grandfather? There’s no way that her mother would allow her to do anything like this and her father is away on a sudden business trip and isn’t communicating with Mo or her mother the way he usually would.

* Slightly more elaborate than anything Clark Kent has tried, and just as believable. Just roll with it.

We follow Mo through the audition process—which starts to take on unexpected peril as the set becomes plagued by threats and unexpected problems—possibly caused by sabotage. Oh, yeah, and her classmate/rival is also going up for the part.

Can Mo get the part without the truth being discovered? Will Mo be disillusioned by seeing behind the Movie Magic? Will Mo’s dad start responding to her? And what’s up with this old book with a little-known martial arts form Mo just found in her basement? More importantly, can she use any of it to her advantage?

The BTS Stuff

Let’s get this out of the way: This is an MG Novel, not Cinéma vérité. There’s no way that the auditions can work the way portrayed in the novel—especially when it comes to kids. It is impossible that any of Mo’s antics and hijinks to get her into—much less stay in—the auditions would work. If you’re looking for accuracy and an honest look at making martial arts movies with actors under 18, look elsewhere.

That said, there’s enough of a flavor of Hollywood to all of this to work. The attitudes of the casting people—the shallowness of the initial assessments, the stress of the director, the attitude toward the fight choreographer/stunt professionals, and so on—really feel like what you expect. They’re entertaining enough that you really don’t care how realistic things might be, too—feeling about right is good enough.

For my money, the best part of this is watching Cody Kwok in action and how everyone reacts to him. Kwok is a Jackie Chan-esque figure (only younger). He’s known for doing his own stunts—many of which are just incredible—as well as not being tied down to any one genre (but making them all, eventually, about martial arts). Kwok, his entourage, and the film’s executives know what they’re doing when it comes to preserving his image and promoting it, and the auditioning kids (and media) see exactly what they’re supposed to. Chan does an excellent job portraying both that and showing the reader that the Superstar’s image might not really be the truth.

Characters Who Aren’t Mo

There’s a really strong cast of supporting characters who are as engaging as you want, I want to touch on just a few of them because it’d be too easy just to talk about Mo, and that’s not giving Chan’s work the credit it needs.

Mo’s rivals in the auditions are largely bullies when it comes to Mo (and some of the others), but they’re not all that bad. They’re just adolescent twerps who are probably covering up insecurities (well, a couple of them are entitled jerks who are on their way to being 80s movie villains)—the way they treat Mo is bad enough so you don’t make the mistake of liking them, can root for Mo against them, but you’re not going to worry about what they’ll do to her.

On the other hand, you get Mo’s friends who just make you like her more—if someone as cool as Nacho (real name, Ignacio) is her best friend, she must be pretty cool herself. And Nacho is cool—he’s supportive, understanding, artistic, and nerdy in all the ways that Mo isn’t. Mo’s a little too hyper-focused on herself at the moment, but Nacho gets it and is willing to wait for her.

His grandfather is a hoot. Gramps is an honorary grandparent to Mo, as well as Nacho’s actual grandfather. He’s recently widowed and lonely, but he hasn’t let it get him down—at least not in front of the kids. He’s a loving and goofy character who really comes through for Nacho and Mo—he’s the kind of grandfather I’d like to be.

One of the auditioners who befriends Mo is named Sanjay. I hope they find a way to bring him back for the rest of the books in the series. He’s apparently pretty good at karate and is as gregarious as the others are antagonistic. He’s one of those kids who cannot stop talking once he starts and is not self-aware enough to realize he’s doing it or how people react to him. He’d probably be pretty annoying in real life but as a comic relief character? He’s great.

Lastly—Mo’s parents. Parents in MG novels are so tricky to get right (I’ve often thought), and Chan gets it right. Not just the characters, but how they treat Mo—and how Mo sees them and how they treat her. Mo’s dad introduced her to taekwondo and Cody Kwok. He’s her biggest fan and source of encouragement—he also pushes her (generally) in the way she needs to keep going. When he’s not there, the impact on Mo’s confidence and emotions cannot be overstated.

Things are complicated with her mother. Mom comes close to being a stereotype, at least the way the narration describes her. But I’m not sure she is, essentially they don’t get each other—from Mo’s perspective, her Mom doesn’t like who Mo is. She doesn’t want a daughter into taekwondo (especially not to the near-obsessive level Mo is), but would rather she pursued something more acceptable, like dancing and Chinese immersion camp, a dainty academic superstar in the waiting. The reader will see that Mo’s not understanding her mother quite right, but there’s nothing malicious in it. It’s just a tricky mother/daughter dynamic (that appears to be starting to work itself out).

Mo Herself

In case I gave the wrong impression when I talked about Nacho, Mo is a cool person, but since we see the whole book from her point of view, it might seem biased. Mo is a confident, optimistic, go-getter. The fact that she’s probably not going to keep growing past her 4’9″ stature while everyone around her (especially Dax) is still growing, isn’t doing her esteem any favors. Her recent tournament loss is doing a number on her—she’s upset that Dax’s size puts her at a disadvantage and is ready to give up, but she’s also so determined that she just can’t. Chan portraying both competing impulses is a tricky proposition, but she pulls it off.

The chance to work with Kwok is the opportunity of a lifetime for Mo. She’s re-read his autobiography a few times (can quote portions of it), and has watched countless interviews—she knows him as well as anyone who hasn’t met him can (and as well as many people who have met him could). She’s such a superfan that it’s hard not to want to see a few Kwok movies yourself. When she describes one of his films, she always introduces it as “my favorite Cody Kwok movie”—it doesn’t matter which one she’s talking about. It’s a tiny touch, but I loved it. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

Actually, not just her enthusiasm for Kwok—but for everything. Her despondency is a little catching, too, and comes when it should. But her personality can’t stay down for long. She grows a lot over the course of the novel*—as she needs to, it’s the point of adolescence anyway. But she also has plenty of room to grow, and that’s easy to see, too. It’ll be fun watching that over the rest of the series.

* That’s growth in terms of character. Much to her chagrin, she’s as tall at the end of the summer as she was at the beginning.

So, what did I think about The Legendary Mo Seto?

I had about as much fun as is permitted by law while reading this.

Sure, it’s an MG book, so I’m a few decades older than the target audience. I guessed almost all of the big reveals (I think attentive MG readers will get most of them, too), I’m pretty sure I know how the next two books are going to go, and I rolled my eyes at some of the sillier aspects of the book. That’s not a problem with Chan’s writing—I think it means she hit her target. The fact that she was able to write for them while keeping an old guy like me entertained is to be commended.

This is a fast, engaging read that will entice readers from the jump and keep them turning pages (likely with a grin) almost as fast as Mo can dash around. Older readers will want to adopt Mo and Nacho as kid siblings (or false grandparents), and younger readers will want to be like Mo—and hang out with her friends. As good as the story and the writing are (and Chan’s subtle prose is deceptively easy)—readers are going to walk away from this book thinking primarily of this determined and brave girl, who will muster up whatever she has to in order to get a shot at her dreams.

I’m leaving things out that I should be saying, I know I am—but I can’t think of what they are at the moment. So be sure to see what other people on the Tour are saying. So let me just wrap up by saying that for the young or young-at-heart reader, this is a sure-fire win.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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If you do manage to find the restaurant, the décor is dated and worn. Homey, if one were to be generous. The service is atrocious, the proprietor a grouch. The regulars are worse, silent, brooding, and unfriendly to newcomers. There is no set menu, alternating with the whim and whimsy of the owner. The selection of wine and beer is sparse or non- existent at times, and the prices for everything outrageous.

There is a restaurant in Toronto that is magically hidden, whose service is horrible, and whose food is divine.

What’s The Nameless Restaurant About?

If that description in the first paragraph wasn’t enough to make you disinclined to visit this restaurant—that “magically hidden” part should take care of it. Between its location and the wards inside, only a select few come in. Which is just the way the proprietor, Mo Meng, wants it.

The majority of his clientele are magical beings—or magic users—and his staff know just enough about that to understand the nature of their customers, and little else (sure, how else does their boss get some of those fresh and rare ingredients if not for teleportation).

On this one particular night in addition to some regulars—and a couple of mundane/muggle/non-magical people who stumble in—there are some new diners. A jinn, her companion/student, and three mages from the Council who are hunting for the jinn.

The novella isn’t about the diners, per se, it’s about Mo Meng and his establishment. They’re just who happened to be there that night.

Step Aside Cousin Carmy

For there were more important matters before her. Much more than the fate of the world. After all, dinner was here.

There are all types of magic that could be thrown around the restaurant—and a little that comes into play. But the real wonder-working is what Mo Meng gets up to in the kitchen, and the results that his waitress brings to the table.

Wong gets into detail when talking about the preparation of the food, the recipes, and so on. You know how you can watch a show or two on the Food Network and think you can prepare something like Alex Guarnaschelli? Well, when I finished this book, I could imagine that all I needed was to re-read a couple of paragraphs in this book (after buying a wok).

At the same time, when you read about the customers eating, smelling, or looking at his food? You’re going to want to grab a snack—if not a few entrées. I easily could’ve put on 5-10 pounds just from reading this if there’d been food within reach (I’m so glad this is a novella and not a full-novel, especially of the doorstop variety—I don’t think I could handle that kind of temptation).

So, what did I think about The Nameless Restaurant?

Sure, she had a healthy appetite—which, when you considered the fact that she was a purely magical being was both fascinating and annoying—but she had never been gluttonous.

Not till now, at least.

This is a spin-off of Wong’s Hidden Wishes trilogy—but you don’t need to be familiar with it at all to appreciate this (I haven’t read it yet and I did). Might it help? Sure, but not enough to prioritize it.

We do’t get a lot of time with any of the characters who aren’t Mo Meng (there’s just not enough space in the novella)—but we get enough enjoy them all individually, and be at least a little curious about them all (and hope they show up in future novellas if only to see their reaction to future dishes).

The magic circumstances surrounding and repercussions of real-world events that are explained over conversations between the diners are a fun choice by Wong.

There’s not much to say beyond this because of the length of the book—I really enjoyed it, I got hungry, and want to read more of this series and more of this world. Thankfully, I can fulfill the latter easily—I encourage you to do the same.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Steam Opera About?

I’m both tired and apt to meander too much when trying to answer this question, so I’m just going to lift the answer from Lambert’s website:

London, England, 1894

Patrick Smythe lives a comfortable life in London coming up with new inventions. His close friend Thomas Melton finances many of these ventures and together they advance technology. Geoffrey Trenton takes the occasional investigative work after retiring from Scotland Yard.

Airships fill the sky

The world is on the move with dirigibles and Zeppelins hauling freight and passengers. On land and sea people travel at will in an era of plenty.

Unbridled invention fills the laboratories

New discoveries fill the news as scientists probe past the boundaries of human knowledge. Every field advances as knowledge of the natural world drives new innovation.

Telescopes scan the heavens

The Royal Observatory at Greenwich has a new telescope and the astronomers are using it to view the universe. Even when they’ve been told to take the night off. A strange discovery and a brutal murder draws Trenton out of retirement to investigate.

And we want to go to the moon!

Patrick develops his most ambitious project: a trip to the moon and back! With Thomas’s help securing financing and Trenton running security, what could possibly go wrong? But a mysterious organization wants to prevent this and will go to any length to stop them!

My Big Complaint

The next section will touch on a maybe larger concern. Or maybe it’s a quirk. I’m not sure. But I had an easier time getting over it than this part. There’s a quick arc that introduces us to the future security chief for this endeavor—it starts out pretty interesting, maybe more interesting than the “go to the moon” story at that point. And just as that story gets your hooks into you…it’s dropped. I do think that I can see where and how Lambert is going to pick it up again in the future. But the way he abandoned the story in this novel was abrupt and off-putting.

Lambert is capable of better.

Um…Where’s all the Steam?

You call something Steam Opera, you set it in the latter 1800s in London, you make it about inventors and engineers (among others), you give it that color scheme and cover design—you sorta indicate to your reader that this is going to be a Steampunk novel.

But we really don’t get one—we get a lot of Zepplins and dirigibles, science that’s more advanced than it should be, and the rest of it is pretty era-appropriate. No gadgets, no science that’s hard to pull off on this side of the Industrial or Digital Revolutions. Sure, there are plenty of people wearing goggles—but that’s about it. This is the least Steam-punky Steampunk I think I’ve read.

And I know Lambert can pull off Steampunk gadgets—Aether Powered demonstrated that clearly. So why not here?

Really, why not?

So, what did I think about Steam Opera?

Okay—all I’ve really said after the description sounds negative, and I don’t want to sound that way. Because once you get past the above quibbles (which is really pretty easy), this is a perfectly entertaining read.

This is easily the most ambitious of Lambert’s first three novels, and his writing has improved over what his first books delivered (and I liked those I want to stress). His characters, prose, eye for detail, and imagination are better represented here (as is a capability to carry a story for another 100 pages or so than he has in the past). If he keeps improving like this, he should get the fanbase he deserves.

Lambert does a good job with the pacing—sometimes it seems he speeds up more than is advisable, and occasionally he swings the other way—but overall, he keeps things moving well enough to keep you engaged while dipping into some pretty technical areas (even if the technology is made up). It’d have been very easy for him to get so into the technical descriptions that he’d kill any momentum and turn this thing into a slog. All things considered, he made the right choices on that front.

And the technical bits themselves? I think Lambert really succeded there—both the way he adapted Zepplin-esque technology to mimic the work that the Atlas and other rockets did in our timeline and in the way he described their flight while still in Earth’s atmosphere—I bought it all. It seemed plausible enough for this world (moreso than, say, the music devices that The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences enjoyed, for example)—particularly the in-flight moments.

I wouldn’t have minded some more named characters—and some female characters would’ve been good to see*. This is very much a book about Moon Men. However, the characters we did get were engaging and interesting (even the antagonists). The more time we spent with all of them, the more I wanted to spend time with them—which is always a good sign.

* The lack of female characters probably deserves its own section, I now realize—but what more is there to say? Yes, the Victorian-era was dominated by men in engineering and business, so it helps things ocme across as more realistic to not have women around. But if we’re going for that level of realism…maybe keep everyone on Earth?

What we learn in the closing pages and what leads up to them is came out of nowhere—or so it seems, but really didn’t. What’s better is it sets up the next book and satisfies your curiosity about “Why is this a Book One?” Sure, it creates a whole bunch of new curiosity about Book Two (and maybe beyond, I’m not sure how long Lambert is thinking), but that’s the point. As long as you give me some answers, you can add all the questions you want.

In short, I had plenty of fun with this book and this world, and am eager to return to it. As good as Lambert’s next release, Relics of War, looks—I can’t help but be irked that it’s not Moon Men Book Two. I really want to know where he’s going with this. But that’s a problem for future-H.C. Present-H.C. is happy to recommend this to you and strongly suggests you become familiar with the very pleasant experience that is reading a James T. Lambert novel.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with some further ruminations about it, comparing it to some of Hibbs' Non-Fiction work.

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What’s The White Door About?

A pull-quote on the cover calls this “Pilgrims Progress meets Stranger Things.” I’m not sure that Bunyan belongs in the conversation—maybe Lewis meets Stranger Things? This Present Darkness with better theology is closer yet.

There’s a great ensemble of characters featured in this novel, but let’s focus (as the novel does) on two—the first is Pastor Cleft Warrington. It’s evident soon after we meet him that he’s the kind of pastor you’d want—educated, compassionate, smart, and faithful. But there’s more than that to him—the small town in Pennsylvania that he pastors in has more going on than is visible to the naked eye. There are forces on the move—and he is one of the few aware of it.

The other character we focus on is Seth Logan—he’s a father of a couple of little kids and a writing professor. His wife is a steadying and supportive influence in his life, which he really needs. When we meet him, he’s unaware (like most people in this town) of the unseen workings around him. But all that changes when he comes across a stray cat one day while hiking.

I’m not sure how much else to say, but the cover blurb says little more—there are two doors (in places that have no business having doors, see McGuire’s Wayward Children series for examples). A white one and a black one—those who walk through them are changed. What, and how, they see is altered in ways that say a lot more about the doors than anything else.

The custodian (for lack of a better term) of the black door is named Skotos—he has been popping up in Dingmans Ferry now and then for quite some time. Cleft is trying to monitor his actions as much as he can. Cleft can’t say for certain what Skotos is up to—or what his aims are—but they are not for anyone’s benefit but his.

Those who walk through the white door get nicknamed “gazers,” because of their altered vision. They see things, realities, that others don’t–and cannot. Because of this power, they have a responsibility to their town (if not to more than the town) and its citizens. The gazers have allied with each other for this purpose and when they add members, they take them under their wings and help them understand their abilities and far more.

The Choice of the 80s

This is set in the 1980s, which is an interesting choice. And I’m not sure that it was necessary for the story. Sure, it eliminates the Internet in early or current form, so that’s an advantage—this would’ve been a difficult story to tell if characters could just check certain events online.

While there may be little about the events or the narrative that demands that time period, the smaller town feels more authentic in the 80s, I guess. There are plenty of little details that Hibbs provides to help it feel like that time.

The biggest thing that made me wonder about the choice of chronological setting (probably the only thing) was the way that Seth’s anxiety was depicted (and the way people reacted to him). I haven’t done any research on this—but I’m not sure that too many people in the 80s were talking about people with anxiety disorders or panic attacks quite the way these characters do. Particularly regarding adult men. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d wager that was a stumble (as an example, see how strange it was in the late 90s for characters like Tony Soprano to deal with those things, and the ways they covered it up).

The Mix of Theology and Fantasy

Mixing Christian thinking, Christian belief, and fiction—particularly Fantasy—is a tricky thing. It can be done, and there is a tradition of it. But I can’t help wondering about the way that Hibbs does it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but I had some questions and qualms.

The titular white door and the way it changes those who walk through it…both are great, full of symbolism and meaning. I really appreciated the effects produced in those who’ve entered it. But I have so many questions about it, too—why aren’t all the believers in town taken to it? Is it some sort of second blessing?* Why is it available for any random person walking by (although it is out of the way) to just walk through? Along those lines—Skotos’ victims…the way that Seth and his companions figure out what happened to them and the way they appeal to Paul’s writings to get there really misses the apostle’s point and even contradicts it. And that really troubles me.

* I know Hibbs wouldn’t go for that, but it kind of seems like one.

There are some other things depicted—some visions, another reality that’s visited (to put it as vaguely as I can), and things of that nature—that were just great. The pure fantasy stuff—or at least the things that he can talk about in purely fantastic terms—was great.

You take the blending of fantasy and theology out of this—leave us only with Skotos’ “magic” or whatever, the Deeper Magic of the Doors, and whatnot—I wouldn’t have a complaint at all. No church, no sermons, no Bible—just warring Good and Evil? The whole thing works. But Hibbs frequently stumbles when he combines them.

Now let’s set aside the Fantasy for a minute and just focus on the Theology. First of all, anyone who’s read much of Hibbs is going to recognize his thinking here. Narnia, Seth, and Cleft sound like they’ve studied Hibbes’ work (ignoring the anachronism there)—which is good. If only so you know that you’re supposed to think they’re on the right path. Other characters largely sound like they’re on their way to sounding that way, too.

Even the demonic (or at least really evil) character’s theology is rock solid. He rejects it—but he knows it. Watching him explain something, and then reacting to it, was really well done.

I have to add, that some of the gazers get animal companions—stewards—who can talk to the gazers. We see two of them in this book, Seth’s cat, Narnia, and Cleft’s dog, Roland. They are just fantastic. A Tolkein-quoting cat with a penchant for talking theology? That’s a critter I’d put up with my allergies attacking me to spend time with. Every bit with those animals are great. There are some other animals that show up later, too—I really dug them, too. But my spoiler policy prevents me from talking about them.

Some Word Choices

I’m going to throw this out there just to be thorough—and because I know a couple of my readers will think about it—maybe even be turned off by it.

The characters in this novel are not all Christians. And some of them are very recent converts who haven’t quite gotten around to cleaning up their language thoroughly. Hibbs has them use realistic words for people in those situations—a depiction of how the world is, not how he might want it to be.

That said, nothing too terrible is said in the book—nothing you couldn’t get away with in a PG movie (which isn’t the best barometer for some people, but it’s the easiest to convey) or a sitcom from the mid-80s.

Hibbs’ Writing

As a surprise to no one who’s read what I’ve said about Hibbs’ style and way with words before, I loved it. There are some sentences, some passages, and even some phrases that I just adored. If I had a final version and not an ARC, you’d be reading plenty of quotations in this post.

These characters and their emotional lives are richly drawn. The descriptions of little things as well as major events or scenes are the kind of thing that keep people reading regardless of plot and character.

There are two character deaths described that just blew me away. One happens just as the book begins and we see a grieving husband in the minutes after his wife’s death. It’s handled with sensitivity and care—and right from the get-go, you get attached to this character, his reactions feel just right. The other death that we spend an extended time on is handled differently, but perhaps even better. There are other deaths that don’t get this—or similar—kind of treatment. They’re handled the way that most fictional deaths are, and that’s fine. But the two we linger on? Hibbs gets everything right about those and I loved reading them (and will again).

I should add that this book isn’t full of character deaths—but there are some.

I’ve gotten off-topic a bit, but this is just some great writing. There’s a hint of poetry to so much of this energized by an eye for detail. Little things—like the description of Seth’s daughter’s laugh—are just beautiful, and some of the bigger things are done just as well.

So, what did I think about The White Door?

It’s been a long time since I read Christian Fiction regularly—sure, I read a few things by Christians (mostly local authors), but not a lot that calls itself Christian Fiction. In fact, I think this is the fourth book of that type I’ve posted about here. But when I heard that Hibbs was going to be bringing his first novel into the world, you know I had to give it a read. I’ve often said that his books are the best written theological/Christian Living/etc. books that I’ve read (published in the last 50 years, anyway), so of course I want to see what he does with fiction.*

* I should probably try his poetry, too. But it’s poetry, so don’t expect that anytime soon.

I’m so glad I did.

I have mentioned a few quibbles above—the downside of doing that is that it overshadows all the good that can be said. I can’t think of a way to do that without giving too much away. So my own limitation makes the book come across as worse than it should. Note the above paragraph, if nothing else.

It started slow, and I wondered for a while just what the book was going to be about (I didn’t bother reading anything about it before requesting a copy—I just knew it was the first novel for Hibbs, and that was enough)—but it kept me going—and it wasn’t long before I was fully invested (and that kept growing). By the time it was over, I wasn’t quite ready to walk away from these characters and this world.

The conversations that Cleft and Seth have together—or with other characters—about books, The Bible, language, and so on? They’re just great—and I could’ve read many more of them. There’s no justification in terms of character development or plot for us to spend more time with Seth (and Narnia) in Seth’s classes—but Hibbes could’ve given us more of them and I wouldn’t have complained. (I may have noted that he was padding the book with them, but I’d have enjoyed the padding enough to give him a pass)

Similar things could be said for Seth spending time with his family (with or without Narnia)—and so many other aspects of the book.

Every element of this novel works really well when considered on its own. Many of them work in conjunction with the others—it’s when all of them are brought together in these 484 pages that I think Hibbs trips over himself. It’s really a total is less than the sum of its parts kind of thing. But those parts are so worth your time and energy—and I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that I’m alone in some/all of my judgments.

I do encourage you to pick this up. It’s a good read, a refreshing, hopeful read—and I hope it’s the first of several novels from Pierce Taylor Hibbs.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this eARC from the author, but the opinions expressed are mine and honest. And are what I would’ve said about the copy I bought—I’m just saying them a few weeks earlier.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History About?

This is a retrospective of the show—its history, development (highs and lows), spin-offs, and latest formats. It’s also an examination and consideration of the impact the show has made to its viewers and on the industry of entertainment, and the ripple effects it has had on pop culture.

It looks at how MST3K was shaped by the upbringing of its cast and writers—focusing on the tone and style of the hosts—as well as the network (or lack thereof) that brought the show to the audience.

It wraps up with an Appendix listing twenty episodes that best capture the show for new viewers—between the riffs, the movies themselves, and hosting segments—with each host being represented. They truly picked some gems—good for new viewers and established fans to go back and revisit some highlights.

The Worst We Can Find

“Hey, wait a second, H.C.,” I can hear some of you thinking, “you talked about this book last July.” Well, no. But I can understand the confusion. That was actually the book, The Worst We Can Find: MST3K, RiffTrax, and the History of Heckling at the Movies by Dale Sherman.

I haven’t done this a lot, but every now and then I read a book that is someone taking all/part of their doctoral dissertation and reworking it/part of it for a wider/popular audience. In many ways, that’s what this felt like—Foy and Olson’s work was the technical/academic book for those of a more scholarly persuasion, and Sherman’s was the version for the wider audience. Except that Sherman’s was longer, and it usually goes the other way.

This is not a criticism of either book—at all. They both over their respective emphases and quirks. They’re both dependent on interviews and articles produced by others; both are written by fans who’ve dedicated a good deal of time to both the research and production of the book—propelled by a greater deal of time developing an appreciation of MST3K; and both are the kind of things that die-hard fans will sink their teeth into. One’s just a bit more highbrow than the other.

Dissecting Some Frogs

Analysts have had their go at humor, and I have read some of this interpretative literature, but without being greatly instructed. Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the purely scientific mind.

The idea has been variously ascribed, but it seems that E. B. White and Katharine S. White first put it into print. Whoever said it first, the idea floated through the back of my mind at more than one point while reading this book.

There were repeated explanations of various jokes throughout the book—and not one of them was necessary (if you ask me, anyway). Maybe one or two of them will help younger readers who are not familiar with the pop culture of the 90s or earlier, but I think context alone will take care of the questions a reader will have. And you understand the authors’ impulse to explain them and maybe even admire their attempt while rolling your eyes at the outcome.

Flirting With Semantic Satiation

The term Intertexuality appears so often in this book, that you can imagine Tom Servo and Crow riffing on it. But it’s not like there are a lot of synonyms available, and it’s a real focus of the authors and a strong point of the book. Still, the SOL crews would hammer them on it.

The consideration of how MST3K has trained a couple of generations in approaching intertextuality, media consumption, and responses to them is the intellectual core of this book. The show, in all its various incarnations, has shaped both the viewers and other shows, internet content, and general internet discussion in ways that are larger than the show’s ratings may suggest. The cultural footprint is oversized given viewership (the tapes did keep circulating, at least metaphorically).

I, for one, had given this very little thought until Fry and Olson pointed it out—along with their discussion of MST3K and its spin-off projects being at the forefront of newer delivery systems for media and programming. Given their humble beginnings, it’s really quite remarkable.

So, what did I think about Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History?

I’ve read two other books in this series (and keep meaning to read others), Friends and Gilmore Girls, comparing this to those, I’d say it captures the strengths of both and avoids what I recall as the shortcomings of the Friends volume and the spirit of the Gilmore Girls book. If nothing else, the diversity in these three installments demonstrates a strength of the series. You’re not going to get cookie-cutter approaches to the various series in consideration. Each author/team of authors is going to approach the show in question differently, reflecting the preferences and focus of the authors.

The only shortcoming I can think of (outside the attempted academic explanations of humor) is the lack of space given to Emily’s hosting/riffing style compared to the other hosts. I’m certain that this is a function of how few episodes she has appeared in, but it would’ve been nice to get a little more about her.

I was entertained by the book—both due to the authors’ style and the memories it conjured. I thought about the show and its legacy in ways I hadn’t before. I kicked myself for not taking part in the crowdfunding efforts I didn’t participate in. I was inspired to watch a couple of episodes I’d somehow missed—and just to make time for the show in general. Mostly this was an exercise in getting to know more about old friends, and seeing them in a different light.

I’m a sucker for anything MST3K related, so you know this worked for me. Do I know if you’ll appreciate this book if you’re not a fan or a media studies student? I doubt it’s for you. But if you’re either of those things—you’ll get something out of it.

What do you think, sirs?

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Rowman & Littlefield via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Last Shield About?

Briar is the commander of the Shield, the Royal Guard protecting the soon-to-be-King; his uncle, the Lord Regent; and the castle that serves as the capital for the realm of Sunweald. She’s been in the post for several years, also serving as the personal bodyguard and confidant of the regent.

There are two neighboring kingdoms that would like to take over Sunweald, as well as to loot the castle’s vault, which, according to legend, contains the kind of magical weaponry that can remake the world. Keeping that vault safe, secure, and unmolested is one of Briar’s primary responsibilities.

The prince is set to take over in just a couple of years, and Kester is the prototypical spoiled, indolent, and irresponsible royal who no one can imagine can/should assume the throne. Maybe, if he grows up a lot before becoming an adult, but that seems unlikely. Meanwhile, the realm is in the incredibly capable and wise hands of his uncle Alaric.

During a seasonal religious rite, an attack against the royal family leaves several guards dead and Briar near death, they have foiled the attempt, but at a great cost. After a long convalescence she’s recovered enough to move around a little bit, but not fit to return to active duty. After half a year of waiting and plotting, the survivors and some mercenary allies attack the castle from within—taking Alaric and some of the staff hostage, and killing others. Briar and Kester happen to be in just the right place and escape the sweep that collected so many. It’s up to them, each in their own way, to use Briar’s knowledge of the castle (and hidden passageways) to mount a rescue mission and to take down the small force who have taken over.

Shields

I’m talking literal shields here, not Briar and her guard.

Growing up, the only way I saw shields used was defensively—to block arrows or swords—until someone had to valiantly discard them because their dominant hand/arm was injured and they had to desperately use their shield arm to wield a sword, obviously. The only exception to this was Captain America (and a DC clone or two) and his implausible use of his.

And that’s pretty much how I saw the objects until now. But Clay Cooper and Briar have got me thinking about them as offensive weapons now. Their shields are very different in terms of size and material—but they’re both effectively used as a weapon. Briar does use her defensively, of course, but both prior to her time as a guerrilla fighter and now, she shows that a shield can be a potent weapon.

So my questions are: Have I missed how people use these things offensively all along? (either by reading the wrong things or not remembering anything but the swordplay, archery, and/or magic) Or have we entered an age where authors are embracing the full range of these objects strapped to an arm?

The Die Hard-Ness of it All

The Publisher’s description of this novel starts off with, “A gender-flipped Die Hard set in a mysterious castle.” And that’s absolutely what the book is—is that description reductionistic? Yes. Is it apt? Also, yes. But it’s also so much more than that summary. (but what a great elevator, pitch, right?)

I do not know if Johnston set out to write this as a Fantasy Die Hard, but at some point, he had to realize that’s what he was doing and (if you ask me) leaned into it. There are just too many similarities for me to believe anything else. But really, there’s one paragraph that seals the deal—I won’t give you details (but you’ll recognize it), but it is borrowing/appropriating/stealing an indelible image from the film. After reading that I knew it wasn’t just some ingenious marketer at Angry Robot who tagged it as “A gender-flipped Die Hard set in a mysterious castle,” as I half-way wondered, but it was Johnston’s intention. There’s just no way he does that.

I should stress that just because it’s a version of a movie that you likely know very well—do not think you know how this book is going to go. There’s plenty of suspense for the reader, as well as magical creatures that might have sent John McClane running for the hills.

Would I have been thoroughly entertained by The Last Shield without all the parallels to one of my all-time favorite movies? Yes. But being able to watch Johnston’s take on McClane, Nakatomi Tower, and the rest? It’s just an extra layer of frosting on an already delicious cake.

I do wish we’d gotten a Thornberg/William Atherton-esque character (should that get a spoiler warning), a non-villain that you despise almost as much as (if not more than) Gruber/his crew. Not because the novel was lacking anything, it’s just satisfying to see them get their comeuppance.

So, what did I think about The Last Shield?

This is a heckuva thrill-ride. Like its cinematic predecessor, the action in this novel is top-notch. It’s not non-stop, there are moments of reflection, of exhaustion, of trying to figure out how to survive—much less succeed against this force. The set-up to the main action also takes longer than you might think (but you should really just relax and let Johnston do his thing, it’s all important and helps establish what comes later). I was hooked almost immediately—and while I wondered when the “Die Hard” part of the book would kick in, I really didn’t care. I was having a good enough time with Briar, Alaric, and the rest.

But, boy howdy, when the action kicked in? What was a perfectly enjoyable book got so much better. Johnston can write an action scene—whether the action is hand-to-hand, bladed weapon against something else, supernatural-based…you name it, he can handle it with panache and aplomb. It’s well paced—with just enough downtime between fight scenes for you and the characters to be ready for the next. Once the book builds up enough steam, forget it—you’re not going to willingly put it down.

It’s not all about swords, shields, axes, and spells, however. Briar dealing with her injuries and recovery—both before the “Hans Gruber” moment and afterward—is done to almost perfection. There’s real growth—and real injury (and not just physical)—to be seen in several other characters. No one survives this time unscathed in one way or another.

The noted attorney and political operative Ainsley Hayes, noted, “they’re all about duty” when discussing the work of Gilbert and Sullivan.* This book, at its core, is just as much about duty as The Pirates of Penzance or H.M.S. Pinafore. Briar, ready to give her life fighting when she’s unfit for battle; Alaric, giving up decades of his life to step in as Lord Regent and govern; Kester figuring out what his obligations are to those he rules; several servants, guests, and others in the castle during the takeover carrying out their duties in what limited capacities they can as hostages—and the utter abandonment of duty by others. The Last Shield doesn’t have to be thought of in terms of good vs. evil (while it applies, it’s problematic when it comes to some characters). Instead, I suggest that it’s better seen whether these people live up to their duty/obligation or do they abandon that for selfish gain.**

And, there is something incredibly appealing to that way of thinking in our incredibly polarized and me-centric time. All sorts of people considering the cost and putting aside their wants/desires/lives in favor do doing what they’re supposed to do anyway.

* Yes, there’s no need to bring Ainsely into this, but I can’t help thinking of her and that line—or Leo, or Lionel Tribbey, etc.—when I think about duty.

** There are one or two characters who took over the castle that you could put forward against my claim, but I think I could make a strong (spoiler-filled) case in my defense, so I won’t do that pre-emptively.

I should probably talk a little about the three magic systems at work in this world—but this thing is going on too long already. But I really like seeing that diversity at work.

It wasn’t until I was preparing this post that I realized that Johnston wrote The Maleficent Seven, a book I’ve been meaning to get around to for ages. Now I’m even more motivated to do that (The Traitor God, too, come to think of it).

But that’s for another day, for today, I just want to revel in the near-perfection of this roller-coaster of a novel. I had such a good time with this novel and I’ve been telling everyone I know about it (I even think I sold the manager of a local bookstore on it, hopefully, he continues that chain). I was ready to read it again as soon as I was done.

Fantasy readers and action-adventure readers alike will dig this one. Go get your orders in now, unless you’re reading this on or after August 13—in that case, run down to your local indie bookstore and pick it up.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Angry Robot Books via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s A Farewell to Arfs About?

We start off this book with Bernie and Chet finishing a case for the Sonoran Museum of Art (an institution we learned about a couple of books ago), and with things looking up—and money in Bernie’s pocket—this is a pretty happy way to start things.

But soon after that, Chet overhears a phone call that their neighbor, Mr. Parsons, is having—and the reader knows things are going bad for him. Bernie learns the next day that Mr. Parsons has been the victim of a phone scam and is wiped out. Bernie starts looking into it—and into the Parsons’ ex-con of a son. It looks like he may have turned his life around, and is helping other former inmates adjust to the outside world and to stay on the right path. But is that what’s really going on?

If Billy Parsons isn’t involved—who is? And is there any chance that Bernie can get back any of the Parsons’ money?

Charlie and Esmé

Bernie’s son, Charlie, has been a consistent pleasure in the series—particularly because of Chet’s devotion to him. But adding his best friend, Esmé, in the last couple of books has made the character much more enjoyable for me.

I really enjoy their dynamic, for those familiar with Syfy’s Resident Alien show, it’s similar to the dynamic of Sahar and Max, only Esmé has a little more patience with Charlie than Sahar does with Max.

Even better, we get to meet Esmé’s father in this book—who seems like a good guy for Bernie to talk to in general—he has no knowledge of Bernie’s past, he’s not involved with policing, investigations, or anything like that. Just a friendly guy—who happens to be smart and (coincidentally) involved in an area that Bernie needs help understanding for the case. I enjoyed their conversation and hope we get more in the future.

(still, I do like the way that Charlier got to shine a little brighter this time than he usually does)

Bernie’s Past

Whoa. I did not expect any of what we learned about Bernie’s father in this book. Frankly, I didn’t think we’d ever learn anything about him—we barely know anything about his mother (and I’m okay with that based on Chet’s descriptions). But all of a sudden, there’s a lot about Harry Little being talked about.

It works—don’t get me wrong—and now I want to know more about Harry, his relationship with Bernie, and what was going on with him in general. We don’t get that (now?), but we get a glimpse of the man that was a presence in Bernie’s life until his early death. And that’s not nothing.

Feelings, Nothing More than Feelings

So, all the stuff about Harry Little added some emotional weight to the novel. But we didn’t need any of it—I’m not objecting, don’t get me wrong—but the last thing this book needed was more going on emotionally.

There’s some drama between Bernie and Weatherly. Bernie’s found a new way to botch things up with a woman—no real surprise there. The only plus is that it is a new way—he’s not repeating mistakes he made with Leda or Suzie. Maybe there’s some growth there—but it’s not Bernie at his best.

Related to that are some real dark moments for Bernie—we’ve seen hints of things like this from him before. But I don’t think it was ever this pronounced. Bernie is not always a good guy, he’s not only a white knight—there’s a noir character in him, battling to come out. And Bernie’s control slips early on in the novel and he has to reckon with the fallout.

But that’s not all. The Parsons have been aging and declining in health for a few books now, and for them to get wiped out like this—and then whatever that may or may not say about their son? There’s just no way to read this without your heartstrings being tugged. Scratch that—they’re yanked.

I don’t want to be unclear here (he says after probably giving the wrong impression). This is still a Chet and Bernie book like fourteen that have come before. Chet’s still irrepressible, he’s still an unreliable narrator obsessed with Bernie, food, smells, putting his teeth on perps, and snacks. He will make you laugh, and you will enjoy Bernie tracking down clues and the rest. But, like the better installments of this series, there’s a lot more going on than Chet’s antics—and Quinn makes sure that the depth is there.

So, what did I think about A Farewell to Arfs?

I admit that I was hoping for a criminal named Mike Craven to show up—to get back at Craven’s accidental use of Quinn’s name in last year’s Fearless. But it’s probably too soon for that—maybe in the next couple of years?

Once I saw what Mr. Parsons was doing on the phone, I muttered to myself (and texted a friend) that “Quinn’s getting all the mileage he can out of the research he did for Mrs. Plansky’s Revenge.” More power to him, obviously, but it did feel a little like a re-run. Thankfully, the story went in a very different direction—as I assumed it would, but still. In fact, while this might have been the result of the same research, the nature of the phone scam was different enough to shut me up.

I’m not sure that Weatherly handled things as well as she could’ve, but I’m not bothered by an imperfect character—she can be as flawed as Bernie. But that was the only hitch I found in this book or the events in it.

I really appreciated the depth we see of Bernie’s character, an angle or two that we haven’t spent that much time looking at before—we get to focus on. There’s more to him than being a decent PI with a lousy approach to finances. And if how he treats the Parsons doesn’t make your heart melt a little, you weren’t paying attention.

We get the usual chuckles (including Chet giving the reader a good idea about what he thinks about legalized marijuana), a good story, all the feels I described above (and more), and some good action scenes. What more is there to ask for?

Nothing that I can think of.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Tor Publishing Group via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Red Dead’s History About?

Like so many people around the world, the author got back into video games in 2020 as a way to fill the hours he wasn’t interacting with people in real life. Like so many others, one of the games that captured his attention was Red Dead Redemption II. Unlike so many people Tore C. Olsson is an American History professor, so while he was fun doing whatever it is exactly that you do in the game*, part of his brain was looking at the history and time being depicted in the game. Because if there’s one thing the game is known for, is being the most popular and influential game set in American History since The Oregon Trail from the 80s.

* It should be obvious that I don’t play video games at all, not even the one in question.

Olsson went on to make headlines—and pack lecture halls—by teaching a history course based on the games, and he’s now turned it into a book.

This is not a book about the game (although he talks about it a lot), it is not a point-by-point examination of the historical details (but it comes up a little), it’s primarily using the game, and the things shown/talked about/alluded to in it as a launching pad to discuss themes, movements, and particulars from post-Civil War America.

The focus for the book is Red Dead Redemption II, but Red Dead Redemption comes up from time to time—but not any of the other games in the franchise. Olsson’s discussion follows the geographic order and proportions of the game—starting with adventures in the West, moving to the Deep South (for the majority of the book), and then wrapping things up in Southern Appalachia.

Historical Accuracy of the Game

From the start, Olsson is clear, he’s not going to get into slicing and dicing the historical accuracy of Red Dead Redemption 2, but…he can’t help talking about it every now and then. He has a lot of good things to say about the history of the game (really, he wouldn’t have taught a class or written a book inspired by it without that), but the biggest note seems to be—if the game had been set 20-30 years earlier than it was, it would’ve been better.

There are particular points here and there where he will offer specific critiques and commendations—but that’s essentially the point he keeps coming back to.

Now, I don’t know enough about the storylines of Red Dead Redemption or Red Dead Redemption II to know why the developers insisted that the game takes place when it does—and it certainly seems like they did have an eye for historical detail—they just missed it. It might be a game continuity thing, there might be all sorts of explanations for it. I don’t know.

Now, Olsson isn’t sitting there like Neil de Grasse Tyson tweeting about the scientific inaccuracies in movies, the point of the book isn’t to critique the depictions of the era. But while he’s talking about the various topics, he will mention them briefly. It doesn’t take anything away from the game for him.

The West

The first section focused on is the one that the game is best known for (and, I’ll be honest, the only thing I thought the game had)—a strong take on the West. I’d like to say that I’d read a book about the subject of each chapter were Olsson to expand them, and that’s true in a perfect world, but I’m not sure I really would. But I’d be willing to.

I should note that it’s probably very easy to read several books on the topics of each chapter right now. And you never know, I just might.

This section covers things as nebulous as the concept of “The American West”—and when did it start dying/disappearing (if ever). Controversial topics like The Indian Wars, the amount of violence in the West (and some of the notable persons behind it), how Justice/Laws were enforced, and so on. Olsson also covers things you’d expect (especially if you actually know the game)—the construction of and use of the railways; cowboys; The Pinkertons; Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid.

I learned so much about all of these things—and I’m very tempted to go out in search of some of the books footnoted here.

The Deep South

As anyone who teaches American History—particularly in a place like Tennessee—is aware, talking about the Deep South in a post-Civil War era is a daunting task. But as that’s where the bulk of the gameplay takes place, the bulk of the book gets that treatment as well.

As with the rest of the book, Olsson talks about the game’s portrayal of this area and the topics, how media culture(s) depict of this area and the topics, and finally looking at the history of the area itself.

In this Part of the book, Olsson talked about such non-controversial topics as: The Paradox of Race; From Old South to New South; The White-Hooded Menace; The Tragedy of Lynching; In the Fields (largely post-War); Working on the Chain Gang; Mr. Jim Crow; The Lause Cause; New Orleans, 1899; and Votes for Women.

Obviously, there’s far, far too much to say about any of these topics than he has time for in a book of this size and scope—but what’s there is provocative (in a good way), thoughtful, and well-footnoted so curious readers (and there will be many after these chapters) can do some follow-up reading. Yes, that’s a sentence that applies to the book as a whole, but it seems apt to emphasize it here.

Southern Appalachia

This part feels very timely considering how much Appalachia, Appalachia, and portrayals of the area/its residents in the media have been in the last few weeks.

Olsson only gives three chapters to this part of the book (about 11%) as much as he might be kicking himself for that now. Like with Part I: The West, he starts by discussing “The Appalachian Myth.” Just what makes up this part of the country? Why has it captured the imagination the way it has? How much of what we think of when we think “Appalachia” is true now or ever was?

He then looks at the race to claim parts of it after the Civil War and how that shaped the culture and history of it. Then he spends a chapter looking at Blood Fueds—obviously focusing on the Hatfield/McCoy feud, what lies at its root—and the surprising ways it actually broke along family lines.

I was a little too tired while reading this section to get as much out of it as I think I ordinarily would’ve—and really should revisit it once the book is released, I think I missed some good stuff.

So, what did I think about Red Dead’s History?

I had some really good history professors and teachers over the years, so I really don’t want to say that Olsson is the professor I wish I had—but really, I don’t imagine many will read this book and not want to take a class or two from Olsson.

The writing is engaging, witty, and insightful. He has a real knack for making you care about something you really didn’t care about just a few pages earlier—for that matter, you may not have been aware it was a thing you could care about/be interested in just a few pages earlier. I’m not going to suggest you’ll agree with him all of the time, because you won’t. But you’ll almost certainly enjoy his perspective as well as his presentation of the facts.

I’m not really the target audience for this book—I figure that’s game players who want to dive in to get more depth about the context of the game. To learn the stories behind the game’s stories. Or those who now have an interest in American History and don’t know where to go get more information outside a stuffy-looking textbook. Given that, I think it says a lot when I tell you that I had a great time reading this, and am more curious the game than I had been before. Not so curious to actually play it (or buy the game, a console to play it on, etc.)—but enough to talk to my son who has played through it—and has spent a lot of time doing sidequests and whatnot, and maybe even to watch some gameplay videos online. And that’s more than I typically am interested in doing.

This is a great way to approach American History; it’s a good way to approach this type of media (games or otherwise); and it’s just an entertaining read regardless. It moves a little slower than a novel—but not much (for those who are daunted by non-fiction reads). Really, there’s not much to not commend about this book. You really should check it out.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from St. Martin’s Press via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Shades of Mercy About?

Sheriff Porter Beck’s life intersects with a couple of high school buddies for the first time in many years. And both situations should make anyone else from high school leery of running into him.

We open with Beck coming across one of those friends after they’d overdosed. Soon after, a federal investigator recruits Beck to go visit the other one. Jesse Roy has recently moved back to the area, and is renovating his father’s ranch into something that Beck can’t comprehend—it’s just too large, too gaudy, for this area. Cattle ranching is going really well for Jesse (too well?). The night before, something had gone wrong with a test vehicle with the Air Force, and something had fallen on Roy’s prize bull, destroying it. The investigator is here to negotiate a settlement—and it’s not a little one.

But something about the whole deal sets Beck’s B.S.-meter off. He forces the investigator to come clean—someone had hacked an Air Force drone and launched a missile at the cow. It was a targeted hit—but why?

Beck knows if he doesn’t help for the search for this hacker (and they know they’re local, somehow) and get to the root of the problems soon, his county will be overrun by Intelligence officers from all sorts of government agencies.

Oh, and there are wildfires threatening the county on several sides, and a large group assembling to storm Area 51. Just in case it didn’t seem like he had enough going on.

The investigation quickly points at a teenage girl who is serving some time at a teen facility nearby. As hard as it might be to believe. And before he knows it—Beck finds himself dealing with so much more than a hacker.

Comparing Shades of Mercy to The Bitter Past

So, the first book used dual timelines to tell the story—and I was afraid Borgos would try to pull that trick again. I think it could’ve worked, but eventually, his county is going to run out of people who were doing interesting things several decades ago. This time it’s all one timeline (with a little backtracking every now and then, but not much. But we do bounce between a few perspectives, so we still get the advantage of multiple POVs. So he’s able to maintain some of the same feel there.

His deputies are back, but some of them aren’t really seen due to the fires. There’ve been some changes since the last book and it’s good to see that everything isn’t stagnant with this series. We don’t get as much time with them all this time, and that’s a disappointment. Other characters return, too, most of them made me happy and one was a pleasant surprise. I had a more specific sentence there, but decided to remove the names…

The big change is the focus—The Bitter Past is all about the past—what it does in the present, how it can change so much about your life when you learn new things about your own past. Also, the weapons and conflicts of the past.

This one is very present and future-focused. It’s also good to see that Borgos isn’t stuck in one frame of mind.

So, what did I think about Shades of Mercy?

I’m having a hard time talking about this book without saying too much about the content.

In what—I think—was a very nice bit of story-telling is that there were a few things that should make the attentive reader pause and wonder if Borgos is being sloppy. I’m going to try to be vague here, but I’m thinking of some parts of the timelines before the novel started—and some things that happened during the novel that we don’t see first-hand, but see the effects of. I was too invested in the stories to spend time on these myself—I basically shrugged and moved on (not that I noticed everything I should’ve, either). I’m going to give you credit for being perceptive and thoughtful enough to catch these things—then I’m going to reassure you: trust Borgos. Everything gets tied up, everything makes sense, I can’t tell you how often in the last pages I said “Oh, sure—that makes sense,” (I also said “I probably should’ve caught that” about most of those items). It’s really a nice and tidy book.

I’m worried that my last paragraph makes the whole thing seem like a mess. Au contraire. This is a tight thriller—it’s only on a few points that it I was mistaken that he’d left things dangling. The rest of the book is as tightly written as you could hope (which I should’ve realized described the rest, too). There’s a little slowness for a chapter or two, just to bring us back into this world, reintroduce the character, and catch us up on Beck’s life—then we’re off to the races from the moment that Beck is brought to his old friend’s ranch.

The conclusion was just great—exactly what this book (and character) needed.

This book bodes well for the rest of the series that follows—yes, I’d like a “smaller” crime. One that didn’t involve multiple state and federal agencies, for one. Just a matter of Beck and his guys analyzing a crime scene and then figuring out who in their small community could’ve done it. It’d just be more believable than all the federal and military types wanding around all the time. But the way Borgos is dealing with the latter, I’m not sure I care.

There’s enough humor and heart here to take the edge off of things—the tension gets cut, the characters are made more endearing, and the reader can catch their breath before diving into more tension and action.

I wasn’t as wow-ed with this book as I was the first—but I was still impressed, and this book makes me more sure what the following books will be like than I was with The Bitter Past. And it promises to be a very good series. I’m repeating myself, so it’s time to wrap this up. Either with Shades of Mercy or The Bitter Past, you want to get on board this series here at the beginning.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Dog Day Afternoon About?

Overall, I’m not sure that the body count in this book is that much higher than in other books in this series—but the way it opens is very different. The instigating crime feels like something straight out of a mass-shooter video your HR people make you watch annually (assuming your workplace is similar to mine, I guess)—it’s cold, calculated, with a casual disregard for human life we don’t often see in this series. (Andy says something similar at one or two points).

So you’re left wondering—how does Andy get roped into representing the accused? (although many readers are going to read that scene and pick out the places the defense is going to take advantage of). This is where Marcus comes in.

Andy learned about this earlier, but we readers learn about this now—Marcus mentors young people in his neighborhood who have had a rough time of it and have run afoul of the law in the past. They need some help, some guidance, and some favors—Marcus provides this.

He also helps a couple of those he mentors to adopt a dog from the Tara Foundation. One of these two is accused of the crime—Marcus comes to Andy for help, and he gets it. That Willie also vouches for the accused helps—there’s no chance that Willie agrees to let one of their dogs go to someone capable of this crime.

That’s not evidence he can introduce in court, but it’s compelling for Andy. Now he just needs to find something that will be compelling in court.

Marcus

Marcus can’t become too well-rounded of a character—we need him in the shadows, doing things that defy belief. But we can learn more about him than we have prior to this.

We see that he can have attachments to people other than Laurie (and by extension, Andy). We see just how far he’s willing to go to help someone.

I was interested in this book because I’ve enjoyed almost every one of its predecessors enough that I don’t bother to see what they’re about before I add them to the TBR list. But once I noted that this one featured Marcus like that—my excitement grew. I love watching the character at work, and to see him in a different situation than we’re used to made my day. Also, we got just what the doctor ordered from a Marcus-centric book.

So, what did I think about Dog Day Afternoon?

I cannot believe that I’ve read 29 books in this series (plus a few in a spin-off). Twenty-nine. That’s just insane. Now, am I going to say that they’re all as fresh as they were in 2002 when Open and Shut came out? Of course not. But they have their moments when they feel that way.

* According to my logs, I read it in 2011—I’ve been with these characters for 13 years. Mind-boggling.

So, Rosenfelt has his work cut out for him to do something to keep the audience engaged. Over the last few books, he’s worked on deepening the relationship between Andy and Marcus, which has been nice. This book takes a big step forward in that. I don’t know that we’re going to see much more than this anytime soon—you need to preserve some of Marcus’ mystique to keep him nearly-superhuman in Andy’s (and the reader’s) eyes. Similarly, we readers can know Hawk a little better than when Spenser first ran into him in Promised Land—but not too much.

So, we’d better enjoy what we get here, right?

And naturally, that’s really easy. Other fun bonuses—Andy getting along with the prosecutor. Cory clearly being annoyed with Sam Willis wanting to get in on the action. Even some of the Andy and Tara interactions felt a little different (not unusually so, and not negatively). There was also the attempt of a law firm to hire the most reluctant lawyer in the world—that did bring a smile to my face.

There’s a good mix of the tried and true Andy bits, fun material with our old friends, a clever mystery, a new side of Marcus, and Rosenfelt’s trademark zippy prose. It’s easy to see why this series has gone on as long as it has—and may it continue to do so.

Can you hop on here? Absolutely—and you’ll have the fun bonus of a healthy backlist to work your way through once you get done with this one.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader, as did a Q&A with the author.

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What’s Rites of Passage About?

Teenager Corbin James escapes from the cult he was (largely) raised in just as the FBI’s raid begins. Weeks, miles, and multiple states later, Corbin’s still running when he encounters someone who seems to know a lot about him. Too much for a random stranger to know.

This stranger (we later learn he’s called Mister) recruits/tricks/entices/entraps Corbin into joining him for a task. Mister and Corbin join up with some other members of the Inner Circle (a group of magicians found in most of the major cities in the U.S.) to hunt for a missing magician. Corbin has the magic ability to dowse—and for much more than water (although maybe he can find water, too, it never comes up)—he can find whoever and whatever he needs to.

Obviously, there’s something about the search for this particular missing person that is going to take a little more than one session with Corbin and his dowsing rod (or it’d be a short story, not a novel)—and Corbin’s introduction to the Inner Circle, to the reality that there are all sorts of people who can do magic, and all sorts of magic, and a world beyond his cult isn’t going to be easy for him. Or all that safe, either.

Worldbuilding, Magic System, and So On

Okay, you’d expect that someone who’s written books on worldbuilding would know what he’s doing when it comes to it (or at least, you’d hope he would). In this case, you’d be right—which doesn’t make it less impressive.

This very clearly takes place in a version of our world (joking references to “muggles” make that clear), and magic users are underground. But, as UF readers often see, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a strong culture of rules, mores, customs, and whatnot. There are essentially two ways that magicians organize themselves—in local associations or in a major association that covers the nation (it’s hard to explain briefly—think of a regional fast food chain and McDonald’s). Due to the circumstances around this novel’s events, we get a pretty good idea—but not exhaustive—about how they both function, are organized, and recruit members.

The variety of magic abilities is pretty great. The closest comparable series I can think of on this front is Jacka’s Alex Verus books. And I know this book only scratched the surface of that. It’s one that I can’t wait to explore in future books.

When it comes to The Dresden Files, The Hollows, or The Iron Druid (for example), by the end of the first book, you have a pretty solid understanding of how magic functions in their universes (even if that understanding will grow and expand over the course of the series). With Rites of Passage, we don’t get that. But you never have the impression that Presley’s making it up as he goes along. I have a vague understanding of how my smartphone works, but I know there’s a lot that I don’t understand—but I can use it and understand that it does work. The same thing goes for the magic here—I can see these people use it, and I understand that it does work. I don’t need to know all the ins and outs.

Some authors beat you over the head with the details (I’m not suggesting that Butcher, Harrison, or Hearne did that)—showing their work like it’s a math test. Presley doesn’t do that—he just shows it working and gives you a sense that there’s a methodology afoot. The reader will slowly (over a few books) piece it together—or not, because they really don’t care about the details—as we see more. Just knowing that there’s a structure is enough.

Is It Me?

Is it just me, or are there a lot of books being written lately about people escaping from cults? I’m not talking strict religious families/cultures—but out-and-out cults. Maybe I’m not seeing as many as I think I am and it just feels that way.

I’d say I’m starting to get tired of it—and I am—but Presley does such a good job of showing how Corbin’s life and thinking have been shaped by the cult, and how even after getting away from them (and how he did it)—he still reflexively thinks like a member. Sure, he’s skeptical about some of it, and can see through some of what the leader had done. But it’s not something you can just switch off, and Presley demonstrates that with skill. So, I’ll wait until the next time I come across this phenomenon to complain about it.

The Playlist

Presley has assured readers that once he gets enough online reviews for this book, he’ll release the playlist for this book. This playlist is going to be a doozy. At some point along the way, Corbin gets his hands on an enchanted iPod that helps him navigate the events of this novel. Given his sheltered upbringing he doesn’t recognize most of the songs it plays for him—he’ll give a description of some of the songs, so the reader can guess some/many/all of what he’s listening to (depending on the reader).

Getting this playlist will actually help round out your understanding of the book (it won’t be essential, but it’ll be a nice bonus)—and I’m pretty sure it’ll be fun to listen to, too.

So, what did I think about Rites of Passage?

I’ve talked about worldbuilding already, so what about the characters, arguably the most critical component in getting me (and other readers) to want to keep reading? Presley gives his readers a lot to here. It’d be easy to create a series with almost every magician we encounter in this book as the central character—and that’s not something I can say too often. Corbin is likely the best choice—the way he has to be introduced to this world and other forms of magic is a major plus, so any info-dumping for the reader has a natural outlet in teaching Corbin. But I can see myself really getting into at least a duology with every other magic user (including the villain of the piece).

While writing this post, I went back and read one of Presley’s answers to remind myself what character he mentioned here:

In screenwriting it’s understood that supporting characters are more fun to write because they can be over the top, since they’re not carrying the show. They can be outlandish and weird because not nearly as much is riding on them, which is why they have the freedom to become fan favorites. And I have a feeling that in Rites of Passage Kirin will be this character for me.

I’d forgotten to look for Kirin as I was reading to see if I could pick that up—it’s just as well that I did, so I can say that Kirin is this fan’s favorite. I’m also a bit relieved—we didn’t definitively say goodbye to Kirin here, but the way things ended, there was no guarantee we’d see her (or many other of the surviving characters) again. But knowing she’s got an arc that will be developed over several books helps build my own anticipation for further books (nothing against Corbin, but I knew we’d get more about him).

I’m not as enthusiastic about the plot as I am the other aspects of this novel. It’s not bad by any means—I was engaged and curious throughout. It wasn’t too hard to follow or anything else negative, either. I just think there was so much going on in establishing characters, the world, the magic, the associations, and so on that there wasn’t enough space left over for the story. Your results may vary, of course—but for me everything else overshadowed the story. I do fully expect that in future installments I won’t have this complaint as Presley has established enough here that he can focus more on the plot.

Regardless, I heartily encourage Urban Fantasy readers to try this. You’re not going to find your typical UF mainstays here, but you’re going to find a world that you’re going to want to spend more time in with characters you’re going to want to get to know better. This series has the potential to become a favorite.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Assassins Anonymous About?

Almost a year ago, Mark walked away from his old life and into a 12-step meeting. It’s been a struggle for him—he’s almost relapsed, he came close to suicide, and he’s struggled every day. But with the support of the other people in his group, his sponsor, and a little orange cat who came into his life at just the right time—Mark is making it, day by day.

Then one day, Mark’s cleaning up after the meeting and he’s attacked by a Russian who moves like a professional killer. Mark fights back—incapacitating the Russian and escaping with a serious—but not-too-serious—wound of his own and a burning question: who sent the Russian? The search for the answer takes Mark (and his cat) around the world—into some very dangerous situations, and almost more temptation for Mark to relapse than he could’ve imagined.

You see, Mark’s 12-step meeting isn’t for Alcoholics Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, or anything like that. As you’ll guess from the book’s title, it’s Assassins Anonymous. Hitmen, Assassins, Serial Killers, and the like, who are tired of the life, who are tired of killing and want to try to live productive, life-affirming lives. They have to fight old impulses, old habits, old attitudes, they have to abandon adrenaline rushes (which are probably pretty addictive) and all the rest for a quiet life. Mark had been one of the best in the world (or the worst, depending on your perspective)—almost legendary—until he went cold turkey. But someone’s apparently trying to warm up the poultry.*

* That’s a metaphor I really shouldn’t have tried to stretch.

Can Mark discover why someone game for him almost a year after he quit “the life”? Can Mark make them stop without having to throw away all the work he’s done over the last (almost) 12 months?

The Movies

Like many moviegoers, I love a good hit man movie. I can even enjoy a “just okay” hitman movie (sorry, The Whole Ten Yards you don’t qualify as either). Mark, unsurprisingly, isn’t a fan of most of them. Sadly, that’s where most people get their ideas and information about assassins and hitmen from. So by character, actor, or movie title, they’re brought up frequently—usually to Mark’s dismay. He’ll also just compare his life to those movies on occasion. I enjoyed this aspect of the character a lot—particularly one running bit where people kept expecting him to look more like a particular actor.

Other kinds of movies are used throughout the novel, too—they’re a great shorthand way of revealing character. What movies he likes, what movies he refuses to mention liking, and so on are a convenient and efficient way of telling you a lot about Mark. Also, it’s just fun to see characters talk about movies and whatnot—as people like Whedon, Tarantino, and Smith have been showing us.

The 12-steps

As the book started to really focus on—and feature—things like the meetings Mark’s attending, his recovery, and his working the steps, I started to get worried. Primarily because it was early on, and while I understood that Mark was flippant, even a wiseacre—was Hart going to be flip about the 12-steps? That feels like something you shouldn’t touch—like a third rail, a skunk with a hair-trigger, or that Easter Egg you finally found in late June.

But no—the meetings, the steps, the attitude about recovery, and the way the characters interacted about their recovery were dealt with respectfully. Sure, there was a little bit of Mark’s attitude (or similar ones) expressed in the meetings and whatnot—but not about the meetings or the program, just about each other or themselves. (much like I imagine happens in an actual meeting)

If anything, this is practically an advertisement for those kind of programs and the good work they can do. Because this is the heart of the novel—yes, there’s the violence, the suspense, the twists, and whatnot—let’s call them “The Thriller Aspects.” Those aspects are what will draw readers to the book, they’re what’ll keep your attention and get you hooked on it. But Assassins Anonymous isn’t so much about the “Assassins” as it is the struggle, the stumbles, and the victories associated with Recovery. In my book, we should get more of those—particularly honest books about the victories.

So, what did I think about Assassins Anonymous?

Imagine Martin Q. Blank, Jimmy Tudeski, and Frank Moses meeting up and trying to take care of business—non-lethally (I guess that’d be something like the pacifist version of The Expendables), and you’ll have something like this book.

Let’s start with The Thriller Aspects—Hart nailed them. Even—maybe especially—the more outlandish aspects of them (which are really the trickier part to pull off). There’s a confident panache to the novel—as well as most of the characters—that lets you know right away that you’re in good hands and are set for a great ride. Some twists you’ll see coming, and won’t care because of the way he executes them. But also,

The 12-Step aspect—well, see above—another win for Hart.

What about the comedy and narrative voice? Spot on—seriously good. It’d be easy to go overboard on the comedy—or to not use enough of it (we are talking about a bunch of people who have killed many others), but I think Hart hits the balance just right. And Mark’s the kind of guy you can enjoy being stuck in the mind of for 320 pages.

The first chapter gives you everything you need to know about this novel—it’s such a well-written chapter, too. Voice, character, action, comedy. If you read it and aren’t hooked, you’re probably going to feel that way about the rest of it. If that first chapter works for you? Kick back and enjoy.

Sure, this novel is right in my wheelhouse—I’m practically its target demographic incarnate—but I think even if I wasn’t, it would’ve won me over. I strongly encourage you to pick this one up. I can’t tell you what’s keeping me from giving it the final full star, but something is (and since I’ll have to round up almost everywhere I cross-post, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it)—but, boy howdy, you’re in for a great time when you open this one up.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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I glanced up from the phone screen and caught sight of myself in the mirror. With thoughts of my mother in my head, I straightened up and took a look. As always, I was wearing pieces from what she refers to as my “forest floor collection.” It makes my life easier to wear khaki, green, olive or sand, because all of my clothes end up coated with seawater, salt lines and general beach muck. I researched and found the perfect pair of shorts, I researched and found the softest, most durable T-shirt, then bought four sets of both and never wear much else. Honestly, when Einstein did it, he was an eccentric genius; when Steve Jobs did it, he was a genius emulating an eccentric; and when I do it, I’m not making enough of an effort. Patriarchal bullshit; those are quality shorts.

What’s Christa Comes Out of Her Shell About?

Christa Barnet is a biology researcher happily studying a particular kind of snail on a remote island in the Indian Ocean. The island is populated by people who grew up there and a rotation of other researchers taking advantage of the isolation of the flora and fauna from the rest of the world. She has no real close relationships, a nice room in a boarding house, and her snails—life is pretty much what Christa wants.

Until her father comes back from the dead. Well, kind of. It’s not a zombie novel or anything. Her dad was an internationally known TV host of nature programs. Think Steve Irvin without the accent. But when Christa was a small girl, the plane her dad was flying went down in the Alaskan wilderness and no one knew what happened to him. He was eventually declared dead, and the family moved on.

But now, he’s back—so Christa has to leave her snails behind and go back to help her mother and sisters deal with this, to find out what her dad has been doing (and why no one knew he was alive).

To get all reductionistic there are three main plotlines afoot and I want to touch on them briefly—but each of them is about Christa coming out of her shell in their essence.

The Whole Dad Thing / Celebrity Culture

So, yeah…her Dad is back. It’s hard to talk about this as anything but strange. And Christa and her family don’t even bother trying. As they learn more and more about where he’s been, it gets even stranger.

Obviously, all of them have a lot to catch up on, they’ve missed decades of life with him—Christa has only the vaguest memories of him because she was so young when he disappeared. Her sisters have relationships to repair and rebuild (to say nothing of what her mother needs to do)—but Christa essentially needs to start from nothing.

Given his status (which has only grown while he was “dead”), the way that the media is sensationalizing his return, and the way the American public loves a good reboot—the press and opportunities for books, movies, new series, etc., etc., etc. are insane. It’s difficult to try to reestablish/establish any kind of family ties under the microscopes and spotlights that surround the family right now—and that’s assuming the family wants to.

Agents representing entertainment professionals live lives illuminated by reflection. When their clients do well, they do well, and some cycles are virtuous and some are vicious. One fortunate feather in an agency’s cap is a celebrity who DWF—died while famous. All famous people die, but most do not die famous. Most simply die old, like everyone else.

When they do kick off at their peak, their agency inherits an icon. It’s an annuity, kind of, or like money in a mattress. Somebody benefits from the fact that Jimi Hendrix (for example) isn’t a happily retired guitar player growing tomatoes in Seattle, though that would have been a better outcome in every other way.

Throughout all of this, Waxman has her sights set on the entertainment industry (with a special eye on publicists/PR/focus on image over substance), the role of the press in covering that industry, and social media (in general and relating to celebrities). Waxman reminds me so much of Christopher Buckley (oddly, Dave Barry’s fiction comes to mind, too) when this plotline is the focus—she has a similar ability to find the alienness to what “regular people” think, the absurdity of the “logic” employed by the media types, and the ridiculousness of how it all works—and is eaten up by viewers/fans. She excoriates this whole thing—but also shows the appeal.

The Romance Story

He frowned quizzically at me. “You’re very dreamy for a scientist. I think of you guys as practical and all about the facts, ma’am.”

I laughed. “You’re completely wrong. Scientists fall deeply in love with something and spend their lives obsessing over it.” I turned my head to look at him. “Like when you first fall in love with someone, and want nothing more than to be with them all the time, learn everything you can, discover how they feel, what they think . . . that’s science. Isn’t love just an overwhelming desire to solve the mystery of another human being?” I shrugged. “Science is full of mysteries, and people trying to get to the bottom of them.”

Nate has been a constant feature in Christa’s life (and vice versa), he’s older than her—more like her sister’s age. But their families were close while they grew up—so they spent a lot of time in each other’s orbit. He’s now running the business side of her family’s conservation work, and they really haven’t set eyes on each other for over a decade.

When they do meet each other in this novel, the mutual attraction is pretty obvious (especially to everyone who isn’t them). What unfolds from there is one of your standard-issue Rom-Com stories. But Waxman is so good at writing it that it feels pretty fresh, and you can easily find yourself forgetting that you’ve read umpteen times and seen even more stories that follow the same outline. Also, it needs to be remembered why we’ve seen/read this story so many times—it works really well and people enjoy it. People really enjoy it when someone as clever as Waxman is telling it.

The two are sweet and cute together. The story is easily the most engaging part of the book—and it’s nice to have it to fall back on when things get dicey with the above story.

Christa’s Mother and Sisters

“What’s with your hair?” she said, reaching out to tousle it, a move I was able to block.

I shrugged. “I like it like this; it makes it easier for people to find me.” It also goes with the tattoos and piercings to suggest I might be a badass. . . It’s a basic tenet of camouflage: Look like something dangerous (an edgy chick who might mess you up) and no one will get close enough to see the truth (a nervous scientist who would rather be left in peace).

I think readers are supposed to get more invested in the story about Nate—and the story about her Dad is really the bigger story of the novel. But the plotline that did the most for me was about Christa’s family that didn’t go missing—her mother and older sisters.

Like with many such stories, there’s a mix of who these people are as adults and who they were as children/teens (and younger adults, in the case of her mother). Christa, more than the others, still sees the others the way she saw them as a child and during her turbulent teen years. Yes, she understands how they’re not the same people, but her view of them as people and their relationships with her were set in stone then. And for her sisters, they largely see the troubled teen she was.

In the last couple of years, however, Christa’s sisters have started to change—and they all get to see new sides of their mother given the return of her not-that-deceased-first husband. They all see Christa in new ways, too—and we get the idea they actually understand her better than she does herself.

If you’ve read Waxman before, you know how well she depicts relationships between women. If you haven’t—just take my word for it, she depicts them in a way that you could just sit and read dozens and dozens of pages of it, even without much of a plot. When they’re working together on something (even if they don’t all agree on the way to do it), it’s just great. If Waxman just wants to give us a novella about the next Thanksgiving these women enjoy together (or something like that), I’ll be first in line.

I have largely complimentary things to say about the novel as a whole, but this aspect is the one I’ll spend the most time thinking about.

We Could’ve Faded to Black a Little Quicker

Like with the Sunshine Vicram series, at a certain point I couldn’t believe I recommended this book to my mother.* I’m sure she’ll enjoy it, but things get a little more spicy (and detailed) before Waxman fades to back on our couple. And Christa’s first-person narration is fine with talking about things that happen while things were faded to black.

* Note to Self: Finish Books before recommending them to her.

I don’t think we actually achieve the, um, levels of ardor that Sunshine does (not like that’s the most extreme I’ve encountered, I just think I’ve talked more about what the people that make up TV/Movie warnings call “adult situations” with that series than others). But we get close on a couple of occasions.

Is it too “adult” for most actual adults to read? No. Will many of you find it tame? Yes. Did it make me a little uncomfortable? Yes (I keep telling you I’m a prude). Does it really impact what I think of the novel? Nope. But it was noteworthy enough, that I figured I should mention it.

If only I feel better about things when my mother ends up reading the novel.

So, what did I think about Christa Comes Out of Her Shell?

According to my notes, the first 87 pages of this book might have been my favorite 87 pages this year. Maybe it went on longer, but that’s where I was when I wrote that down. Not every page after those were as good, but overall, I had a real blast with this book.

Christa is definitely a Waxman-brand protagonist. But she’s different enough to make it clear that Waxman has range. Christa is more abrasive—she also has more formal education than the others I’ve encountered and shows it (not in a performative or braggadocio way). There’s also a Bernadette Fox-ish vibe to her. The rest of the characters are easily the kind to shop at Nina Hill’s bookstore or hang out at the boardinghouse with Laura Costello and the rest. In other words, they’re complicated, fallible, and fun to spend time with.

Waxman’s voice is one of my favorites—and has been since I first encountered her work. I love her characters, her wit, and the stories she decides to tell. This seemed like a departure for her—not in ways I can articulate, nor in ways I can or want to criticize. It’s just a different feel from her last three novels—and more power to her for making those choices.

I laughed, I was moved, my heart was warmed—all the typical reactions to Abbi Waxman. I loved being in this world, surrounded by Waxman’s words and I cannot wait for the next excuse I have to do it again. I heartily encourage you all to do the same.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Price to Pay About?

It’s not necessarily news-making when someone threatens a DCI. But DCI Archer gets a couple of very fresh threats from family members of someone she’s just put away and from a would-be organized crime heir, and things seem to be a little more real than usual. She’s ready to ignore them both, but some spoilery-events prevent that.

More annoyingly, an ex—some might call him the ex—tracks her down and announces his intention to win her back. Archer is utterly uninterested in him—and her husband is not amused by his antics at all. The ex- is on the verge of turning into a full-fledged stalker, and Archer’s mild-mannered husband is about to try to get into a fistfight over this.

As the distractions and annoyances start to pile up—there’s a murder. The initial evidence points at Archer and her husband, and a lot of their past starts coming back to haunt them. There are plenty of alternate suspects around, but none of them are quite as convenient for the police (Archer, on the other hand….)

Meanwhile, DI Baines has to deal with the repercussions of stopping the serial killer, The Invisible Man, on his family—who were almost victims. As the expert in The Invisible Man, he’s also brought in to consult on some cold case murders that might be connected to him. As much as he wants to help out—his loyalties are divided, because Archer needs help a lot sooner than these cold cases. (although he’s officially not allowed to be working on the case, for obvious reasons)

Backstory, Backstory, Backstory

Now it takes a little bit for the plot to get really rolling along because there is just so much backstory involved with Archer and Baines individually at this point. Particularly when it comes to Archer—she’s got connections with just about everyone we meet early on in these pages.

As this is my first time reading Sivers, I don’t know how many of these various and sundry people are making their first appearance in these pages, and how many are just people from her past that are being brought back into her life in this book. It really doesn’t matter, because Sivers will pause the narrative long enough to catch you up with the relationship/history between Baines, Archer, and these people from their pasts.

Most authors do this—and most of the time it’s good as a refresher or a way to get a new reader oriented. But with a book as rooted in the past and the ties between characters past and present as this one…taking the time to give all this background really slows things down. I think I’d have appreciated Sivers finding a better way to blend these into the narrative rather than stopping everything. It was such a momentum killer.

That said…all the backstories were pretty interesting. A couple might have been a smidgen too soap-opera-ish for me, but still interesting. The amount of work and character development demonstrated by these says a lot about the series that’s been built up to now.

So, what did I think about Price to Pay?

Once all the dominoes were set up—the crime established, the motives, the backstories told—Sivers started knocking them over and things moved so well that all the annoyances of the stop-and-start pacing of the early chapters were forgiven. To change up metaphors, it took a long time for Sivers to get his hook into me, but once he did—I couldn’t stop turning the pages.

This is such a rich, detailed world with a very clever—and well-executed—mystery. And, as is necessary for a police procedural series to be as established as this one, the characters are really well-developed and jump off the page. It’s a real treat to read.

While Price to Pay can serve as an entry point to the series, and has a strong stand-alone element to it, the amount of ongoing character and story arcs involved are going to be an obstacle for anyone approaching it without some previous knowledge of Archer, Baines, and the rest—and what they’ve been up to lately. Is it worth persevering? Oh yeah. But you should know that going in. And by the time you’re done—you’ll be curious about what’s next*—and maybe about what was before. Based on Book 7, Books 1-6 are quite the ride, you might be well-served starting from there.

* I will admit that I’m not sure what kind of future the series has, but it should be fun to see.

If you’re not new to this series, obviously, you’re not going to have that difficulty. You likely won’t need me to suggest that you give this a shot, you’re probably ahead of me on that point. Still, if you haven’t gotten around to it, you should probably remedy that.

That’s two paragraphs just to say: Price to Pay is an entertaining and rewarding police procedural that I recommend to you.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s Time-Marked Warlock About?

Until a few years ago, the names of warlocks Adair and Carter Finch were famous among the magic community. Private eyes who helped law enforcement as well as private clients dealing with cases large and small—they were pretty close to superheroes. Then they took that one job that put them against an opponent they weren’t ready for, things went wrong, and Carter died.

Adair’s magic couldn’t help. He couldn’t even track down everyone who was responsible, so he couldn’t get revenge. So…he went home and retreated from life. He became an asocial hermit, doing little more than existing.

Then one pre-dawn morning, a twelve-year-old girl pounds on his apartment door. Her mother always told her that if she was in real trouble to track down Adair or Carter Finch. They weren’t close friends by any means, but they did know each other—enough so that her name makes Finch pay attention. Bree’s mother was a witch and her father is a warlock, but not in the same league as Finch. Bree tells Finch that her mother has been murdered and her father kidnapped—and she needs his help to rescue her father and get justice for her mother.

Finch is not inclined to do anything but close the door on her face and get back to not interacting with anyone. But he can’t turn down her appeal—so he agrees to go to the crime scene (if only so he can determine that she misunderstood what she saw, and that her father actually was the murderer).

The scene isn’t what he expected—Bree might have been right. Also, the police detective on the scene knew Finch before he “retired” and neither really appreciated the other. Det. Jenner really rubs Finch the wrong way on the scene.

Between their less-than-pleasant interaction, Bree pulling on his heartstrings just right, and what Finch noticed at the scene of the crime, Finch decides to take the case, wrap it up quickly, and get back to wasting away as soon as he can.

Finch

Let’s get this out of the way real quick: Frequently reminded me of (James J.) Butcher’s Huntsman, Leslie Mayflower (and several other retired/depressed heroes, but Mayflower is most recent in my mind, so he gets name-dropped). Is he the Huntsman? No—he’s far less inclined to leave a trail of bodies in his wake.* for one thing. But he gives a similar vibe.

* We can argue some other time about how inclined Mayflower really is. Roll with it for now.

He’s clearly angry at himself. He’s reticent to put himself out there emotionally (or any other way). He’s not ready to let anyone else down again (assuming he really did). But something about Bree creates a crack in his defensive shell, and it’s great to see purpose emerge from where he’d trapped it down. He’s a different guy by the end of the book (probably like what he was years ago)—he’s not totally where he should be, but he’s on the road to recovery. As the series continues, I look forward to seeing how he grows/recovers.

Bree Blackstone

I don’t know how any UF reader is supposed to read her full name and not think of Harry Dresden. Maybe we’re supposed to—surely we are right?

Anyway…if Bree doesn’t melt your heart right off. If you’re not rooting for her to get the answers she seeks and maybe a touch of the retribution she longs for—and to save her dad…there’s something wrong with you—go listen to some Whos down in Whoville sing some Christmas songs until your heart is the right size.

She is so frightened by everything—there’s a real parallel to Finch there. But she’s determined to get the help she needs to save her dad and get the bad guy who killed her mom. And if Finch is the way to get both of those, she’ll get him to help her.

Naturally, along the way she picks up a pretty hefty case of hero-worship. Finch doesn’t see it for what it is right off—but he eventually does, and knows he’s not worthy. Watching him balance helping her, fending off (or trying to) her fangirling over him, and teaching her what she needs to know to be safe in the magic world is a great balancing act.

Bree is really well-conceived and executed by Stovall, and will become one of your favorite characters of the year.

Kullthantarrick the Sneak

Kull is a trickster spirit that Finch calls up to help with a little something along the way—she’s largely around for comic relief—but she also helps Bree to learn some things about the nature of magic, spirits, and the like that she hasn’t learned from her parents yet. Yes, her role is to help make worldbuilding infodumps entertaining. She’s well-used that way.

Any spirit of mischief—from Mercy Thompson’s Coyote to the Wizard in Rhyme’s Max to Al MacBharrais’s Buck, or…okay, I’m drawing a blank here—can be a lot of fun. You just set them loose to create havoc and sit back and watch. And Kull is great at that.

But that’s not all she is—she wants to be a human, she’s seen and done enough as a spirit, and she wants the human experience now. That adds a little depth to her—there’s also an affection that develops between her and Bree that adds even more shades of depth to what could’ve been a disposable character that ends up being so much more.

Really well done there.

The Magic System(s)

I don’t know how much to say here. This world has a handful of magic systems at play—there’s one for witches—like Bree’s mother and (presumably) her. There’s another one for warlocks—it’s similar and not necessarily mutually exclusive to the witch system. And there are some others, too.

One way that Finch uses his abilities (that other warlocks like Bree’s father can’t) is that he has some ability with time. It’s in the title, I feel I can give a vague description here. He’s constantly noting the time whenever anything happens. If he “marks” the time, within any 24-hour period he can return to the marked time—retaining the memories and knowledge gained, but getting to start over. Bree compares it to a save point in a video game.

This is brilliant—and so good to see in action. There’s part of me that wondered if it’d feel like a cheat—killing tension and so on. Or if it’d just be some Groundhog Day-riff good for comedy and that’s it. If you’ve ever played—or watched someone play—an intense video game with a save point, you know that’s not enough to keep someone from getting stressed out about almost dying/dying within the game. Sure they can take another try (or several), but the tension is still there. It works that way for this book (especially if it looks like Finch might not reset in time). And yes, there’s some weatherman Phil-esque humor, but not as much as other authors might have indulged in.

All in all, Stovall nailed this part of Urban Fantasy.

So, what did I think about Time-Marked Warlock?

Three great characters (not even counting the antagonists), an even better magic system, and a decent plot with a satisfying central villain. I don’t know what else to ask for in a UF novel.

The pacing was on-target—even when revisiting the same day or events over and over, Stovall was able to keep it fresh. She also knew when to say “they did X again” and when to show it. The action scenes worked well. The villain(s) were believable, had compelling motivations, and were enough of a threat to all involved to keep the reader’s interest.

There were supporting characters—including villain(s) that ended up not being as terrible as you might initially think—that were just as fully drawn, and you could generate a little sympathy for some of the people associated with the murder once you realized how they were being used, too.

There’s a good setup for further books in the series, too.

I really can’t think of much that Stovall could’ve done better—this scratched my UF itch, and I bet it’ll do the same for you, too. Keep your eyes peeled for the release and get your hands on this when you can.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What’s The Tenacious Tale of Tanna the Tendersword About?

Tanna is an aspiring Champion, a hero in training, and a student at Edic Academy of Valient Adventurers who is looking for her first quest. It ought to be small, as she’s young and inexperienced, this is the chance to show that she can accept a challenge and complete it successfully, thereby earning the opportunity to further her education.

Traveling with her is a Chronicler-in-training. His duty is to accompany her as she seeks for and then completes her quest, writing the official (and perhaps mildly dramatized) version of her heroics. When/if Tanna becomes a full-fledged Champion, he (or another Chronicler) will accompany her, so someone can tell the tale of her adventures for the entertainment and edification of non-heroes. Galdifort Quillpen is less than appreciative that Tanna’s search for a quest centers on a village populated largely by pigs and pigherders. The sights, smells, and sounds are not what he had in mind.

But she’s not finding a quest, and they only have a few days before they have to return to the Academy. Returning empty-handed will set them back in their training—perhaps derailing it entirely. Tanna is keeping busy helping people with chores and being friendly—but that’s not a guidebook-approved quest.

She excitedly comes to him, however, with an opportunity. Someone knows someone who can send them on a search to request for a quest. They only have to talk to a few people, travel after curfew (and a great distance) to a place that will put them very near the territory of a witch who is largely only referred to as What’s-Her-Name, to hopefully find the person with a quest. Tanna’s dogged determination and some rather exciting circumstances force Galdifort into agreeing to go along with her (complaining and objecting the entire way).

And that’s just the beginning…

Along the way, they will meet a peg-legged Rooster who is a vicious fighter, talking (and crying) mushrooms, a giant hawk-like bird, and enough other strange creatures to fill a Bingo card. They’ll face dangers and personal challenges. And maybe, just maybe, learn something. You know, if they survive.

Spoon!

Okay, Tanna doesn’t have a battle cry that silly. (Yet?) But throughout the book the relationship between Tanna and Galdifort reminded me so much of The Tick and Arthur (in every incarnation, but primarily the animated version, just because I’ve spent more time with that one). Tanna has The Tick’s optimism, the sheer belief that things will work out, she’ll vanquish her foes, and that the right will prevail—because that’s how it goes. She also has The Tick’s, um, poor grasp on vocabulary, understanding of complicated matters, obliviousness toward their companion’s attitutde, and propensity for overblown dialogue.

Meanwhile, Galdifort has Arthur’s intelligence, reluctance to rush into danger, preoccupation with the kinds of things that their heroic companions miss, pessimism (they’d both argue realism), and both find themselves more loyal to and confident in their companion.

I don’t think that Conway and Adams consciously modeled their duo on Edlund’s—but there are worse ideas. I think it’s just that this combination of traits really works for comedy, drama, and ongoing character development. Something they all discovered and used to well. It’s also a good way to explain to blog readers of a certain age what kind of character dynamics are present when they buy a copy of this book of their MG readers (or themselves, I don’t judge).

The Illustrations

Because I’m so lousy at describing art, I do want to point you to some samples on the author’s site, and they are great. Cute as all get out, Galdifort’s personality is captured perfectly. Tanna’s wide-eyed optimism and energy is clear. And I’d love a print of that Peggs illustration.

So, that’s the flavor. The art isn’t a major component of the book–there’s a small illustration on the first page of each chapter, just a little bit of eye-candy. There are some medium-large illustrations scattered throughout the text as well. Nothing to distract you from the story (well, much). Mostly their purpose appears to be to grab your eyes and suck you in. They are whimsical (there’s one that depicts a miserable and harrowing experience, but even the illustration is a little whimsical–without taking away from the misery), and add just a little pizazz to the experience. The text doesn’t require them, but I can’t imagine that they’d do anything but entertain and engage the reader.

Consider me a Dewey Conway fan.

So, what did I think about The Tenacious Tale of Tanna the Tendersword?

This was ridiculously fun. I wish I was in Middle Grades so I could appreciate it a bit more—I’m too jaded and old to really get into it the way I wanted to, I could see what the authors were doing, and so on. It took a little bit of the fun out of it for me. But when I could suspend my, um, advanced adulthood and just enjoy the story, boy howdy, did I.

There were some rough patches for me when it came to grammar and language, and they most likely will have been addressed by publication. I couldn’t even tell you what they were now, so they were pretty minor (nor could I find them easily, because I tried). But I can’t imagine that any 5th +/- grader is going to pick up on them (or care).

The humor and heart are both evident throughout—I don’t know that I laughed out loud (see the jaded bit above), but I was frequently amused. There were some subtle messages/life lessons woven into the text that I appreciated and probably won’t come across as messages or life lessons for the target reader. I have to be vague with what I liked because a lot of the fun is in the discovery—or the way that Galdifort grumpily engages with or describes the world around him (he’s not quite Puddleglum or Eeyore, but he could get there one day with enough effort). But I assure you, it’s entertaining from at least page 3 right up to the end.

I think the experience would be enhanced a bit by having the illustrations, but even without them, I was entertained. The Tenacious Tale of Tanna the Tendersword is good, wholesome fun that will surely engage most readers of all ages, with a satisfying conclusion—and a good hook to bring us all back for the second in the trilogy.

Disclaimer: I received a copy of this ARC from the authors in exchange for my honest opinion.

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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What The $#*! Did I Just Read?

This is a selection of short—sometimes very short—stories that the publisher describes as “magical realism.” Which I guess is fitting—some seem more like SF, Fantasy, or somewhere in-between, than what I think of as “magical realism.” But I’m not going to be finicky about the label—call it whatever you want, as long as “strange” fits into the definition. Because “strange” is the best word to describe every story (even if other words would do better for specific entries). And I truly mean that in the best of ways.

The other element element that characterizes these stories is “Southern Fiction.” This is incredibly apt—even when a story doesn’t mention a locale, or use a colloquialism or slang to show that this is Southern, there’s something about them that just screams Southern Fiction. You know it when you see it.

Economy Of Words

Other than “strange,” “weird,” and so on, the word that comes to mind when describing this book is “Economical.” How anybody can create a tone/tenor, voice, world, and characters in so few words time and time and time again is beyond my ken.

Sure, there are a handful of apocalypses in this book—but they’re distinct. The stories don’t feel like they’re talking about the same World-Ending Event (and they’re not, but you’d halfway expect them to feel similar). The monsters in Story X wouldn’t fit into Story Y, and probably wouldn’t even be noticed as all that monstrous in Story Z.

Bradley Sides is a skilled and gifted writer and you can see that on pretty much every page.

* I think “every page” would be a better way to put it, but let me understate it just in case there are 1-3 that miss.

So, what did I think about whatever that $#*! was?

The question that I started this post with is something I put in my notes more than once. And with maybe one exception, I followed it with “But I’m glad I read it.”

So, the collection started roughly for me—I liked the writing, but the story did nothing for me, but the second? “The Guide To King George” knocked my socks off. Most of the rest did, too. The titular story seemed like a miss to me, too (but what a great title).

Some of these made me laugh and/or chuckle—like the story of the young vampire girl who is desperate to leave her family farm, or the Choose Your Own Adventure story about a Father and Son during an apocalypse—but I stopped chuckling soon and shifted into something else. The setup to “Nancy R. Melson’s State ELA Exam, Section 1: The Dead-Dead Monster” was delightful, even if I felt guilty for being delighted by the end.

Then there are the sobering stories, the heart-wrenching stories. So many captivating, unnerving, and something-in-the-neighborhood of hopeful ways to look at death.

I really can’t explain this collection, as I think I’ve demonstrated pretty well here. I’m sure others can, and you should look for their comments. But I’ll tell you this, you’re not going to find many collections that are as pound-for-pound good as this one. Even when the story doesn’t quite strike you as successful or entertaining as the rest, you’re not going to forget it soon, or regret the experience.

Go grab a copy.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from the author and Lori Hettler of The Next Best Book Club in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.