A good number of people told me that Game of Thrones by R.R. Martin was good before I decided to check it out. I was skeptical because I lost my patience with Lord of the Rings, liked but was not a huge fan of either Star Wars or Star Trek, and lost interest after about five books of Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse series. However, since this book series was made into a close-fitting television series and is still going strong, I thought maybe this one was worth a better chance.
There are five books so far, and I'm only at the beginning of the second one. I've made the decision to only blog once about a story if it's a series, instead of a single blog entry for each book that I've read like I've done before. This is also because, with so many sites to monitor, I'm barely keeping up - what with my 2-10pm teaching job (with occasional Saturdays, as it turns out). Maybe I'm just having trouble managing my time.
Martin gives each character a very distinct voice while rotating them around. He's also famous for killing characters off mercilessly, so there's plenty of room for new characters all the time. His descriptions are well balanced with his dialogue and action scenes, though sometimes the humor is a bit dark and it feels like everyone is laden with angst. The choices he gives his characters are very life changing and dramatic, so sometimes they take a while thinking everything through. It's still very plot driven though.
Even though it's clearly fantasy and there's mention of dragons, they only appear at the end of the first book, and that makes me wonder if they're going to play much of a big role in the rest of the books. The psychological atmosphere of each character is usually fairly and understandably anxiety ridden, and it's rare when a person or two gets a mental break and feels serene for once. An example was when Catelyn was watching her son Robb Stark prepare for battle - she loves him, she's worried but she has huge faith in him and so was determined to stay strong for him. Arya is another character who's somewhat lighthearted, if only because she is so young. I tend to favor the direct but bitter humor that Tyrion Lannister or Jon Snow gives off.
This is not a book I can read well when I am tired, because the dynamic and intrigue between all the characters either demand nearly my full attention or I'm bound to miss something. They're somewhat subtle and very politically oriented. No one seems honest if they want to survive in such a world. Martin doesn't flinch with blood and gore, which should be evident with his merciless killing of characters. He also doesn't flinch with making them mad as hatters, and sometimes it's hard to follow someone's train of thought - like Danearys. She is fascinating because, while it's easy to be sympathetic with her, it's hard to tell what she's thinking sometimes. Because this is a fantasy series, there's a possibility that Danaerys and Bran - both characters that have a lot of dreams - are youth infused with magic, and the way nothing makes sense yet is just waiting for an exposition in a later book.
I think Martin's strongest point is that, while these are fantasy books - they are fantasy books for adults, with a variety of very strong characters who make difficult and strategic choices. This is appealing because so far there's not much out there in the fantasy genre that appeals to only adults, without having the good and evil dichotomy that Star Wars and Lord of the Rings have. While the ideas of good and evil exist in this series as well, there are many grey characters. Ned Stark was a purely good character, and he was the first to die off. The Others are pure evil, but they haven't made solid appearances yet.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
This historical fiction novel is sweet. Vonnegut tells his tale through Billy Pilgrim, and the narrator's voice is very soothing, despite the horrendous happenings that it describes. Of course war is a terrible thing, but it feels muted through this voice. I imagine that the muted effect is from several factors: it was told in third person, Vonnegut's severely dark but very funny sense of humor, the time travel and the episodes with the Tralfamadorians. A reader can't help but like Billy Pilgrim for his perceived ineffectualness, and then pity him for his bad luck and all the memories that made up his life.
Every time someone or a group of people dies, Vonnegut writes, "So it goes." It becomes this stark deterministic acceptance of death, like it's something that just happens so it's nothing to become upset about. Even when Billy Pilgrim is put into situations where he must be angry at some point, and describes the characters around him in negative terms, it doesn't seem like he's blaming them. It's like the war removed him from any emotion except heavy depression, and it's probably mostly post traumatic stress disorder that the narrator sounds so numbed all the time, but it makes the story seem even more believable and objective.
I'm not so sure that this novel is scary enough to be antiwar. Yes, it tells about the people dying, all the sufferings and indignities that people suffered at the hands of people in power, who almost randomly decided that one group of people are unforgivable, so another group of people go to kill them for deciding the first group of people are unforgivable, but the book doesn't decry anything. Everyone in the book seems rather stupid, including all the people in power who decided all these random things, and maybe the book decries their stupidity and stupidity in general, but there's no anger in it, no outrage. Taking a step back, I'm not sure why I assume anger and outrage should be in an antiwar book - maybe that's because those two emotions are what I'm used to from people who claim to stand up for a cause.
Anyhow, the time travel and Tralfamadorians illustrate his inability to tell reality from his imagination at the end, but he doesn't even seem to mind. Reality is as unreal as any science fiction book in his mind, apparently, and not even a well written science fiction book, since the series that Krout wrote was to be found in a porn shop decorating the window and helping it pretend to be a legitimate bookstore. His juxtaposition of that scene with digging up and burning bodies is very transcendental and Buddhist, even - the idea that people are just bodies, whether they are dead or alive. That is also true of the Tralfamadorian idea that people who ever lived will always go on living in some form or another.
Other war books and movies speak of the act of war removing the humanity from a person. Maybe it's because Billy Pilgrim wasn't a real soldier - he never actually killed anybody, and that's why it doesn't seem like his humanity was ever removed. He feels very detached from everything - "unstuck in time", as he says - but his telling of this story reveals that he's still very much human despite not feeling the same as he did before, despite being completely unable to relate to anyone except for others who were in the war and not seeking glory, like O'Hare. He's broken, dead inside, but still human.
It was an easy read. Vonnegut uses such simple language. I would say the only difficulty in reading this book is that, after hearing his numbed voice in my head for hours at a time, I would lift my nose away from the book and feel his numbness for a while even after having closed the book. That's the only thing that prevented me from finishing the book in a jiffy, because it made me feel temporarily as dead inside as Vonnegut had been feeling for decades after the war, probably all the way up to his death a few years ago. So it goes.
Every time someone or a group of people dies, Vonnegut writes, "So it goes." It becomes this stark deterministic acceptance of death, like it's something that just happens so it's nothing to become upset about. Even when Billy Pilgrim is put into situations where he must be angry at some point, and describes the characters around him in negative terms, it doesn't seem like he's blaming them. It's like the war removed him from any emotion except heavy depression, and it's probably mostly post traumatic stress disorder that the narrator sounds so numbed all the time, but it makes the story seem even more believable and objective.
I'm not so sure that this novel is scary enough to be antiwar. Yes, it tells about the people dying, all the sufferings and indignities that people suffered at the hands of people in power, who almost randomly decided that one group of people are unforgivable, so another group of people go to kill them for deciding the first group of people are unforgivable, but the book doesn't decry anything. Everyone in the book seems rather stupid, including all the people in power who decided all these random things, and maybe the book decries their stupidity and stupidity in general, but there's no anger in it, no outrage. Taking a step back, I'm not sure why I assume anger and outrage should be in an antiwar book - maybe that's because those two emotions are what I'm used to from people who claim to stand up for a cause.
Anyhow, the time travel and Tralfamadorians illustrate his inability to tell reality from his imagination at the end, but he doesn't even seem to mind. Reality is as unreal as any science fiction book in his mind, apparently, and not even a well written science fiction book, since the series that Krout wrote was to be found in a porn shop decorating the window and helping it pretend to be a legitimate bookstore. His juxtaposition of that scene with digging up and burning bodies is very transcendental and Buddhist, even - the idea that people are just bodies, whether they are dead or alive. That is also true of the Tralfamadorian idea that people who ever lived will always go on living in some form or another.
Other war books and movies speak of the act of war removing the humanity from a person. Maybe it's because Billy Pilgrim wasn't a real soldier - he never actually killed anybody, and that's why it doesn't seem like his humanity was ever removed. He feels very detached from everything - "unstuck in time", as he says - but his telling of this story reveals that he's still very much human despite not feeling the same as he did before, despite being completely unable to relate to anyone except for others who were in the war and not seeking glory, like O'Hare. He's broken, dead inside, but still human.
It was an easy read. Vonnegut uses such simple language. I would say the only difficulty in reading this book is that, after hearing his numbed voice in my head for hours at a time, I would lift my nose away from the book and feel his numbness for a while even after having closed the book. That's the only thing that prevented me from finishing the book in a jiffy, because it made me feel temporarily as dead inside as Vonnegut had been feeling for decades after the war, probably all the way up to his death a few years ago. So it goes.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
A Long Way Down, by Nick Hornby
So I realize this isn't my usual fare. There's not nearly enough supernatural stuff in it. But when you try new things, most of the thrill is not knowing what you're going to get, isn't it? Also, I think this book placed highly on the New York Times book list or something. And I like the cover - it's four people's feet floating in a sea of clouds, and that's just surreal enough to be both romantic and really absurd. And I think that's a good way of beginning to describe this book: romantic and absurd. Except that I might have to take back the romantic part later on - we'll see. Oh yea, this is another one from those four boxes of books.
The chapters are named after the four main characters, so there aren't really chapter names. Which makes me think that you could probably read the book out of sequence, except that then maybe it wouldn't make much sense now, would it? So they're called Martin, Maureen, JJ and Jess. MM and JJ. The only thing they have in common is that they wanted to commit suicide on New Year's Eve at the same place, and then they kind of got into each others' way. Then everything begins.
As you would expect with suicidal people, they each have a bunch of problems dragging them down. So it took some time and chapters before the whole character development thing came on. Before that, though, a lot of random stuff happened just because they didn't know what to do with themselves, and that's kind of a very human dilemma. The randomness of all these semi unchained events, as told by four different voices, is what would pull you in. That's a feat in itself - not many writers, certainly not me - can create such drastically different people on the same page and switch voices, just like that.
When they interact, which they almost always do, it's even stranger and more hilarious, because there are four unhappy unfriendly people insulting each other for the company, because they have got nowhere else to go. When you think about it, when an author writes a conversation between characters, and all the characters are part of that author, it's like the author's talking to himself. At least that's why it's so difficult for me, but you know, kudos to all the more successful authors and playwrights and screenwriters who can do great conversations, and Nick Hornby's certainly one of these.
Every time I read a book and finish it very quickly, I don't stop thinking like the voice of that book for a day or two. So I imagine that this is what's happening now, because I just finished this book, and I keep having this urge to type a sentence, put in a comma, and then ask a one word question, like "So this is how we do it, right?" I think this is because that's how Jess talks. A lot. JJ does that to some extent too, but he's a hipster and a musician, so he does that whole "Rock on, man" type of thing. And Martin pretends to be cultured, when he might be even more savage than Jess, who's really just thoughtless. I always go on like this with character commentary.
It's kind of like the psychological profile of four people, but smashed together into a giant mass, that somehow ends up being coherent and even inspiring. Or if not inspiring, then at least thought provoking, which is what most texts are supposed to do, anyway. I'm pretty sure this book is fiction, but it feels like nonfiction, because the characters could be real people. Like your next door neighbor or something. Without talking about the emotions specifically, the story comes out with a lot of heart. There is a plot, but it's not as structured as a science fiction or fantasy book, because this kind of story has a different point to it.
Anyway, I can see why Nick Hornby is an award winning author. My boyfriend said that he has High Fidelity, another book that this guy wrote, so maybe I'll look into that. But then, of course, there are the rest of the books from those boxes that I actually wanted to go into. And some more books I bought. It's like necessary for me, because I only seem to buy books, food and clothing. Well um, that's neither here nor there.
The chapters are named after the four main characters, so there aren't really chapter names. Which makes me think that you could probably read the book out of sequence, except that then maybe it wouldn't make much sense now, would it? So they're called Martin, Maureen, JJ and Jess. MM and JJ. The only thing they have in common is that they wanted to commit suicide on New Year's Eve at the same place, and then they kind of got into each others' way. Then everything begins.
As you would expect with suicidal people, they each have a bunch of problems dragging them down. So it took some time and chapters before the whole character development thing came on. Before that, though, a lot of random stuff happened just because they didn't know what to do with themselves, and that's kind of a very human dilemma. The randomness of all these semi unchained events, as told by four different voices, is what would pull you in. That's a feat in itself - not many writers, certainly not me - can create such drastically different people on the same page and switch voices, just like that.
When they interact, which they almost always do, it's even stranger and more hilarious, because there are four unhappy unfriendly people insulting each other for the company, because they have got nowhere else to go. When you think about it, when an author writes a conversation between characters, and all the characters are part of that author, it's like the author's talking to himself. At least that's why it's so difficult for me, but you know, kudos to all the more successful authors and playwrights and screenwriters who can do great conversations, and Nick Hornby's certainly one of these.
Every time I read a book and finish it very quickly, I don't stop thinking like the voice of that book for a day or two. So I imagine that this is what's happening now, because I just finished this book, and I keep having this urge to type a sentence, put in a comma, and then ask a one word question, like "So this is how we do it, right?" I think this is because that's how Jess talks. A lot. JJ does that to some extent too, but he's a hipster and a musician, so he does that whole "Rock on, man" type of thing. And Martin pretends to be cultured, when he might be even more savage than Jess, who's really just thoughtless. I always go on like this with character commentary.
It's kind of like the psychological profile of four people, but smashed together into a giant mass, that somehow ends up being coherent and even inspiring. Or if not inspiring, then at least thought provoking, which is what most texts are supposed to do, anyway. I'm pretty sure this book is fiction, but it feels like nonfiction, because the characters could be real people. Like your next door neighbor or something. Without talking about the emotions specifically, the story comes out with a lot of heart. There is a plot, but it's not as structured as a science fiction or fantasy book, because this kind of story has a different point to it.
Anyway, I can see why Nick Hornby is an award winning author. My boyfriend said that he has High Fidelity, another book that this guy wrote, so maybe I'll look into that. But then, of course, there are the rest of the books from those boxes that I actually wanted to go into. And some more books I bought. It's like necessary for me, because I only seem to buy books, food and clothing. Well um, that's neither here nor there.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Eldest, by Christopher Paolini
Okay, so I take it back. I take it all back. Christopher Paolini worked really hard to get his name, and his parents could only have helped him so much. I hope he never reads my last post. Then again, no one reads this blog, a tiny dust mote in the vastness of the internet, right? Right. So let's move on.
Because the war against Galbatorix has begun, this book has a lot of battle scenes, and they are all very detailed albeit nodding a bit to the confusion of actual battle. In the first few chapters, I never believed that Murtagh was actually dead, but I was surprised anyway when he came back sometime at the end. Roran's story kept the entire book grounded, because it was a struggle of a normal human being without any special powers except his decisiveness and his charisma. This leads me to believe that he might become king of the land in the third book. I say it keeps the book grounded, because Eragon is no longer fully human as we humans know it - instead, he is half dragon, and half elf. There are so many expectations for him that the part of his personality that deals with expectations reacts like Harry Potter.
Aside from personally pleased that many strong women play roles aside from Saphira the dragon, I was amazed at how much the author had fleshed out the languages. There are complete alphabets somewhere in Paolini's office that he probably keeps as a reference. Most of us have enough trouble learning the existing languages, but he makes new ones. I have yet to decipher the specific differences between the ancient, elven and dwarf languages. The chapters have also gotten longer and harder to keep track of.
We are introduced to elf culture here, and it strikes me as very archaic. There are many rules, and many forms of courtesy with a strict hierarchy. Yet because of the existence of magic, most elves only need to do what pleases them - they don't need to really have a trade to have money or to make a living. I mean, they sing their homes out of trees, so there's no real estate industry, they sing their food out of plants, so there's no farming necessary. The only people who seem to do anything for society are the queen Islanzadi, her courtiers and the weapon smith, whose name escapes me, but who is also kind of a hermit and has no use for the mannerisms of the rest of elven society. Everyone else hones their magic, their fighting, does research and reads a lot - much like Oromis, except that Oromis has the additional job of making sure Eragon has all the skills he needs.
While the lessons Eragon goes through are difficult and detailed, and there's a lot of character development going on, he's just learning and so not much plot is going on there. So the part about plot has been delegated to Roran, who must make sure that his home - all the villagers - survives as well as go find Katrina, for the sake of his love and sanity. So he escapes for a while, and then comes back and helps everyone get rid of the soldiers, until the Raz'ac stole Katrina. Then he convinces everyone to be a part of the Varden, by demonstrating excellent oratory skills in addition to his warrior's prowess with a hammer. Is it bad that I feel our presidents should be selected more based on things like that rather than just oratory skills as in American democracy? While the way Roran came to power can't ensure that he's not evil, it's based upon trust and actions, not words, so I somehow feel that it's a lot more solid. It also brings up the question of whether the ends justify the means.
The other part of plot that Eragon has to go through is to deal with his infatuation with Arya. While everyone relates to this part because everyone has a first love, it just seems to diminish his character a bit - even though I agree with Saphira's words about how he's full of love and he's more so waiting for someone to receive it. I guess while Roran was leading humans, Eragon has to learn to lead people of three or four different races, if you consider the Kulls, so his job is more difficult. But Roran's journey just seemed so much organic, because they had to contend with things that humans are used to: poverty, starvation, sickness, sleeplessness and a race against time.
After Roran had to kill two soldiers at that port town, and had to raze a part of Teirm to escape, the part where they were sailing reminded me heavily of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. There was no albatross, though, only a giant whirlpool that everyone was afraid of. The way that Birgit kicked the balls of one random sailor and then held her knife at another against rampant sexism made me proud, and also reminded me of Dawn Cook's Decoy Princess duology. Duology is a word, right? Cuz bilogy wouldn't sound right. Or maybe it's just duo. And I was happy to see Jeod again, and that Helen loved him enough to make it to the ship on time.
By that time, the battle had started, and it was time for Eragon to move out. I was glad he was using his new skills to help his leadership abilities, and wasn't sure what would happen to Carvahall, because they were too tired to just join in the battle with the dwarves and the Kull and other soldiers. Galbatorix's plan to rebuild the Riders had the same problem as the comic the Watchmen. In fact, when an elf said, "Who watches the watchmen?" I thought it was even a direct reference. Maybe they should have the dwarves and the Kull exposed to dragon eggs to see if they would be accepted to, as a weird case of affirmative action for the Riders. Yes, I know I'm being strange.
Everything came together very well at the end, and even explained the title. The only things that this book managed to resolve was the relationship between Roran and Eragon, and decide the fate of Carvahall. The rest would have to wait til the next book, which I will eagerly dig up or buy.
Because the war against Galbatorix has begun, this book has a lot of battle scenes, and they are all very detailed albeit nodding a bit to the confusion of actual battle. In the first few chapters, I never believed that Murtagh was actually dead, but I was surprised anyway when he came back sometime at the end. Roran's story kept the entire book grounded, because it was a struggle of a normal human being without any special powers except his decisiveness and his charisma. This leads me to believe that he might become king of the land in the third book. I say it keeps the book grounded, because Eragon is no longer fully human as we humans know it - instead, he is half dragon, and half elf. There are so many expectations for him that the part of his personality that deals with expectations reacts like Harry Potter.
Aside from personally pleased that many strong women play roles aside from Saphira the dragon, I was amazed at how much the author had fleshed out the languages. There are complete alphabets somewhere in Paolini's office that he probably keeps as a reference. Most of us have enough trouble learning the existing languages, but he makes new ones. I have yet to decipher the specific differences between the ancient, elven and dwarf languages. The chapters have also gotten longer and harder to keep track of.
We are introduced to elf culture here, and it strikes me as very archaic. There are many rules, and many forms of courtesy with a strict hierarchy. Yet because of the existence of magic, most elves only need to do what pleases them - they don't need to really have a trade to have money or to make a living. I mean, they sing their homes out of trees, so there's no real estate industry, they sing their food out of plants, so there's no farming necessary. The only people who seem to do anything for society are the queen Islanzadi, her courtiers and the weapon smith, whose name escapes me, but who is also kind of a hermit and has no use for the mannerisms of the rest of elven society. Everyone else hones their magic, their fighting, does research and reads a lot - much like Oromis, except that Oromis has the additional job of making sure Eragon has all the skills he needs.
While the lessons Eragon goes through are difficult and detailed, and there's a lot of character development going on, he's just learning and so not much plot is going on there. So the part about plot has been delegated to Roran, who must make sure that his home - all the villagers - survives as well as go find Katrina, for the sake of his love and sanity. So he escapes for a while, and then comes back and helps everyone get rid of the soldiers, until the Raz'ac stole Katrina. Then he convinces everyone to be a part of the Varden, by demonstrating excellent oratory skills in addition to his warrior's prowess with a hammer. Is it bad that I feel our presidents should be selected more based on things like that rather than just oratory skills as in American democracy? While the way Roran came to power can't ensure that he's not evil, it's based upon trust and actions, not words, so I somehow feel that it's a lot more solid. It also brings up the question of whether the ends justify the means.
The other part of plot that Eragon has to go through is to deal with his infatuation with Arya. While everyone relates to this part because everyone has a first love, it just seems to diminish his character a bit - even though I agree with Saphira's words about how he's full of love and he's more so waiting for someone to receive it. I guess while Roran was leading humans, Eragon has to learn to lead people of three or four different races, if you consider the Kulls, so his job is more difficult. But Roran's journey just seemed so much organic, because they had to contend with things that humans are used to: poverty, starvation, sickness, sleeplessness and a race against time.
After Roran had to kill two soldiers at that port town, and had to raze a part of Teirm to escape, the part where they were sailing reminded me heavily of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. There was no albatross, though, only a giant whirlpool that everyone was afraid of. The way that Birgit kicked the balls of one random sailor and then held her knife at another against rampant sexism made me proud, and also reminded me of Dawn Cook's Decoy Princess duology. Duology is a word, right? Cuz bilogy wouldn't sound right. Or maybe it's just duo. And I was happy to see Jeod again, and that Helen loved him enough to make it to the ship on time.
By that time, the battle had started, and it was time for Eragon to move out. I was glad he was using his new skills to help his leadership abilities, and wasn't sure what would happen to Carvahall, because they were too tired to just join in the battle with the dwarves and the Kull and other soldiers. Galbatorix's plan to rebuild the Riders had the same problem as the comic the Watchmen. In fact, when an elf said, "Who watches the watchmen?" I thought it was even a direct reference. Maybe they should have the dwarves and the Kull exposed to dragon eggs to see if they would be accepted to, as a weird case of affirmative action for the Riders. Yes, I know I'm being strange.
Everything came together very well at the end, and even explained the title. The only things that this book managed to resolve was the relationship between Roran and Eragon, and decide the fate of Carvahall. The rest would have to wait til the next book, which I will eagerly dig up or buy.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Eragon, by Christopher Paolini
While I've seen other people reading this book and was curious from time to time, I got this book through sheer luck. One of the people I met through working at Target decided to upend himself from Amherst, MA to go to somewhere in New Hampshire, and he didn't want to burden his family with extraneous items. So he gave all his books to the most avid bookworm he knew, which was me. Eragon happened to be at the top of the stack, out of four large boxes of books.
There was a map on the inside cover. That usually speaks of epic fantasy journeys through this made up map, and I wasn't wrong. Despite opening with three unnamed characters being attacked by villains when they're obviously on a mission, the language narrates in a very leisurely fashion. I guess it would have to, considering that the book is fairly thick. But then I noticed that each chapter wasn't very long at all. And Eragon was described as a simple farm boy, which means that there should be plenty of time for character development. It took a short while before the dragon herself was even introduced.
And then, when shit went down, so to speak, it was a semi realistic confusing mass. The emotions of grief were kind of handled swiftly and efficiently so that the plot can progress. And there was a lot of plot to progress. It was told more or less like a longwinded role playing game, because the protagonist had to train with Brom before anything got done, and Eragon was never really alone. Aside from the dragon, there was Brom and later, Montaugh (probably incorrect spelling) and after him, when they got to the secret hidden rebel base, there was the king of the humans, which was separate from the king of the dwarves, not to mention the elf in the prologue.
This heavily reminds me of either the Dragon Quest series or the Final Fantasy series. Given that the book was written when the author was sixteen, I would assume that's where he got some of his material (from video games). I thought it was also Harry Potter-esque, but it was not nearly as intricate and the list of villains hasn't gotten so long yet.
I read in the back that the book was first published by the guy's parents, and yea, it's all good, but I couldn't help being disappointed anyway. Because I mean, when I write my poems, I have to follow through with a series of hoops, you know, like a cover letter and such and all this other stuff, but the acknowledgments page just made it seem like all the marketing was done by the parents, and Mr. Paolini didn't have to go through this process of sending his manuscript to like a trillion places. Lucky duck.
But all the same, the dragon had strong characterization and so did Montaugh and the politics around Eragon, even though he himself wasn't developed enough to be interesting yet. So I was looking forward to the second book. Which, as I found out today, was also in the same box, so yay.
There was a map on the inside cover. That usually speaks of epic fantasy journeys through this made up map, and I wasn't wrong. Despite opening with three unnamed characters being attacked by villains when they're obviously on a mission, the language narrates in a very leisurely fashion. I guess it would have to, considering that the book is fairly thick. But then I noticed that each chapter wasn't very long at all. And Eragon was described as a simple farm boy, which means that there should be plenty of time for character development. It took a short while before the dragon herself was even introduced.
And then, when shit went down, so to speak, it was a semi realistic confusing mass. The emotions of grief were kind of handled swiftly and efficiently so that the plot can progress. And there was a lot of plot to progress. It was told more or less like a longwinded role playing game, because the protagonist had to train with Brom before anything got done, and Eragon was never really alone. Aside from the dragon, there was Brom and later, Montaugh (probably incorrect spelling) and after him, when they got to the secret hidden rebel base, there was the king of the humans, which was separate from the king of the dwarves, not to mention the elf in the prologue.
This heavily reminds me of either the Dragon Quest series or the Final Fantasy series. Given that the book was written when the author was sixteen, I would assume that's where he got some of his material (from video games). I thought it was also Harry Potter-esque, but it was not nearly as intricate and the list of villains hasn't gotten so long yet.
I read in the back that the book was first published by the guy's parents, and yea, it's all good, but I couldn't help being disappointed anyway. Because I mean, when I write my poems, I have to follow through with a series of hoops, you know, like a cover letter and such and all this other stuff, but the acknowledgments page just made it seem like all the marketing was done by the parents, and Mr. Paolini didn't have to go through this process of sending his manuscript to like a trillion places. Lucky duck.
But all the same, the dragon had strong characterization and so did Montaugh and the politics around Eragon, even though he himself wasn't developed enough to be interesting yet. So I was looking forward to the second book. Which, as I found out today, was also in the same box, so yay.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Black Magic Sanction, by Kim Harrison
One of the things I was really looking forward to before this novel came out was a scene of Rachel in the ever after, and it didn't disappoint. The other thing that all fantasy authors with a modern female audience seems to be good at is the construction of complicated and sultry male characters. This particular one of this series features Trent, billionaire city's son, and the dangerous and devious Algaliarept, demon mentor. Then of course, there's Pierce, heartbroken magical cowboy.
As with most series, a person - or 'a body', as Pierce would say - must read the entire series in order to get the full effect of the changing dynamics between the whole cast of characters. The three characters above seem odd precisely because the first two were fearsome villains in the first two books, while the cowboy just appeared in the last book, and at the very end at that, where he scarcely had a chance to make that much of an impression.
The plot twists are appreciative and many, and I also feel like the author lowered the sex quota here because ultimately, it's more a fantasy - even if there's some science behind it - than science fiction or romance. The one scene that there was, was really primal though.
The action was on par, but it was weird that the final political play was kind of a spoof, something for the fake tabloids to write about. Matalina, Jenk's wife and a total innocent, had to die right in the climax to balance that out. It was the emotional aftermath with Jenks that really made any impact - Matalina was rarely seen, even if she was more than a flat character. I'm curious as to the future dealings that Rachel may have with the fairies in the future, especially since they had the only action scene in the book, where Rachel helped make and pulled back a curse, but was otherwise powerless to do anything.
Among the people short-written this time around were Newt, Ivy and for the purpose of making fun of the enemy, Jonathan. Oh, and David. Finding out that Lee is actually not that much of a villain now is kind of weird. I understand the distinction they make in the line "That was business. This was survival" but it's never going to feel completely right. The new book gives the series a different feel, because after seven books of action, sex and ass kicking, suddenly there's this touchy feely take on politics and interspecies coexistence, with a statement against eugenics to boot. I guess I should have expected this, though - we went from thinking that demons are pure evil and the bane of existence to wondering if Rachel is a demon herself and having a demon mentor who's potentially interested in her. The primary villains this time around are the fellow witches who shunned her, all of whom practice white magic, and Nick, who sadly is the only representative for humankind aside from Glenn the FIB agent.
For the sake of the shippers - wait, Ivy and Glenn? Really? I mean, it was hinted at like two books ago, but I thought that Ivy was just checking him out and that that wasn't the same as him being blood bait. Wrong again. Are we going to hear more about this Krathion guy when we hear about Newt? Now that's a technique - setting up for the next book already in the first chapter. Looking forward to more to come, despite a few mixed feelings about this one.
As with most series, a person - or 'a body', as Pierce would say - must read the entire series in order to get the full effect of the changing dynamics between the whole cast of characters. The three characters above seem odd precisely because the first two were fearsome villains in the first two books, while the cowboy just appeared in the last book, and at the very end at that, where he scarcely had a chance to make that much of an impression.
The plot twists are appreciative and many, and I also feel like the author lowered the sex quota here because ultimately, it's more a fantasy - even if there's some science behind it - than science fiction or romance. The one scene that there was, was really primal though.
The action was on par, but it was weird that the final political play was kind of a spoof, something for the fake tabloids to write about. Matalina, Jenk's wife and a total innocent, had to die right in the climax to balance that out. It was the emotional aftermath with Jenks that really made any impact - Matalina was rarely seen, even if she was more than a flat character. I'm curious as to the future dealings that Rachel may have with the fairies in the future, especially since they had the only action scene in the book, where Rachel helped make and pulled back a curse, but was otherwise powerless to do anything.
Among the people short-written this time around were Newt, Ivy and for the purpose of making fun of the enemy, Jonathan. Oh, and David. Finding out that Lee is actually not that much of a villain now is kind of weird. I understand the distinction they make in the line "That was business. This was survival" but it's never going to feel completely right. The new book gives the series a different feel, because after seven books of action, sex and ass kicking, suddenly there's this touchy feely take on politics and interspecies coexistence, with a statement against eugenics to boot. I guess I should have expected this, though - we went from thinking that demons are pure evil and the bane of existence to wondering if Rachel is a demon herself and having a demon mentor who's potentially interested in her. The primary villains this time around are the fellow witches who shunned her, all of whom practice white magic, and Nick, who sadly is the only representative for humankind aside from Glenn the FIB agent.
For the sake of the shippers - wait, Ivy and Glenn? Really? I mean, it was hinted at like two books ago, but I thought that Ivy was just checking him out and that that wasn't the same as him being blood bait. Wrong again. Are we going to hear more about this Krathion guy when we hear about Newt? Now that's a technique - setting up for the next book already in the first chapter. Looking forward to more to come, despite a few mixed feelings about this one.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Living Dead in Dallas, by Charlaine Harris
Very addictive. I finished this book in one day; it was a definite page turner, and I just couldn't put it down. There are two main plot paths, one where the character Lafayette was sacrificed and one involving Sookie being employed to help with vampire cases. The fact that the second one became more prominent surprised me, because the book started out with the discovery of Lafayette's body. Even though the second plot had a missing vampire, I assumed that vampires can generally take care of themselves and finding him felt less urgent to me.
There was continuity, which speaks well for book series in general. I remembered Lafayette speaking about or hinting at having attended some unconventional party in the first book, so the time line seems very linear. It almost seemed expected that he would die, in hindsight, because he was introduced in the middle or latter parts of the first book for a single scene, and we never really heard from him again. Then we got distracted by the second plot, and wouldn't find out later that the two plot paths have essentially nothing in common except for a new supernatural creature - the maenad.
A maenad is another surprising twist, considering the other supernatural creatures introduced were vampires and shapeshifters. Those two seem pretty spread across the board in terms of cultural reference and relevance, so a creature out of specifically Greek mythology was a tiny surprise. The vampires' agreement to give tribute to this creature, after declaring that it was nearly impossible to kill, set up an idea as to the hierarchy of supernatural creatures - maenads are apparently more powerful than vampires, who seem to display less fear than the underground shapeshifters.
More shapeshifters were to be found in the quest to retrieve that vampire. The quest led Sookie and Bill to the organization the Fellowship of the Sun, which turned out to be this group of religious fanatics who believe that all supernatural creatures are abominations against the Christian god. The way that the followers seem so very civilized, but let no discussion happen so that they won't have to acknowledge any dissenting opinions seemed very true to life to me. It is this kind of behavior among people that creates a cult atmosphere in the practice of some religions. The way the organization's name appealed to the sun also seemed Greek-like and paradoxically polytheistic, since there are other stars and planets, but they only sought the sun's destructive abilities as "proof" that vampires were abominations.
The character Godfrey was fascinating to me. He seemed to be somewhat of a tragic figure, used for the organization's political agenda, until he makes known that not only did he agree to have someone burn with him in a spectacle - which is the supernatural rendition of a lynching - he also used to be a child molester and serial killer. A lot about his past was left unsaid, probably due to the gruesome nature of it, but I have to wonder what made him the psychopath that he was, how he got turned into a vampire, and what factored into his decision to turn himself in to the cult in an attempt at seeking salvation and redemption through death.
Speaking of which, I wouldn't mind seeing more child vampires. Especially since Bill's friend got burned with those aggressors in Dead Until Dark without a second thought. This preference is probably due to my taste when it comes to characters, and the fact that I watch anime.
When the minor character Bethany died - and characters seem to die like flies in Charlaine Harris's books, not to mention each book in this series has the word "dead" in the titles - I almost felt like it was supposed to be some fable or some sort. Watch who you hang out with, because the enemies of the people you hang out with might kill you just out of association. I'm sure I'm just overly interpreting this, but I also feel like people do sort of think of other people like that in reality, and it was a very unpleasantly limiting kind of unspoken judgment in society. An unhappy thought.
Down to the final arc in this novel, I thought the preparation for the events at the sex club were hilarious, more so highlighted by the vampire Eric's crooked sense of humor at everything. The orgy itself was nauseating, yes, but it just seems to be the literary fleshing out of another stereotype - that orgies mainly occurred in rural areas because there aren't that many things to do, and because a tight knit community sometimes leads to social pressures of the strangest sorts. There's a part of me that wants to defend this behavior, because if everything is consensual and everyone involved knows to keep their emotions in check, no one would really come to any harm, so the logic goes. The hard part there is for everyone to keep their emotions in check, though. Either way, I don't feel qualified to judge through lack of full understanding.
That doubtful sentiment gets amplified by how these characters who participate in the orgy get done in - by the maenad. It seems like poetic justice, given that maenads are worshipers of Dionysis and engaged in drinking, orgies and terrible destructive acts as well. In fact, the main differences between the maenad and these characters are that the maenad is now supernatural, she does the things she does for religious (and self righteous?) reasons, and that all maenads are female, as the legend goes. This particular maenad, Callisto, also seems to be modeled after Calypso, the witch who kept Odysseus on an island and turned all his men to pigs. I say witch for lack of a better term and clear understanding. Should I have said siren? Hm.
After all of this, I almost wish that Sookie slept with Sam instead, so that she wouldn't have to deal with the instinctive possessiveness that being with a vampire engenders. But then, the series would no longer a bunch of vampire novels, which was its main initial selling point. I have to admit that the sexual tension between Sookie and a handful of characters definitely gives the stories some oomph. One last thought: after Sookie and Bill fought over his not treating her like an equal, and the way the incident was attributed to pride at the end, made me wonder whether feminism has any standing at all in the Southern culture of North America. Oh well. Since this book was even more addictive than the pilot novel, I'm going to look for more.
There was continuity, which speaks well for book series in general. I remembered Lafayette speaking about or hinting at having attended some unconventional party in the first book, so the time line seems very linear. It almost seemed expected that he would die, in hindsight, because he was introduced in the middle or latter parts of the first book for a single scene, and we never really heard from him again. Then we got distracted by the second plot, and wouldn't find out later that the two plot paths have essentially nothing in common except for a new supernatural creature - the maenad.
A maenad is another surprising twist, considering the other supernatural creatures introduced were vampires and shapeshifters. Those two seem pretty spread across the board in terms of cultural reference and relevance, so a creature out of specifically Greek mythology was a tiny surprise. The vampires' agreement to give tribute to this creature, after declaring that it was nearly impossible to kill, set up an idea as to the hierarchy of supernatural creatures - maenads are apparently more powerful than vampires, who seem to display less fear than the underground shapeshifters.
More shapeshifters were to be found in the quest to retrieve that vampire. The quest led Sookie and Bill to the organization the Fellowship of the Sun, which turned out to be this group of religious fanatics who believe that all supernatural creatures are abominations against the Christian god. The way that the followers seem so very civilized, but let no discussion happen so that they won't have to acknowledge any dissenting opinions seemed very true to life to me. It is this kind of behavior among people that creates a cult atmosphere in the practice of some religions. The way the organization's name appealed to the sun also seemed Greek-like and paradoxically polytheistic, since there are other stars and planets, but they only sought the sun's destructive abilities as "proof" that vampires were abominations.
The character Godfrey was fascinating to me. He seemed to be somewhat of a tragic figure, used for the organization's political agenda, until he makes known that not only did he agree to have someone burn with him in a spectacle - which is the supernatural rendition of a lynching - he also used to be a child molester and serial killer. A lot about his past was left unsaid, probably due to the gruesome nature of it, but I have to wonder what made him the psychopath that he was, how he got turned into a vampire, and what factored into his decision to turn himself in to the cult in an attempt at seeking salvation and redemption through death.
Speaking of which, I wouldn't mind seeing more child vampires. Especially since Bill's friend got burned with those aggressors in Dead Until Dark without a second thought. This preference is probably due to my taste when it comes to characters, and the fact that I watch anime.
When the minor character Bethany died - and characters seem to die like flies in Charlaine Harris's books, not to mention each book in this series has the word "dead" in the titles - I almost felt like it was supposed to be some fable or some sort. Watch who you hang out with, because the enemies of the people you hang out with might kill you just out of association. I'm sure I'm just overly interpreting this, but I also feel like people do sort of think of other people like that in reality, and it was a very unpleasantly limiting kind of unspoken judgment in society. An unhappy thought.
Down to the final arc in this novel, I thought the preparation for the events at the sex club were hilarious, more so highlighted by the vampire Eric's crooked sense of humor at everything. The orgy itself was nauseating, yes, but it just seems to be the literary fleshing out of another stereotype - that orgies mainly occurred in rural areas because there aren't that many things to do, and because a tight knit community sometimes leads to social pressures of the strangest sorts. There's a part of me that wants to defend this behavior, because if everything is consensual and everyone involved knows to keep their emotions in check, no one would really come to any harm, so the logic goes. The hard part there is for everyone to keep their emotions in check, though. Either way, I don't feel qualified to judge through lack of full understanding.
That doubtful sentiment gets amplified by how these characters who participate in the orgy get done in - by the maenad. It seems like poetic justice, given that maenads are worshipers of Dionysis and engaged in drinking, orgies and terrible destructive acts as well. In fact, the main differences between the maenad and these characters are that the maenad is now supernatural, she does the things she does for religious (and self righteous?) reasons, and that all maenads are female, as the legend goes. This particular maenad, Callisto, also seems to be modeled after Calypso, the witch who kept Odysseus on an island and turned all his men to pigs. I say witch for lack of a better term and clear understanding. Should I have said siren? Hm.
After all of this, I almost wish that Sookie slept with Sam instead, so that she wouldn't have to deal with the instinctive possessiveness that being with a vampire engenders. But then, the series would no longer a bunch of vampire novels, which was its main initial selling point. I have to admit that the sexual tension between Sookie and a handful of characters definitely gives the stories some oomph. One last thought: after Sookie and Bill fought over his not treating her like an equal, and the way the incident was attributed to pride at the end, made me wonder whether feminism has any standing at all in the Southern culture of North America. Oh well. Since this book was even more addictive than the pilot novel, I'm going to look for more.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Dead Until Dark, by Charlaine Harris
This series was recommended to me by a coworker. I had also heard about its television adaptation True Blood, but I feel that the books are always better because my imagination is a personal space where it's just me and the author, and I don't have to accept the additional interpretations of the director and actors. One of my friends also started reading this series, but she didn't like the main character, and so didn't continue. With all of this background and input from other people in mind, I started reading this book.
My first thought was brain candy. It has the feel of urban fantasy but is set in a rural town, where the protagonist is a waitress who thinks that vampires are fascinating. I have this thought that Asians are the vampires of reality, so I read the fascination and fear associated with supernatural creatures in books as misunderstandings and racism. And Sookie seems like such a sheltered, unassuming character. I found her likable right away, especially since she got into a fight to defend the vampire just on principle, and that banished any notions put into my head that Sookie might be a weakling.
It's true that she cried a lot, but given the handful of deaths of loved ones and people she knows surrounding her, I think it's only justified. She certainly doesn't resemble most noir protagonists, but since this novel turned out to be a mystery, she qualifies. As the murders went down, the case was complicated by the long list of suspects, racism against Sookie for dating a male vampire, and the complexities of the relationship itself.
The villain was very well crafted. Since he defended Sookie a few times against people who were hitting on her and such, he was subtly mentally labeled "nice guy," even though she couldn't read his mind. Everyone had a handful of motives, and since it was all around a bar dash coffee place, so many people showed up and left in a day that it felt hard to keep track of. That, added to the way no one suspects someone close to them, even though the majority of all crimes is committed by someone known to the victim. So everyone was pretty much a suspect for a while, and it was hard to put down the book and actually think it over when it was written to be so action packed and fast paced.
Almost everyone was ambivalent about Sookie and Bill dating. Anyone who has ever been in an interracial relationship would relate to this. In fact, interracial dating was referenced by the cook, who happens to be a black gay human. There's the grandmother, who's glad that Sookie is dating at all, but her brother pretty much said something like, okay, if that's what you want. Some from the vampire community felt that it was wrong to mainstream, that it was betraying the culture, so they pushed Sookie around to provoke Bill. Others who intend to mainstream want to use Sookie for her mind reading talents and also think that psychics' blood is very tasty. It's no wonder that she felt so alone.
Meanwhile, Bill and Sookie have a hard time communicating, because of cultural - well, biological - differences, where they have to work around each others schedules because he doesn't come out during the day time and she has leeway, but generally sleeps at night. The first few dates were punctuated by the very different mating practices and the fact that she has next to no experience. (Why do vampire novels emphasize virgins? Is this more about that racism thing again?) I also related to the whole thing where a relationship impacts both parties, but in a heterosexual relationship, I invariably feel that the female is judged far more harshly.
It turns out that beneath all the interactions of the myriad of characters, there is more depth and commentary on society than just a plain old vanilla vampire book cum romance. The mystery, for example, leads to somewhat unusual detective work where instead of talking to people about where they were at a certain time and why, Sookie just reads their minds. The style has the feel of urban fantasy, but with home town and Southern accenting and culture. I also thought the author was very adept at describing vampires in their bloodlust, but that may be why she chose this particular supernatural creature to work with. I was also surprised that Sam was outed so quickly, though I was not surprised that there is a love triangle already, because romance seems to be a staple of many fantasy series for women.
My first thought was brain candy. It has the feel of urban fantasy but is set in a rural town, where the protagonist is a waitress who thinks that vampires are fascinating. I have this thought that Asians are the vampires of reality, so I read the fascination and fear associated with supernatural creatures in books as misunderstandings and racism. And Sookie seems like such a sheltered, unassuming character. I found her likable right away, especially since she got into a fight to defend the vampire just on principle, and that banished any notions put into my head that Sookie might be a weakling.
It's true that she cried a lot, but given the handful of deaths of loved ones and people she knows surrounding her, I think it's only justified. She certainly doesn't resemble most noir protagonists, but since this novel turned out to be a mystery, she qualifies. As the murders went down, the case was complicated by the long list of suspects, racism against Sookie for dating a male vampire, and the complexities of the relationship itself.
The villain was very well crafted. Since he defended Sookie a few times against people who were hitting on her and such, he was subtly mentally labeled "nice guy," even though she couldn't read his mind. Everyone had a handful of motives, and since it was all around a bar dash coffee place, so many people showed up and left in a day that it felt hard to keep track of. That, added to the way no one suspects someone close to them, even though the majority of all crimes is committed by someone known to the victim. So everyone was pretty much a suspect for a while, and it was hard to put down the book and actually think it over when it was written to be so action packed and fast paced.
Almost everyone was ambivalent about Sookie and Bill dating. Anyone who has ever been in an interracial relationship would relate to this. In fact, interracial dating was referenced by the cook, who happens to be a black gay human. There's the grandmother, who's glad that Sookie is dating at all, but her brother pretty much said something like, okay, if that's what you want. Some from the vampire community felt that it was wrong to mainstream, that it was betraying the culture, so they pushed Sookie around to provoke Bill. Others who intend to mainstream want to use Sookie for her mind reading talents and also think that psychics' blood is very tasty. It's no wonder that she felt so alone.
Meanwhile, Bill and Sookie have a hard time communicating, because of cultural - well, biological - differences, where they have to work around each others schedules because he doesn't come out during the day time and she has leeway, but generally sleeps at night. The first few dates were punctuated by the very different mating practices and the fact that she has next to no experience. (Why do vampire novels emphasize virgins? Is this more about that racism thing again?) I also related to the whole thing where a relationship impacts both parties, but in a heterosexual relationship, I invariably feel that the female is judged far more harshly.
It turns out that beneath all the interactions of the myriad of characters, there is more depth and commentary on society than just a plain old vanilla vampire book cum romance. The mystery, for example, leads to somewhat unusual detective work where instead of talking to people about where they were at a certain time and why, Sookie just reads their minds. The style has the feel of urban fantasy, but with home town and Southern accenting and culture. I also thought the author was very adept at describing vampires in their bloodlust, but that may be why she chose this particular supernatural creature to work with. I was also surprised that Sam was outed so quickly, though I was not surprised that there is a love triangle already, because romance seems to be a staple of many fantasy series for women.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Oathbound, by Mercedes Lackey
Mercedes Lackey has been one of my favorites since around high school. I feel as if I know Kethry really well since reading her in By the Sword more than a few years ago. However, both the author's writing style and I must have changed considerably, because Kethry is not nearly as tough as I remember. Then again, I may be just viewing her in a contrasting light against Tarma, who seems to be by definition as tough as door nails and paired with a harsh countenance for its sake, too.
The story starts out slow. The way it stays slow throughout the first half of the book disappointed me because I wanted something action oriented and plot driven, but the book ended up being something of a fable about the nature of a relationship and all the intricacies of care two people must bring into it. A little voice inside me tells me that I should relate more to this, having been in relationship after relationship - all of them long and serious - but the two characters are in essence trying to start a family and build a business, and I'm just not there yet.
Thankfully, though, there were moments when I still really enjoyed the book. I thought everything was really starting when the two women entered into a part of the forest after the Plains out of curiosity, and there was a sort of Wonderland-like setting where nature was so much alive that the plants can think and move. The arrival of the kyree Warrl - it's such a funny name, like a childlike noise, Warrl - was really what began the book for me. I was interested in why the giant wolf-cat shied away from the spelled sword Need, but oh well.
Tarma's return to her Plains clans and Kethry's meeting them there spoke a little about bringing home an Outclan - fantasy speak for interracial - mate that matches reality in a fairly awkward and sad way, which is how these things usually play out. The pressure that Tarma faced in regards to having to have children to form a clan, despite the clans' own rules about being Sword Sworn and having to wreak vengeance on the destroyers of a clan, seem unduly harsh. I thought of it as a statement on the potential hypocrisies of traditional values.
When they left the Plains, the story line became kind of episodic, because they would go and solve cases according to where the spelled sword Need took them, which is usually to the aid of some woman. And again, I felt like there were many lulls, and the real plot only began with first the banishing of Thalkarsh the demon, and later again with the exiling of the bandit Longknife.
Here I wondered why the evil and suffering that the demon fed on must include sex, though it was probably because he took over people's minds and made them entertain him against their will. Still, the association gave sex a bad rep, and the author knew that the imagery for the villains was kind of cliched, but used the icons of cult practice and demon worship anyway. (Did anyone call the partying, orgies and revelry of Bacchus, the god of wine and debauchery, a cult practice? It's all perspective. Of course, nowadays, anything that takes too much money away from its practitioners is considered a cult.)
The twist here is that two major villains came back to get at our protagonists, and that Need is essentially a sexist sword, because it became powerless when Thalkarsh turned Landknife into a woman. When he was made into a woman against his will, he thought it was killing him because his identity was vanishing, but in my opinion, it was really just the dominance and privilege he missed, because that was what he associated with masculinity. It's his weak mind when it came to resisting base bodily pleasures that was mainly his undoing. Being small seems to be the one attribute that the villains kept imposing upon the two women, so that they were too weak to fight. Is this a commentary on modern media standards of attractiveness? Meanwhile, Thalkarsh thrives on the shock value of his deeds, which was why he was nonplussed when the orgies and decoration had no effect on the little priest when he came to talk to him.
When it came down to it, I felt like the plot had a lot of build up for a kind of sketchy and hurried resolution. It just seemed like the protagonists were lucky that Tarma was a friend to this Nemor, arch priest of the Anathei. He was a twist himself, because I thought that he would be a minor character given that at first he was not named. He also serves as a kind of father figure to the two women, especially when he calls them "child". The idea was that the priest somehow used the energy released when Warrl attacked Kethry to switch everyone back, and also to imprison Thalkarsh in Lastel's body. The image of Lastel herself is another stereotype: pampered, weak, blond and attractive.
There are many more subjects touched upon when readers stop to think about what the icons, actions and twists of the story meant. I feel that its message in terms of feminism is kind of vague and contradictory, but maybe that's because I feel so strongly about it that I'm a purist. By itself however, without an analytical mind, it's just a tale that has a slow start with some good buildup, that comes to abrupt finish. In my opinion, this book was not the best that Mercedes Lackey has to offer.
The story starts out slow. The way it stays slow throughout the first half of the book disappointed me because I wanted something action oriented and plot driven, but the book ended up being something of a fable about the nature of a relationship and all the intricacies of care two people must bring into it. A little voice inside me tells me that I should relate more to this, having been in relationship after relationship - all of them long and serious - but the two characters are in essence trying to start a family and build a business, and I'm just not there yet.
Thankfully, though, there were moments when I still really enjoyed the book. I thought everything was really starting when the two women entered into a part of the forest after the Plains out of curiosity, and there was a sort of Wonderland-like setting where nature was so much alive that the plants can think and move. The arrival of the kyree Warrl - it's such a funny name, like a childlike noise, Warrl - was really what began the book for me. I was interested in why the giant wolf-cat shied away from the spelled sword Need, but oh well.
Tarma's return to her Plains clans and Kethry's meeting them there spoke a little about bringing home an Outclan - fantasy speak for interracial - mate that matches reality in a fairly awkward and sad way, which is how these things usually play out. The pressure that Tarma faced in regards to having to have children to form a clan, despite the clans' own rules about being Sword Sworn and having to wreak vengeance on the destroyers of a clan, seem unduly harsh. I thought of it as a statement on the potential hypocrisies of traditional values.
When they left the Plains, the story line became kind of episodic, because they would go and solve cases according to where the spelled sword Need took them, which is usually to the aid of some woman. And again, I felt like there were many lulls, and the real plot only began with first the banishing of Thalkarsh the demon, and later again with the exiling of the bandit Longknife.
Here I wondered why the evil and suffering that the demon fed on must include sex, though it was probably because he took over people's minds and made them entertain him against their will. Still, the association gave sex a bad rep, and the author knew that the imagery for the villains was kind of cliched, but used the icons of cult practice and demon worship anyway. (Did anyone call the partying, orgies and revelry of Bacchus, the god of wine and debauchery, a cult practice? It's all perspective. Of course, nowadays, anything that takes too much money away from its practitioners is considered a cult.)
The twist here is that two major villains came back to get at our protagonists, and that Need is essentially a sexist sword, because it became powerless when Thalkarsh turned Landknife into a woman. When he was made into a woman against his will, he thought it was killing him because his identity was vanishing, but in my opinion, it was really just the dominance and privilege he missed, because that was what he associated with masculinity. It's his weak mind when it came to resisting base bodily pleasures that was mainly his undoing. Being small seems to be the one attribute that the villains kept imposing upon the two women, so that they were too weak to fight. Is this a commentary on modern media standards of attractiveness? Meanwhile, Thalkarsh thrives on the shock value of his deeds, which was why he was nonplussed when the orgies and decoration had no effect on the little priest when he came to talk to him.
When it came down to it, I felt like the plot had a lot of build up for a kind of sketchy and hurried resolution. It just seemed like the protagonists were lucky that Tarma was a friend to this Nemor, arch priest of the Anathei. He was a twist himself, because I thought that he would be a minor character given that at first he was not named. He also serves as a kind of father figure to the two women, especially when he calls them "child". The idea was that the priest somehow used the energy released when Warrl attacked Kethry to switch everyone back, and also to imprison Thalkarsh in Lastel's body. The image of Lastel herself is another stereotype: pampered, weak, blond and attractive.
There are many more subjects touched upon when readers stop to think about what the icons, actions and twists of the story meant. I feel that its message in terms of feminism is kind of vague and contradictory, but maybe that's because I feel so strongly about it that I'm a purist. By itself however, without an analytical mind, it's just a tale that has a slow start with some good buildup, that comes to abrupt finish. In my opinion, this book was not the best that Mercedes Lackey has to offer.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Review for Silverthorn, by Raymond E. Feist
Each period in the lives of the favorite characters of Raymond E. Feist's books is marked by a series, and the series combined make for a continuous series: a saga. Despite not remembering whether I mentioned them here, I've read through Magician: Apprentice and Magician: Master, stories which detail the life of Pug of Crydee, and the merging of two worlds.
Silverthorn takes place after these two books. Pug is still involved, but the cast of characters has changed and expanded since his boyhood, as is expected. This story continues the Riftwar, tying up some loose ends and revealing others. Personally, as someone who reads for both character and plot, I've come to really enjoy the presences of Arutha, Jimmy and Martin. They are well written, each with very distinct personalities, clear voices and decisive actions.
Because I was searching for this continuation, I actually went forward and read Krondor: Tear of the Gods ahead of time, not realizing that that book was later in the timeline than this one until well into the text. But that doesn't matter here, except to say that it was harder to get into that story - partially because I didn't read it in sequence - mostly because it was harder to care about most of the cast until Jimmy and Arutha appeared. I didn't care much for Jazhara at all.
When creating a villain, good writers know that they must create a close match, a good opponent for their protagonists. This was completed very well in this story, because Murmandamus - while a flat character who hates humans for seemingly no reason - comes up with very detailed plans and has the necessary (evil) charisma to gather millions of power hungry and greedy people across different species into his armies. He's also mysterious enough to make me wonder where he disappears off to when not orating to his subordinates, and that would keep me reading.
I wished that Aglaranna, the elf queen, were more involved, as well as Tomas, Pug's childhood friend and rival, and didn't like the explanation that they shouldn't leave their power base, but I understood that that was necessary in terms of how magic worked in that world.
I also wished that the Watchers in the north weren't also elves, because I was looking forward to another new, different species after Pug's brief encounter with the Thun. However, the Watchers' relation to the elves had been foreshadowed in the earliest pages when Aglaranna, Tomas and Arutha's party had a meeting about what to do for Anita, and the various history between the nonhumans of Midkemia. The semi-conscious reason for my wishing that the Watchers were a different species was because that ice spire reminded me of Ursula K. LeGuin's Left Hand of Darkness, but similar architecture obviously does not indicate similar culture.
It was good to know that Laurie the bard as a character can fight, even though he served to be primarily comedy at the beginning, what with Carline's fishwifery and all. I understand that Midkemia culture is supposed to resemble somewhat medieval leanings in society, but my own feminist sensibilities were offended at Anita's sleeping beauty storyline as well as Carline's insistence upon marriage to the unhappily committing bard. There was also no female in the band of fighters, and I know the author tries to amend for this with Jazhara in a later book, but the attempt seems weak to me, and he couldn't really let go of having that female character need a significant other as well. That stood out to me a lot, especially in direct contrast with Jimmy's vagabond lifestyle and freewheeling habit of courting danger instead of women.
Feminist dissatisfactions aside, and I imagine there is a lot of that in the science fiction and fantasy community, which seems to be why many female writers write for primarily female audiences, it was a good book. The battle scenes are impressive as usual, the settings are well detailed, imaginable to the point of being mostly real, and the plot was a definite page turner. Now I know that there is even more to the Riftwar, and that by the time the Krondor series rolls around, the denizens of darkness become less flat, which is always something to look forward to. I should pick up more books from Barnes & Noble before going in to work for the day.
Silverthorn takes place after these two books. Pug is still involved, but the cast of characters has changed and expanded since his boyhood, as is expected. This story continues the Riftwar, tying up some loose ends and revealing others. Personally, as someone who reads for both character and plot, I've come to really enjoy the presences of Arutha, Jimmy and Martin. They are well written, each with very distinct personalities, clear voices and decisive actions.
Because I was searching for this continuation, I actually went forward and read Krondor: Tear of the Gods ahead of time, not realizing that that book was later in the timeline than this one until well into the text. But that doesn't matter here, except to say that it was harder to get into that story - partially because I didn't read it in sequence - mostly because it was harder to care about most of the cast until Jimmy and Arutha appeared. I didn't care much for Jazhara at all.
When creating a villain, good writers know that they must create a close match, a good opponent for their protagonists. This was completed very well in this story, because Murmandamus - while a flat character who hates humans for seemingly no reason - comes up with very detailed plans and has the necessary (evil) charisma to gather millions of power hungry and greedy people across different species into his armies. He's also mysterious enough to make me wonder where he disappears off to when not orating to his subordinates, and that would keep me reading.
I wished that Aglaranna, the elf queen, were more involved, as well as Tomas, Pug's childhood friend and rival, and didn't like the explanation that they shouldn't leave their power base, but I understood that that was necessary in terms of how magic worked in that world.
I also wished that the Watchers in the north weren't also elves, because I was looking forward to another new, different species after Pug's brief encounter with the Thun. However, the Watchers' relation to the elves had been foreshadowed in the earliest pages when Aglaranna, Tomas and Arutha's party had a meeting about what to do for Anita, and the various history between the nonhumans of Midkemia. The semi-conscious reason for my wishing that the Watchers were a different species was because that ice spire reminded me of Ursula K. LeGuin's Left Hand of Darkness, but similar architecture obviously does not indicate similar culture.
It was good to know that Laurie the bard as a character can fight, even though he served to be primarily comedy at the beginning, what with Carline's fishwifery and all. I understand that Midkemia culture is supposed to resemble somewhat medieval leanings in society, but my own feminist sensibilities were offended at Anita's sleeping beauty storyline as well as Carline's insistence upon marriage to the unhappily committing bard. There was also no female in the band of fighters, and I know the author tries to amend for this with Jazhara in a later book, but the attempt seems weak to me, and he couldn't really let go of having that female character need a significant other as well. That stood out to me a lot, especially in direct contrast with Jimmy's vagabond lifestyle and freewheeling habit of courting danger instead of women.
Feminist dissatisfactions aside, and I imagine there is a lot of that in the science fiction and fantasy community, which seems to be why many female writers write for primarily female audiences, it was a good book. The battle scenes are impressive as usual, the settings are well detailed, imaginable to the point of being mostly real, and the plot was a definite page turner. Now I know that there is even more to the Riftwar, and that by the time the Krondor series rolls around, the denizens of darkness become less flat, which is always something to look forward to. I should pick up more books from Barnes & Noble before going in to work for the day.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Review for Hunter's Prayer, by Lilith Saintcrow
Hunter's Prayer has a handful of intricate plot devices, one within another, and then they all click together like a nicely made puzzle with a pretty picture. A good, satisfying read. What seems to be individual cases mesh to become part of a bigger, more intense storyline with higher stakes. There's a bit of offhand foreshadowing too; for instance, the scene where Jill had the class of rookies was to follow up on a seemingly offhand line in the previous book, to explain how Weres transform, and probably to hint at a future event involving one of these rookie cops in a later book.
Lilith Saintcrow again plays on her sense of irony when terrible things happen in church and to religious people. The relationship between Jill and Saul develops further, as par for the course in the romance portion of this heady novel - we will see in the third book whether the two get an actual vacation and get married, or whether a pesky hellbreed called Perry gets in the way. He develops as a character too, getting even more complicated - because of his vague intentions - and more interesting than even Saul as a character, though Saul is still hiding something as well. We still haven't found out what it is about Jill that Perry wants aside from her body, or why he wants to turn her into hellbreed.
The idea of blood sacrifice is very tribal and Mayan, though prostitution is definitely an age old practice. Having the pimps' cowardice and suffering of the whores around again pulls the book back from the fantasy realm, reminding readers that of the cops-and-robbers and noir element of the series. Jill's reaction to each woman that she meets also adds a feminist worldview to our first person narrative, something thrown directly at the adult female audience. There are such people as male prostitutes too, though. There seems to be many characters who are around just to be sources of information for Jill, the cops excluded. Having the spirit creature around to almost-kill Jill and mislead her, when no one knew what it is, seems to be a cheap trick unless the series lasts more than three books, and there are plenty more new made-up creatures to come.
Lilith Saintcrow got my attention when Saul wanted Jill to stay with Perry for the night, for her protection. When Belisa, the Sorrow who killed Mikhail, arrived, the atmosphere came closer to the revenge oriented mindset of kung fu movies, except that she ended up not being the main villainess this time after all. The appearances of Cecilia, and later, the other girls, reminded me of how early young women started dating today, pushed into the fashionable world by consumerism and television icons. The veritable contrast between Jill and these girls seem to illustrate a generation gap, or simply an example of the differences in fate between people for the sheer power of luck.
I think my favorite scene was when Saul, Perry and Jill were all in the same kitchen, being allies and talking over the case in a civil manner, even though Saul and Perry obviously despised each other. It makes for beautiful intrigue and a tense undercurrent, a very specific kind of drama that I enjoy reading about. The following scene, with all the dead bodies in a single room in pieces, reminded me of this really dark game I used to play, called Diablo. There was one demi-boss, the Butcher, that dwelled in a room with an entire floor of bloodied rotting corpses, some of which are held aloft in the air by these spears that were built into the ground. I doubt Lilith Saintcrow has a role-playing game background, but I wouldn't perish the thought.
While I wasn't impressed by Night Shift, Hunter's Prayer made up for it, and I'm looking forward to Redemption Alley, particularly the scenes with Jill and Perry.
Lilith Saintcrow again plays on her sense of irony when terrible things happen in church and to religious people. The relationship between Jill and Saul develops further, as par for the course in the romance portion of this heady novel - we will see in the third book whether the two get an actual vacation and get married, or whether a pesky hellbreed called Perry gets in the way. He develops as a character too, getting even more complicated - because of his vague intentions - and more interesting than even Saul as a character, though Saul is still hiding something as well. We still haven't found out what it is about Jill that Perry wants aside from her body, or why he wants to turn her into hellbreed.
The idea of blood sacrifice is very tribal and Mayan, though prostitution is definitely an age old practice. Having the pimps' cowardice and suffering of the whores around again pulls the book back from the fantasy realm, reminding readers that of the cops-and-robbers and noir element of the series. Jill's reaction to each woman that she meets also adds a feminist worldview to our first person narrative, something thrown directly at the adult female audience. There are such people as male prostitutes too, though. There seems to be many characters who are around just to be sources of information for Jill, the cops excluded. Having the spirit creature around to almost-kill Jill and mislead her, when no one knew what it is, seems to be a cheap trick unless the series lasts more than three books, and there are plenty more new made-up creatures to come.
Lilith Saintcrow got my attention when Saul wanted Jill to stay with Perry for the night, for her protection. When Belisa, the Sorrow who killed Mikhail, arrived, the atmosphere came closer to the revenge oriented mindset of kung fu movies, except that she ended up not being the main villainess this time after all. The appearances of Cecilia, and later, the other girls, reminded me of how early young women started dating today, pushed into the fashionable world by consumerism and television icons. The veritable contrast between Jill and these girls seem to illustrate a generation gap, or simply an example of the differences in fate between people for the sheer power of luck.
I think my favorite scene was when Saul, Perry and Jill were all in the same kitchen, being allies and talking over the case in a civil manner, even though Saul and Perry obviously despised each other. It makes for beautiful intrigue and a tense undercurrent, a very specific kind of drama that I enjoy reading about. The following scene, with all the dead bodies in a single room in pieces, reminded me of this really dark game I used to play, called Diablo. There was one demi-boss, the Butcher, that dwelled in a room with an entire floor of bloodied rotting corpses, some of which are held aloft in the air by these spears that were built into the ground. I doubt Lilith Saintcrow has a role-playing game background, but I wouldn't perish the thought.
While I wasn't impressed by Night Shift, Hunter's Prayer made up for it, and I'm looking forward to Redemption Alley, particularly the scenes with Jill and Perry.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Review for Night Shift, by Lilith Saintcrow
While Lilith Saintcrow stays true to the fantasy noir element in this series, the postmodern cyberpunk attitude has been turned down a full couple of notches. The protagonist Jill Kismet is a hunter, a private investigator dealing with incidents involving the fantastical creatures of the night. Again, the author has the first book mainly as introductory interactions of the characters, the world and the society. It feels as if she isn't going too deeply into anything yet, despite the focus on the murder case and the plot revolving around that.
Because I read her Dante Valentine series, I can't help but make a few compare and contrasts in my head. The similarities seem to be that both protagonists have deep psychic wounds from the deaths of others, and maybe as a result tend to fiercely keep friends at bay. For some reason or other, the male leads happen to worm their way into the femme fatales' affections anyway, even if through sheer stubbornness and devotion. Differences involve mostly the general tone of the novel, which seems to be more cynical and wistfully depressed rather than sardonic and nearly stark raving mad. So it's like Saul Dustcircle and Japhrimel are the same person, but Japhrimel is much more powerful. Perry is like Lucifer here, but then there is someone who is equally if not more powerful than him. Mikhail seems to be Jill Kismet's Jace Monroe. Again, the main love interest is introduced in the first book.
While Jill's sanity is a relief to read compared to Dante's mental circles, it also seems less compelling, somehow. The chapters in italics are obviously memories, yet we readers don't really know exactly when they pop up in the context of the rest of the story - maybe they are dreams, because sometimes they happen right after the protagonist falls asleep. Both Jill and Dante firmly grasp onto the notion of being human, as if for dear life. As opposed to Gabe and Eddie's respective psion and Skinlin orientations, the Weres seem to have a more complex honor system and ways of relating to each other. Lilith Saintcrow's protagonists also seem to have a fixation on the sense of smell.
Anyway, aside from my mental comparisons to Dante Valentine, Jill Kismet didn't make much of an impression yet, though I'll admit it must require a really strong will to kill one's pimps, train and be strong and then make a separate living out of that, starting over. Because of Dante, though, Jill now seems like a prototype. The tough-girl default.
By itself, though, Jill would be a quietly bitter tasting broth. The text kept telling me that the case she was dealing with was unusual, the patterns didn't fit. Since this was the readers' first time into this world as this was the first book of this series, the thought doesn't register as well as it should, because I don't have a norm to compare this to. I am reading and being told that these semi supernatural beings act a certain way, and that the norm for them doesn't fit with the details of the case, but I didn't even have time to get used to the idea of the norm for them yet. All in all, I wasn't particularly impressed with this particular book, but there are far less obvious references - maybe they're getting more subtle - so I'm holding out in the hopes that the second book in this series would give me more to think about.
Because I read her Dante Valentine series, I can't help but make a few compare and contrasts in my head. The similarities seem to be that both protagonists have deep psychic wounds from the deaths of others, and maybe as a result tend to fiercely keep friends at bay. For some reason or other, the male leads happen to worm their way into the femme fatales' affections anyway, even if through sheer stubbornness and devotion. Differences involve mostly the general tone of the novel, which seems to be more cynical and wistfully depressed rather than sardonic and nearly stark raving mad. So it's like Saul Dustcircle and Japhrimel are the same person, but Japhrimel is much more powerful. Perry is like Lucifer here, but then there is someone who is equally if not more powerful than him. Mikhail seems to be Jill Kismet's Jace Monroe. Again, the main love interest is introduced in the first book.
While Jill's sanity is a relief to read compared to Dante's mental circles, it also seems less compelling, somehow. The chapters in italics are obviously memories, yet we readers don't really know exactly when they pop up in the context of the rest of the story - maybe they are dreams, because sometimes they happen right after the protagonist falls asleep. Both Jill and Dante firmly grasp onto the notion of being human, as if for dear life. As opposed to Gabe and Eddie's respective psion and Skinlin orientations, the Weres seem to have a more complex honor system and ways of relating to each other. Lilith Saintcrow's protagonists also seem to have a fixation on the sense of smell.
Anyway, aside from my mental comparisons to Dante Valentine, Jill Kismet didn't make much of an impression yet, though I'll admit it must require a really strong will to kill one's pimps, train and be strong and then make a separate living out of that, starting over. Because of Dante, though, Jill now seems like a prototype. The tough-girl default.
By itself, though, Jill would be a quietly bitter tasting broth. The text kept telling me that the case she was dealing with was unusual, the patterns didn't fit. Since this was the readers' first time into this world as this was the first book of this series, the thought doesn't register as well as it should, because I don't have a norm to compare this to. I am reading and being told that these semi supernatural beings act a certain way, and that the norm for them doesn't fit with the details of the case, but I didn't even have time to get used to the idea of the norm for them yet. All in all, I wasn't particularly impressed with this particular book, but there are far less obvious references - maybe they're getting more subtle - so I'm holding out in the hopes that the second book in this series would give me more to think about.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Review for Blood Promise, by Richelle Mead
Blood Promise is the fourth book of a series, and the other titles can be found here. Richelle Mead specializes in writing stories that keep their upbeat attitude and slightly sarcastic sense of humor, despite putting her characters through excruciating danger. The plot progresses quickly, and the summarization for previous books, as well as character development, happens so lightly that it's hard to notice. For this reason, these books make for very light reading - I finished this one book within less than two days. A real page turner, very entertaining.
Having a strong main character seems to affect more aspects of a story than I imagined. The plot cannot move as fast without someone who is very determined. If Rose didn't have a strong and defiant will, she might have fallen in some battles before this, or worse, decided to stay and become Dimitri's pet blood whore. Or even stayed with the Belikovs, to live out a quiet life as a suburban dhampir. That's not nearly as likely though, because someone named Abe kept seeking her out when she was in that town.
While Richelle Mead is very good at plot twists, the tone of the story made it clear that things were on the upturn since Rose's decision to leave St. Vladimir and seek out Dimitri again. At the end of the previous book, because of Dimitri's depart and Rose's leaving Lissa behind, it was a sort of a sour note. However, when this book began, Rose seemed impatient, but not despairing. Having Dimitri find her and confine her was a definite plot twist, though. There's something about the fantasy action romance genre books that I've been reading lately - these authors love their hot male characters. I suppose it's because males in reality aren't up to par; which woman wouldn't want a physically strong and emotionally devoted man by her side?
The science of spirit becomes more and more interesting, as it is the main difference between Moroi and Strigoi. Spirit users seem to have almost schizophrenic tendencies. Because these are fantasy novels, such things aren't very clearly explained, lending to their mystique. The way that Rose couldn't resist using her mind to keep checking in on Lissa almost made sure that Lissa would be back in Rose's life too. It was a bit of an obvious foreshadowing, but one that I didn't mind, because it made Rose's journey less lonely, more eventful, and was even helpful in passing the time when she was confined by Dimitri. But it also served the second plot of Avery's designs on Lissa. Not many authors can juggle two plots, so applause to Richelle Mead.
Her style is such that a lot of attention is given to character interaction, so that her descriptions of settings are just enough that they hold up to the future events in the plot. When Dimitri took Rose for that walk, I already knew that she would have a chance to escape - both because the plot needed to move along, and also because most of the time this author didn't bother with descriptions of the setting in much detail unless the character would need to use it within a few chapters. Those chapters may also serve to emphasize the fates of blood whores, the disgust for which most of that world holds these blood whores, Dimitri's feelings (or lack thereof, in this case) for Rose, and to illustrate more of the differences between Moroi and Strigoi.
Given what readers already knew of Dimitri's original character, his actions here speak volumes about the physical and psychic transition of a being turned into a Strigoi. The Strigoi seem to be the werewolves of that vampire world, because of their sense of fierce competition, which is so absolute that two Strigoi are hard put to work together. They also seem to operate mainly through the senses, very animal-like, with no real comprehension of feelings and higher reasoning. It is as Dimitri said, "Predator and prey." If this were more a sci fi novel than a fantasy one, one of them would be captured and taken in for physical and psychological analyses. Readers' beloved Dimitri has become the most interesting anti-hero/villain for the next few books.
Another intriguing character was Abe. I wonder for what purpose he thought Rose really had come to Russia. And while dangerous, this arc struck me as a peculiar study-abroad type of experience for Rose, only it was for love and funded by Adrian's family money. If Dimitri didn't come back, I can see Rose getting together with Adrian, now that she developed some respect for him because of his protective nature of Lissa. I also wonder what Queen Tatiana's powers were, and wouldn't mind Lissa becoming as powerful as Avery is. Intricate friendships require all sorts of emotions, and the guilty aspect of Rose's leaving Lissa when she was searching for Dimitri was very touching and real to me. I thought it was something that everyone must experience after they leave school.
Having a strong main character seems to affect more aspects of a story than I imagined. The plot cannot move as fast without someone who is very determined. If Rose didn't have a strong and defiant will, she might have fallen in some battles before this, or worse, decided to stay and become Dimitri's pet blood whore. Or even stayed with the Belikovs, to live out a quiet life as a suburban dhampir. That's not nearly as likely though, because someone named Abe kept seeking her out when she was in that town.
While Richelle Mead is very good at plot twists, the tone of the story made it clear that things were on the upturn since Rose's decision to leave St. Vladimir and seek out Dimitri again. At the end of the previous book, because of Dimitri's depart and Rose's leaving Lissa behind, it was a sort of a sour note. However, when this book began, Rose seemed impatient, but not despairing. Having Dimitri find her and confine her was a definite plot twist, though. There's something about the fantasy action romance genre books that I've been reading lately - these authors love their hot male characters. I suppose it's because males in reality aren't up to par; which woman wouldn't want a physically strong and emotionally devoted man by her side?
The science of spirit becomes more and more interesting, as it is the main difference between Moroi and Strigoi. Spirit users seem to have almost schizophrenic tendencies. Because these are fantasy novels, such things aren't very clearly explained, lending to their mystique. The way that Rose couldn't resist using her mind to keep checking in on Lissa almost made sure that Lissa would be back in Rose's life too. It was a bit of an obvious foreshadowing, but one that I didn't mind, because it made Rose's journey less lonely, more eventful, and was even helpful in passing the time when she was confined by Dimitri. But it also served the second plot of Avery's designs on Lissa. Not many authors can juggle two plots, so applause to Richelle Mead.
Her style is such that a lot of attention is given to character interaction, so that her descriptions of settings are just enough that they hold up to the future events in the plot. When Dimitri took Rose for that walk, I already knew that she would have a chance to escape - both because the plot needed to move along, and also because most of the time this author didn't bother with descriptions of the setting in much detail unless the character would need to use it within a few chapters. Those chapters may also serve to emphasize the fates of blood whores, the disgust for which most of that world holds these blood whores, Dimitri's feelings (or lack thereof, in this case) for Rose, and to illustrate more of the differences between Moroi and Strigoi.
Given what readers already knew of Dimitri's original character, his actions here speak volumes about the physical and psychic transition of a being turned into a Strigoi. The Strigoi seem to be the werewolves of that vampire world, because of their sense of fierce competition, which is so absolute that two Strigoi are hard put to work together. They also seem to operate mainly through the senses, very animal-like, with no real comprehension of feelings and higher reasoning. It is as Dimitri said, "Predator and prey." If this were more a sci fi novel than a fantasy one, one of them would be captured and taken in for physical and psychological analyses. Readers' beloved Dimitri has become the most interesting anti-hero/villain for the next few books.
Another intriguing character was Abe. I wonder for what purpose he thought Rose really had come to Russia. And while dangerous, this arc struck me as a peculiar study-abroad type of experience for Rose, only it was for love and funded by Adrian's family money. If Dimitri didn't come back, I can see Rose getting together with Adrian, now that she developed some respect for him because of his protective nature of Lissa. I also wonder what Queen Tatiana's powers were, and wouldn't mind Lissa becoming as powerful as Avery is. Intricate friendships require all sorts of emotions, and the guilty aspect of Rose's leaving Lissa when she was searching for Dimitri was very touching and real to me. I thought it was something that everyone must experience after they leave school.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Review for To Hell and Back, by Lilith Saintcrow
While I waited impatiently at the end of the previous book to finally return to this arc, now that the entire series is finished, I'm not sure what to say. Peculiar, isn't it? From the graphic descriptions of Dante's injuries in the first and second chapters, and the eerie silence that she keeps tightly controlled over her mind, we can infer what happened. It seems as though she has been broken, and compared to this rage-filled mournful silence, I'd somewhat missed the voice of the sarcastic pessimist through which she thought of everything. Because of this, however, the descriptions of the towns and cities that the characters travel are more noticeable to me, setting the stage for every few chapters, and honestly making me wish I were better traveled. The only reprieve Dante got this time was the chapter in which she and Leander Beaudry toured a city with Japhrimel behind them, stopping to buy goods.
It occurs to me now - should have before, really - that the changes in the names of cities are to reflect the way languages change, considering that this is set around several hundred years into the future. Given the historical outline that the author gives us about any city every time before any character interaction or action begins, it feels like an odd kind of reverse historical fiction. The way that differences in religion across the world hardly matters anymore in this picture, and the reliance on oil has become a reliance on atomic power, answers two of the most pressing concerns to the present political climate. (Though I take the author's word when she says that she is not trying to discuss anything controversial in these stories.)
Most of the character interaction between Japhrimel and Dante led towards the point where all her questions are answered when Sephrimel took the object out of her body. Danny now knows why Japhrimel refuses to answer any of the questions - it is shame. There is also a reversal in the way that when Sephrimel gave her the Knife, Danny is no longer helpless against demons. Now that he does answer the questions, it is like one of those old sayings about not asking questions that one doesn't truly want the answers to. Another thing is that the presence of Jace Monroe's voice in her head is gone after Sephrimel, and I didn't know that he and the others still existed until they fought Lucifer. Jace was there to reinforce Danny's humanity, and he still does.
Here is another question without answers: why were the Anhelikos hostile, and in that world, is there a Christian god - since there is a Christian devil?
Another silly idea that occurs to me is that Danny might be afraid of vampires because of the blood connection - like they are a race of nocturnal, incredibly charismatic, giant mosquitos. With fangs instead of the sucking tube. That object inside of Danny also made Lucifer remind me of the creatures from the movie Alien, the way wasps attack caterpillars and breed inside them. Perhaps the author wanted to reinforce the complete inhumanity - in either animal or in terms of evil - most demons really are, reinforcing Japhrimel's warnings for her not to stray from his suffocating protection.
He also seems to understand that she can't help siding with Eve, accepting their differences with a shrug, even as he is furiously possessive. A possessiveness that kept her alive, and made him jealous and suspicious ("Did you accept anything from Lucifer?"), and understanding because for the longest time, Lucifer broke him too. His explanations of his disobedience long before Dante was born seems to be the one thing they have in common: they are both stubborn, and even when broken, will never give in or give up, though his methods and subtlety must come from staying alive in Hell for so long.
It felt like all the books with arcs other than the main plot did not have to occur, until Danny fought Lucifer and a Necromance's natural protections came to the fore. It was also a set up so that Dante's relationships with her god and goddess - Sekmet was given much less time, but because of her temper I'm sure they would have gotten along anyway - can be developed. While Eve was a major player and someone Danny fought to protect, I am not sure she mattered in the end, given that Lucifer can remove all the traces of Doreen and Danny from her being.
Second question here I don't actually want answered: what is Japhrimel's true form?
It was a pity that Leander Beaudry never came back. Danny was half kidding when she said she regarded him a toy (to Japhrimel's relief), but even with his betrayal and indirectly working for Lucifer, I think she would have forgiven him enough for them to be friends, given that she forgave Lucas without much of a second thought. And Lucifer and Hell's agents controlling the world is a good fodder idea for any conspiracy theorist. McKinley may also be a good friend, despite his ideas of how Japhrimel's and Dante's relationship should be. (Why doesn't he smell like demon?) What's Kgembe's role? And now all Dante's living friends are Japhrimel's mutual friends.
Third question not to be answered: Why are demons physically bound to their human wives so much that time away from them makes them starved and gaunt? This happened to both Japhrimel and Lucifer. It seems as though it has an effect on the females too, as Danny longed for Japhrimel when he was dead. Should I suspect that Eve would have that same reaction as well, far into the future after that epilogue in which Lucifer has turned into an urn of ash? (Could the story have been wrapped up if Eve had not seduced Lucifer, thus robbing him of a good portion of his power?)
The one thing that Lilith Saintcrow unequivocably doesn't refrain from saying through these stories is that people change a lot in their relationships. They are never easy, especially romantic relationships, with a heavy undercurrent of bargaining for power and distrust that all parties involved must overcome. This one point makes this series unique to me, the complete lack of shying away from deep, detailed character interactions and their complete emotional consequences, an accurate reflection of many things that happen between people in reality.
It occurs to me now - should have before, really - that the changes in the names of cities are to reflect the way languages change, considering that this is set around several hundred years into the future. Given the historical outline that the author gives us about any city every time before any character interaction or action begins, it feels like an odd kind of reverse historical fiction. The way that differences in religion across the world hardly matters anymore in this picture, and the reliance on oil has become a reliance on atomic power, answers two of the most pressing concerns to the present political climate. (Though I take the author's word when she says that she is not trying to discuss anything controversial in these stories.)
Most of the character interaction between Japhrimel and Dante led towards the point where all her questions are answered when Sephrimel took the object out of her body. Danny now knows why Japhrimel refuses to answer any of the questions - it is shame. There is also a reversal in the way that when Sephrimel gave her the Knife, Danny is no longer helpless against demons. Now that he does answer the questions, it is like one of those old sayings about not asking questions that one doesn't truly want the answers to. Another thing is that the presence of Jace Monroe's voice in her head is gone after Sephrimel, and I didn't know that he and the others still existed until they fought Lucifer. Jace was there to reinforce Danny's humanity, and he still does.
Here is another question without answers: why were the Anhelikos hostile, and in that world, is there a Christian god - since there is a Christian devil?
Another silly idea that occurs to me is that Danny might be afraid of vampires because of the blood connection - like they are a race of nocturnal, incredibly charismatic, giant mosquitos. With fangs instead of the sucking tube. That object inside of Danny also made Lucifer remind me of the creatures from the movie Alien, the way wasps attack caterpillars and breed inside them. Perhaps the author wanted to reinforce the complete inhumanity - in either animal or in terms of evil - most demons really are, reinforcing Japhrimel's warnings for her not to stray from his suffocating protection.
He also seems to understand that she can't help siding with Eve, accepting their differences with a shrug, even as he is furiously possessive. A possessiveness that kept her alive, and made him jealous and suspicious ("Did you accept anything from Lucifer?"), and understanding because for the longest time, Lucifer broke him too. His explanations of his disobedience long before Dante was born seems to be the one thing they have in common: they are both stubborn, and even when broken, will never give in or give up, though his methods and subtlety must come from staying alive in Hell for so long.
It felt like all the books with arcs other than the main plot did not have to occur, until Danny fought Lucifer and a Necromance's natural protections came to the fore. It was also a set up so that Dante's relationships with her god and goddess - Sekmet was given much less time, but because of her temper I'm sure they would have gotten along anyway - can be developed. While Eve was a major player and someone Danny fought to protect, I am not sure she mattered in the end, given that Lucifer can remove all the traces of Doreen and Danny from her being.
Second question here I don't actually want answered: what is Japhrimel's true form?
It was a pity that Leander Beaudry never came back. Danny was half kidding when she said she regarded him a toy (to Japhrimel's relief), but even with his betrayal and indirectly working for Lucifer, I think she would have forgiven him enough for them to be friends, given that she forgave Lucas without much of a second thought. And Lucifer and Hell's agents controlling the world is a good fodder idea for any conspiracy theorist. McKinley may also be a good friend, despite his ideas of how Japhrimel's and Dante's relationship should be. (Why doesn't he smell like demon?) What's Kgembe's role? And now all Dante's living friends are Japhrimel's mutual friends.
Third question not to be answered: Why are demons physically bound to their human wives so much that time away from them makes them starved and gaunt? This happened to both Japhrimel and Lucifer. It seems as though it has an effect on the females too, as Danny longed for Japhrimel when he was dead. Should I suspect that Eve would have that same reaction as well, far into the future after that epilogue in which Lucifer has turned into an urn of ash? (Could the story have been wrapped up if Eve had not seduced Lucifer, thus robbing him of a good portion of his power?)
The one thing that Lilith Saintcrow unequivocably doesn't refrain from saying through these stories is that people change a lot in their relationships. They are never easy, especially romantic relationships, with a heavy undercurrent of bargaining for power and distrust that all parties involved must overcome. This one point makes this series unique to me, the complete lack of shying away from deep, detailed character interactions and their complete emotional consequences, an accurate reflection of many things that happen between people in reality.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Review for Saint City Sinners, by Lilith Saintcrow
Welcome to the fourth book in this series, starring Dante Valentine. The plot thickens, as Lilith Saintcrow put a complete pause on the mess that is the family feud from Hell (literally, haha) and turned Danny's attention to the the murder of her good friends Gabrielle Spocarelli and Edward Thornton. This time the cyberpunk novel held more mystery, because the pacing was faster and there was a lot more action. While everything seems to be higher stakes and more dramatic with demon kind because they're the top of the food chain, this book with its focus on vengeance and (human) problems like drugs reminded me of Tarantino. Especially with the way Danny is less haunted emo Necromance and becoming more unstable demon antihero.
I feel like this arc was inserted last minute, in order to create suspense and put off Lucifer's family situation. Admittedly, Gabe and Eddie never made too big of an impression on me, but I still had to wonder at the author's choice of adding another two deaths into Danny's count of all the people she cared about who she feels abandoned her. Equally interesting was the choice to have Jace Monroe come back as a guardian spirit haunting her head. Danny's confused, and I'm confused too. With both Anubis and Jace and Japhrimel in her head, who is she going to listen to? Since she and Japhrimel have been on the rocks, I guess that leaves Anubis and Jace. What does it mean for Danny now that Jace appears more often when she's knocked out than Anubis?
And now Eve is trying to get inside her head, as well. With so many people pushing her around, it's no wonder that she's frustrated. While she did not pray to Sekmet, I thought it ironic and fitting that Japhrimel should give her that statue. In return for having an impossibly fast metabolism and a portion of demon strength, she loses a large portion of her humanity, and Danny is beginning to realize it. Her honor is suffering and her values are changing, resulting in a lot of destruction. While Japhrimel loses a portion of his power, he gains a good portion of human emotion. All of this seems to be very subtle; mainly because the character Danny's too distracted to be self aware. Another subtlety is Lilith Saintcrow's ability to foreshadow, making for excellent suspense. For instance, what will Japhrimel do after he escapes from capture when he and Danny are at war? Why did Anubis demand that Danny spare the healer who had a part in killing Gabe?
More questions. In terms of general style, because the chapters are generally short and only one major event happens in each chapter, the author can be painstakingly detailed. This makes for a paradoxical feeling of the story-time moving very fast and very slow, at the same time. Also, before Danny unwittingly adopted a demon's sense of flat and ironic humor, she used to giggle in dangerous situations. Sometimes I would step back and look at the situation the author crafted, and chuckle sardonically as well - because I feel like the author is laughing at her own creation and character, Danny. Perhaps I'm thinking too much. Anyhow, the pacing is the way it is not just because of the length of the chapters, but also because of Danny's processes of questioning people and having pieces click together in her head - again, more like a mystery than a noir because of the somewhat short action scenes.
While my friend felt that there is no character development (because no matter what happens, Dante gets into worse spats and never stops complaining), I disagree. The slight changes are in the re-introduction of Jace, the distancing of Anubis, the ignored Sekmet and the interchanges between her and Japhrimel, who is developing as well. Because of the deep care and focus on these two characters, I felt that other characters were not changing. (Dying is not a way of changing, in my opinion.) Because the world is rapidly expanding, it seems that new people are introduced very suddenly, and also half the time go away very suddenly. The author makes it so that readers can seem to focus only on Dante and Japhrimel - indeed, it is the nature of their relationship that will decide whether all of Hell's denizens stay there or not.
I feel like this arc was inserted last minute, in order to create suspense and put off Lucifer's family situation. Admittedly, Gabe and Eddie never made too big of an impression on me, but I still had to wonder at the author's choice of adding another two deaths into Danny's count of all the people she cared about who she feels abandoned her. Equally interesting was the choice to have Jace Monroe come back as a guardian spirit haunting her head. Danny's confused, and I'm confused too. With both Anubis and Jace and Japhrimel in her head, who is she going to listen to? Since she and Japhrimel have been on the rocks, I guess that leaves Anubis and Jace. What does it mean for Danny now that Jace appears more often when she's knocked out than Anubis?
And now Eve is trying to get inside her head, as well. With so many people pushing her around, it's no wonder that she's frustrated. While she did not pray to Sekmet, I thought it ironic and fitting that Japhrimel should give her that statue. In return for having an impossibly fast metabolism and a portion of demon strength, she loses a large portion of her humanity, and Danny is beginning to realize it. Her honor is suffering and her values are changing, resulting in a lot of destruction. While Japhrimel loses a portion of his power, he gains a good portion of human emotion. All of this seems to be very subtle; mainly because the character Danny's too distracted to be self aware. Another subtlety is Lilith Saintcrow's ability to foreshadow, making for excellent suspense. For instance, what will Japhrimel do after he escapes from capture when he and Danny are at war? Why did Anubis demand that Danny spare the healer who had a part in killing Gabe?
More questions. In terms of general style, because the chapters are generally short and only one major event happens in each chapter, the author can be painstakingly detailed. This makes for a paradoxical feeling of the story-time moving very fast and very slow, at the same time. Also, before Danny unwittingly adopted a demon's sense of flat and ironic humor, she used to giggle in dangerous situations. Sometimes I would step back and look at the situation the author crafted, and chuckle sardonically as well - because I feel like the author is laughing at her own creation and character, Danny. Perhaps I'm thinking too much. Anyhow, the pacing is the way it is not just because of the length of the chapters, but also because of Danny's processes of questioning people and having pieces click together in her head - again, more like a mystery than a noir because of the somewhat short action scenes.
While my friend felt that there is no character development (because no matter what happens, Dante gets into worse spats and never stops complaining), I disagree. The slight changes are in the re-introduction of Jace, the distancing of Anubis, the ignored Sekmet and the interchanges between her and Japhrimel, who is developing as well. Because of the deep care and focus on these two characters, I felt that other characters were not changing. (Dying is not a way of changing, in my opinion.) Because the world is rapidly expanding, it seems that new people are introduced very suddenly, and also half the time go away very suddenly. The author makes it so that readers can seem to focus only on Dante and Japhrimel - indeed, it is the nature of their relationship that will decide whether all of Hell's denizens stay there or not.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Review of The Devil's Right Hand, by Lilith Saintcrow
So here we are at the third book of this series. I think the author has pretty much stopped summarizing what has happened in the previous books, which is to my relief since I read both previous books, but would be confusing to the audience who hasn't. New readers are bound to wonder how and why Danny changed from human to this hedaira being. They would know that she and Japhrimel are a couple, which is really what is relevant in this arc, so that makes sense. However, they wouldn't know who Eve is, wonder about Gabe and Jace, and only half an idea of what happened between Danny and Lucifer. But I understand that's probably a conscious artistic decision; and even if it weren't, it's hard to moderate between too much summarization of past arcs/books, and too little.
The first few chapters seem out of character for Danny, because she has never been so girly. I almost feel impolite writing this, as if I may know this character better than the author, so presumptuous. But still, Danny has never been so spoiled, so why did it take her such a short time to begin taking Japhrimel for granted? She took Jace for granted, and is a little selfish with (romantic) relationships, but she seemed a little too unreasonable with Japhrimel - even if she didn't understand the honor system that demons held. It's like she regresses while she's with him. Then after the meeting with Lucifer, she returns to rational thought once again - fighting for her survival, and thankfully, slightly calmly this time around. I wonder if this may be a metaphor for the way some women must grow in relationships.
Japhrimel must grow as well, because he doesn't seem to understand that no matter how much he tries to protect her, the demon laws of his culture will never apply to Dante. That is the heart of all relationships, no? To understand what the other person cares about the most, while caring through life and death for the other person. One must have a black sense of humor to read this book, for I find myself more entertained and laughing uproariously at the times when Danny is most in danger, because of the absurdity of her existence. The author's sense of humor also thinly veils the many other popular culture references in the characters of the novel, aside from the most obvious of Dante to Dante's Inferno.
Personal preference: I really like Lucas the Deathless. His efficiency and dryness humor me to the utmost. Eve personifies to me the ultimate femme fatale, the kind of woman that Polyamour only dreams of becoming - a being who seduces without effort, so persuasive is her essence. This book makes up for my saying about the first two books of the series that there is no character development. I take it back - because Dante is changing. While my attention was not caught by the characters in the previous books, now I am fascinated by the relationship between Lucifer and his child Japhrimel. As well as by the cruel love between Dante and Japhrimel. Though I am still impressed by the author's action scenes, they do not seem to take priority here, for all that the fate of the living world hangs in the balance between Lucifer, Eve, Japhrimel, and Dante.
For all the paranormal abilities and fantasy action, I felt that what's happening here was really an essential human conflict. All those vampires and werewolves died in that bar, because the Eldest son and youngest daughter of Lucifer decided to rebel. Son and daughter against their father: a family conflict. A main character wedded to this Eldest son, making Lucifer technically Dante's father-in-law, as revolting to her as it may be. Lucifer, for all his demon power, struggles with the two things most human parents struggle with: letting go of their children, and learning to like their children-in-law. Japhrimel, for all his demon power, also struggles with a human situation: vying for independence from family, and coping with the wrath of his lover. And Dante, who isn't sure she's human, struggles with personal values, personal loyalties, her feelings for her lover, and ultimately, what she wants out of life. The fact that most of this book is set in vaguely Middle Eastern settings may also be a comment on real events.
For all that this book mainly just explained the relationship between various characters, and is the start a whole new arc that is expected to take roughly several books, I was satisfied, because character relationships mean something to me. This is in contrast to the first book, driven by introductions, settings and action, or the second book, driven by plot and existential ruminating over the ghosts of a person's past. Lilith Saintcrow prioritizes different aspects in each book, stretching them to the fullest, which gives different parts of the series a distinct flavor. This is a different style from most of the authors that I've read, who keep the same stylistic preferences for the whole series, but ups the stakes for the character each time, charged with whatever the author is most good at. This author seems to take a more well-rounded approach.
The first few chapters seem out of character for Danny, because she has never been so girly. I almost feel impolite writing this, as if I may know this character better than the author, so presumptuous. But still, Danny has never been so spoiled, so why did it take her such a short time to begin taking Japhrimel for granted? She took Jace for granted, and is a little selfish with (romantic) relationships, but she seemed a little too unreasonable with Japhrimel - even if she didn't understand the honor system that demons held. It's like she regresses while she's with him. Then after the meeting with Lucifer, she returns to rational thought once again - fighting for her survival, and thankfully, slightly calmly this time around. I wonder if this may be a metaphor for the way some women must grow in relationships.
Japhrimel must grow as well, because he doesn't seem to understand that no matter how much he tries to protect her, the demon laws of his culture will never apply to Dante. That is the heart of all relationships, no? To understand what the other person cares about the most, while caring through life and death for the other person. One must have a black sense of humor to read this book, for I find myself more entertained and laughing uproariously at the times when Danny is most in danger, because of the absurdity of her existence. The author's sense of humor also thinly veils the many other popular culture references in the characters of the novel, aside from the most obvious of Dante to Dante's Inferno.
Personal preference: I really like Lucas the Deathless. His efficiency and dryness humor me to the utmost. Eve personifies to me the ultimate femme fatale, the kind of woman that Polyamour only dreams of becoming - a being who seduces without effort, so persuasive is her essence. This book makes up for my saying about the first two books of the series that there is no character development. I take it back - because Dante is changing. While my attention was not caught by the characters in the previous books, now I am fascinated by the relationship between Lucifer and his child Japhrimel. As well as by the cruel love between Dante and Japhrimel. Though I am still impressed by the author's action scenes, they do not seem to take priority here, for all that the fate of the living world hangs in the balance between Lucifer, Eve, Japhrimel, and Dante.
For all the paranormal abilities and fantasy action, I felt that what's happening here was really an essential human conflict. All those vampires and werewolves died in that bar, because the Eldest son and youngest daughter of Lucifer decided to rebel. Son and daughter against their father: a family conflict. A main character wedded to this Eldest son, making Lucifer technically Dante's father-in-law, as revolting to her as it may be. Lucifer, for all his demon power, struggles with the two things most human parents struggle with: letting go of their children, and learning to like their children-in-law. Japhrimel, for all his demon power, also struggles with a human situation: vying for independence from family, and coping with the wrath of his lover. And Dante, who isn't sure she's human, struggles with personal values, personal loyalties, her feelings for her lover, and ultimately, what she wants out of life. The fact that most of this book is set in vaguely Middle Eastern settings may also be a comment on real events.
For all that this book mainly just explained the relationship between various characters, and is the start a whole new arc that is expected to take roughly several books, I was satisfied, because character relationships mean something to me. This is in contrast to the first book, driven by introductions, settings and action, or the second book, driven by plot and existential ruminating over the ghosts of a person's past. Lilith Saintcrow prioritizes different aspects in each book, stretching them to the fullest, which gives different parts of the series a distinct flavor. This is a different style from most of the authors that I've read, who keep the same stylistic preferences for the whole series, but ups the stakes for the character each time, charged with whatever the author is most good at. This author seems to take a more well-rounded approach.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Review for Dead Man Rising, by Lilith Saintcrow
If there was a soundtrack for this series made into a tv show or movie, it would be consisted of hard rock, metal and death metal. The voice of the protagonist Danny is no less than scathing emo. I hadn't even realized that's what it was until I talked to someone else who was reading the series, and she had hated Dante's voice. It was no mere coincidence that the person I was speaking to had hated American hard rock, punk rock, metal and death metal, as well. Nevertheless, a handful of chapters into the second book, small subtle changes are taking place. For instance, the cast is expanding - now to incorporate her sensei Jado and her masseuse Sierra. Our protagonist is less PTSD'ed and heartbroken betrayed now, so much as just grieving and heartbroken, a subtle difference. Her new physique, which she keeps snidely noticing, is giving the novel more of a gothic romantic feel, as defined by modern fashions.
The other thing was that whenever Danny keeps pushing away thoughts of something, it is foreshadowing for the rest of the book. It makes it slightly more predictable. In the first book, when she kept thinking of her nightmares of Doreen and a past that she can't get away from, the rest of the book was devoted to ending those nightmares. This fear and longing for Japhrimel is far more conscious, however; and maybe our character matures slightly, even though her aura is still stretched taut and she's as tense as ever. Not even Sierra's famous massages helped for all that long. At least she's smiling a little more often now.
When Danny starts questioning people about Rigger Hall after the insane ghost of one victim attacked her, the novel starts to get a cyberpunk noir type of feel. It's calm and investigative, building up the suspense and delaying the action, because the stuff of nightmares for our characters isn't that easily to be unraveled. That, and the atmosphere set by the author's words when Danny's doing something as usual as opening up an old locker. The noir feel is also because of the ghosted love triangle between Japhrimel, Dante and Jace - now that Japhrimel's dead (or we presume so), the relationship between Jace and Dante is almost Casablanca-esque. All those reporters sitting outside Dante's house just gives everything a strange offsetting point.
Three fourths into the novel, the ever winding thoughts of grief and revenge and the muted introspection when she was walking to Rigger Hall were driving me mad. Maybe it's just that I'm an impatient reader, so maybe I don't do so well with that much suspense, but I really wanted the action to come already. All the descriptions of her surroundings started reminding me of Charles Dickens and the way he would keep going on about scenery. Or Herman Melville - take your pick.
Also, it was fairly obvious by that point to me that Japhrimel had returned, and I didn't understand why Danny was in such denial of it. It's like she keeps insisting on thinking that everyone has to die around her, just because that's the way her Fate was set. It was a sad state, watching through the eyes of a (character) soul who is so used to death that she denies hope because she so desperately fears disappointment. For the empathetic reader, she is to be pitied though she would hate it, and for the harsh reader, she is just plain delusional. But she treasures the positive interactions that she has, which in the end, saved her. That, and Japhrimel, a part that was slightly predictable.
Though the action felt slightly disappointing given the amount of build up, it was a semi-typical noir move to end everything on a note of contentment despite everything. Perhaps because of how long it took to put all the puzzle pieces together, I expected a grand battle - but this was a battle of another sort, a battle of the psyche. It feels like the series could have ended right there, but I know there are more books to read. More psychic food for me.
The other thing was that whenever Danny keeps pushing away thoughts of something, it is foreshadowing for the rest of the book. It makes it slightly more predictable. In the first book, when she kept thinking of her nightmares of Doreen and a past that she can't get away from, the rest of the book was devoted to ending those nightmares. This fear and longing for Japhrimel is far more conscious, however; and maybe our character matures slightly, even though her aura is still stretched taut and she's as tense as ever. Not even Sierra's famous massages helped for all that long. At least she's smiling a little more often now.
When Danny starts questioning people about Rigger Hall after the insane ghost of one victim attacked her, the novel starts to get a cyberpunk noir type of feel. It's calm and investigative, building up the suspense and delaying the action, because the stuff of nightmares for our characters isn't that easily to be unraveled. That, and the atmosphere set by the author's words when Danny's doing something as usual as opening up an old locker. The noir feel is also because of the ghosted love triangle between Japhrimel, Dante and Jace - now that Japhrimel's dead (or we presume so), the relationship between Jace and Dante is almost Casablanca-esque. All those reporters sitting outside Dante's house just gives everything a strange offsetting point.
Three fourths into the novel, the ever winding thoughts of grief and revenge and the muted introspection when she was walking to Rigger Hall were driving me mad. Maybe it's just that I'm an impatient reader, so maybe I don't do so well with that much suspense, but I really wanted the action to come already. All the descriptions of her surroundings started reminding me of Charles Dickens and the way he would keep going on about scenery. Or Herman Melville - take your pick.
Also, it was fairly obvious by that point to me that Japhrimel had returned, and I didn't understand why Danny was in such denial of it. It's like she keeps insisting on thinking that everyone has to die around her, just because that's the way her Fate was set. It was a sad state, watching through the eyes of a (character) soul who is so used to death that she denies hope because she so desperately fears disappointment. For the empathetic reader, she is to be pitied though she would hate it, and for the harsh reader, she is just plain delusional. But she treasures the positive interactions that she has, which in the end, saved her. That, and Japhrimel, a part that was slightly predictable.
Though the action felt slightly disappointing given the amount of build up, it was a semi-typical noir move to end everything on a note of contentment despite everything. Perhaps because of how long it took to put all the puzzle pieces together, I expected a grand battle - but this was a battle of another sort, a battle of the psyche. It feels like the series could have ended right there, but I know there are more books to read. More psychic food for me.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Review for Working for the Devil, by Lilith Saintcrow
Very suspenseful, with a lot of thought put into planning the plot and the whole enterprise. That was my first impression upon finishing the book. Lilith Saintcrow - it's kind of an obvious pseudonym, in my opinion - also excelled at describing her action scenes, which is a talent reserved the good multitaskers who can simplistically keep track of all her characters' whereabouts and quick-one-over reactions. It felt more like an expensive action film than fantasy or romance, because of all the futuristic technology involved and the lack of pornographic descriptions. I wonder if I should say satisfying read, because I definitely want more.
Surprisingly, none of the characters stood out all that much this time, aside from their quick outstanding characteristics. It makes me think that the author plans in bullet points. That's not to say that the characters don't have personalities, but that development didn't really happen yet. Which is understandable, given that this is the first book of a series, and a fourth to half the time, there are paragraphs where the protagonist has to lap deep into thought so that readers get a background story. The dialogue is also a bit clipped, with a lot of attitude thrown in, which consistently reminds me of the pop star Pink. Now personally, I like Pink, so I think of that as a favorable and somewhat fun impression, but I know that's not the case for everyone else.
Having a polytheistic world with a bisexual main character is kind of complicated. Aside from a singular love triangle that was there this time, I anticipate a whole lot more of romantic confusion. I suppose the protagonist's, Dante's, honor complex might simplify that a bit. At the very least, I assume it means one sexual partner at a time. With the polytheism, there's the assumption that aside from the Christian devil and the Egyptian god of Death, that there are far many more gods to be trifled with. The classical humanist belief system here is kind of set in - determinists shouldn't read this book, not that I imagine there to be a lot of American determinists out there. That kind of mindset is not really for the modern age, anymore.
I have to wonder at the linguistic choice of altering Christian to Christos, when everyone reading can obviously see which religion she is referring to. Maybe it's to enforce that this is a fantasy book, and not to take offense at anything if any of it steps on anyone's religious beliefs. I know that it would offend monotheists, probably, if they're very strict about it. Then again, I don't know if a strict monotheist would touch the book after reading its title. There's also the question of whether classical humanism interferes with monotheistic religious beliefs, but the theorists will puzzle that one out for me. Even though the author uses classical humanist stories and beliefs as a basis for her protagonist, this book is not a rewriting of Dante's Inferno, merely a tribute.
I was surprised that there was no Latin, given that it is an old dead language often used in novels as part of magic. However, I understood that since Danny's god is Anubis, that Egyptian is spoken out of relevance and respect. Depending on the god, each must speak a different language. This book is a suitable offering for the ancient stories and gods. However, I will have to keep reading to see if all parts of the series are as good an offering.
Surprisingly, none of the characters stood out all that much this time, aside from their quick outstanding characteristics. It makes me think that the author plans in bullet points. That's not to say that the characters don't have personalities, but that development didn't really happen yet. Which is understandable, given that this is the first book of a series, and a fourth to half the time, there are paragraphs where the protagonist has to lap deep into thought so that readers get a background story. The dialogue is also a bit clipped, with a lot of attitude thrown in, which consistently reminds me of the pop star Pink. Now personally, I like Pink, so I think of that as a favorable and somewhat fun impression, but I know that's not the case for everyone else.
Having a polytheistic world with a bisexual main character is kind of complicated. Aside from a singular love triangle that was there this time, I anticipate a whole lot more of romantic confusion. I suppose the protagonist's, Dante's, honor complex might simplify that a bit. At the very least, I assume it means one sexual partner at a time. With the polytheism, there's the assumption that aside from the Christian devil and the Egyptian god of Death, that there are far many more gods to be trifled with. The classical humanist belief system here is kind of set in - determinists shouldn't read this book, not that I imagine there to be a lot of American determinists out there. That kind of mindset is not really for the modern age, anymore.
I have to wonder at the linguistic choice of altering Christian to Christos, when everyone reading can obviously see which religion she is referring to. Maybe it's to enforce that this is a fantasy book, and not to take offense at anything if any of it steps on anyone's religious beliefs. I know that it would offend monotheists, probably, if they're very strict about it. Then again, I don't know if a strict monotheist would touch the book after reading its title. There's also the question of whether classical humanism interferes with monotheistic religious beliefs, but the theorists will puzzle that one out for me. Even though the author uses classical humanist stories and beliefs as a basis for her protagonist, this book is not a rewriting of Dante's Inferno, merely a tribute.
I was surprised that there was no Latin, given that it is an old dead language often used in novels as part of magic. However, I understood that since Danny's god is Anubis, that Egyptian is spoken out of relevance and respect. Depending on the god, each must speak a different language. This book is a suitable offering for the ancient stories and gods. However, I will have to keep reading to see if all parts of the series are as good an offering.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Review for Thorn Queen, by Richelle Mead
This title is the second book of this series. I must say that I started reading this series with a bit of skepticism. A young woman in Tucson, AZ banishing spirits into other worlds? Well, at first it just seems like a cheap gimmick that a mediocre television station would come up with - for a quick and dirty action drama. Throw in a little sex with pretty people, and the show's got itself made, right? So I wasn't impressed that much by the first book, even if the protagonist Eugenie seems to be my kind of sensible girl and her magical powers are blossoming. But Richelle Mead's compelling voice and descriptive characterization kept me going, and I gave the spiel a second try.
The voice and point of view are unwaveringly first person, which is great in terms of hiding other characters' intentions until the action comes to the fore. The author also demonstrates great characterization when readers remember who does what and why. While the fox Kiyo is still a main player this round, his motivations seem to be getting more vague. He claims to be looking out for Eugenie's bests interests, but there is this complication where he has to bring up a child he had with another woman other than the protagonist. I will be waiting to see how his feelings and motivations change during the third book, as well. But it's not as simple as that - Richelle Mead impressively uses the almost dead technique of allegory.
Eugenie's confusion and feelings for both Kiyo and Dorian come to be attached with her emotions for both worlds, human and gentry. While the fox-man has come to represent the more human and democratically oriented worldview, the fairy king now speaks for the city-state and feudally oriented medieval worldview. At the risk of reading too much into this one piece of fiction, one would think that Richelle Mead may be referring to the respective First World/Third World conundrum, or even the East West cultural clash. I favor the latter, obviously because I am what they call American Born Chinese.
There are other issues that she discusses as well, and I couldn't help but feel as I continued reading that this may be one of the most blatantly (and satirically?) political works of fiction that I've read in a long time. The first book had already touched on racism, when Eugenie's attitude towards the gentry started changing for the better. Maybe classism, as well, considering that there is no such thing as middle class among the gentry - someone is either nobility, or he is a peasant. I correct myself, the closest thing to middle class in the Otherworld consists of artisans and craftmen, who came embodied in the blacksmith Girald, only in this book.
To me, the villains here symbolized the medieval way of thinking, in which women are merely vassals to their parents and then their husbands - no matter their overall station in life. Beneath all the layers, that was the central conflict of the plot: the disagreeing opinions on the nature of love and the way a woman should be wooed, which also speaks of her self-value in a relationship as well. So Richelle Mead also discusses women's rights and feminism here, in Eugenie's sorting out her feelings in terms of which kind of man she prefers between Dorian and Kiyo. The only complaint I have involves how soon Eugenie returned to relatively normal after her traumatic experience. However, this is a fantasy fiction book with a high level of romance, and being more realistic about the emotional aftermath here would dampen that selling point by quite a bit.
Politics, human interactions, and Eugenie's having to figure all of this out with the help of her advisors who Dorian provided - all of these things make the Otherworld seem more real. In this book, the Otherworld seems to feel more substantial than the human world, if simply because Eugenie is both emotionally closer to her advisors than her parents and Kiyo at this point, which is complicated by her magical (read, soul-link) to her Thorn Land. This may also be because being a monarch, the ultimate decision maker, is far more challenging than being an anonymous spirit banisher. A challenge like that is bound to engage Eugenie, who has more of an ambitious and restless personality than she realizes, her righteousness aside.
Usually, I don't buy much into the New York Times' bestseller list, preferring to leaf through shelves by myself, but it seems as though their high ratings of her are correct. I still did have one serious complaint, though, for all my oohs-and-ahs over her writing, so personally, I'd give her 4.5 stars out of 5.
The voice and point of view are unwaveringly first person, which is great in terms of hiding other characters' intentions until the action comes to the fore. The author also demonstrates great characterization when readers remember who does what and why. While the fox Kiyo is still a main player this round, his motivations seem to be getting more vague. He claims to be looking out for Eugenie's bests interests, but there is this complication where he has to bring up a child he had with another woman other than the protagonist. I will be waiting to see how his feelings and motivations change during the third book, as well. But it's not as simple as that - Richelle Mead impressively uses the almost dead technique of allegory.
Eugenie's confusion and feelings for both Kiyo and Dorian come to be attached with her emotions for both worlds, human and gentry. While the fox-man has come to represent the more human and democratically oriented worldview, the fairy king now speaks for the city-state and feudally oriented medieval worldview. At the risk of reading too much into this one piece of fiction, one would think that Richelle Mead may be referring to the respective First World/Third World conundrum, or even the East West cultural clash. I favor the latter, obviously because I am what they call American Born Chinese.
There are other issues that she discusses as well, and I couldn't help but feel as I continued reading that this may be one of the most blatantly (and satirically?) political works of fiction that I've read in a long time. The first book had already touched on racism, when Eugenie's attitude towards the gentry started changing for the better. Maybe classism, as well, considering that there is no such thing as middle class among the gentry - someone is either nobility, or he is a peasant. I correct myself, the closest thing to middle class in the Otherworld consists of artisans and craftmen, who came embodied in the blacksmith Girald, only in this book.
To me, the villains here symbolized the medieval way of thinking, in which women are merely vassals to their parents and then their husbands - no matter their overall station in life. Beneath all the layers, that was the central conflict of the plot: the disagreeing opinions on the nature of love and the way a woman should be wooed, which also speaks of her self-value in a relationship as well. So Richelle Mead also discusses women's rights and feminism here, in Eugenie's sorting out her feelings in terms of which kind of man she prefers between Dorian and Kiyo. The only complaint I have involves how soon Eugenie returned to relatively normal after her traumatic experience. However, this is a fantasy fiction book with a high level of romance, and being more realistic about the emotional aftermath here would dampen that selling point by quite a bit.
Politics, human interactions, and Eugenie's having to figure all of this out with the help of her advisors who Dorian provided - all of these things make the Otherworld seem more real. In this book, the Otherworld seems to feel more substantial than the human world, if simply because Eugenie is both emotionally closer to her advisors than her parents and Kiyo at this point, which is complicated by her magical (read, soul-link) to her Thorn Land. This may also be because being a monarch, the ultimate decision maker, is far more challenging than being an anonymous spirit banisher. A challenge like that is bound to engage Eugenie, who has more of an ambitious and restless personality than she realizes, her righteousness aside.
Usually, I don't buy much into the New York Times' bestseller list, preferring to leaf through shelves by myself, but it seems as though their high ratings of her are correct. I still did have one serious complaint, though, for all my oohs-and-ahs over her writing, so personally, I'd give her 4.5 stars out of 5.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Review for Bone, by Jeff Smith
I give it four stars, because it managed to make me laugh out loud in the middle of the night. For general readers, I feel that if you liked LOTR and cute creatures, you should read Bone. The strong female characters are a plus, which the sci-fi community needs desperately. This long comic book would be of the traditional fantasy genre.
Characterization is a big thing for me, and it was certainly very well done with the three Bones and Grandma Ben. Smiley Bone was indubitably my favorite character. I also thought that everyone received poetic justice at the end. The idea of the dream eye, or the third eye, influencing reality makes the writer in me happy. The author also made good use of the locust insect and its mythical meanings, as well as the creator dragon queen, Mim. By the time we reached the identity of the Lord of Locusts, I thought he was stretching it, but then again, I was also reading this nonfiction book about ghosts and poltergeists recently, so I thought that maybe leftover excess mental energy creating a ghost or zombie might be viable.
Farming was a good excuse for Thorn and Grandma Ben's super strength. Same goes for the bartender Lucius and his bar-goers, as well. The disbelief in dragons and the Lord of Locusts among these ordinary citizens seems to set the story a little back into reality, which was missing in LOTR if we were to contrast the two. Also, the random motives of the cast of characters make them gray, neither on one side or the other, and I felt that that was also missing from LOTR. The largest element missing from LOTR was the element of comedy, which the Bones themselves provided much of, especially that whole arc about the Lord of Locusts being intimidated by Phoney Bone.
The rat creatures were rather cute, and I was happy that there were two in the fray who didn't really have any loyalties except to food, and minimal awareness that they are monsters and what they're supposed to do, rather than what they want to do. I was also happy that Bartleby was a part of the cast, makes me want a rat creature myself. Plotwise, I thought everything started becoming kind of ordinary once the enemy started running its army around looking for a few of the main characters, and also went downhill once the actual battles and war started. I didn't feel all that impressed from then on, because you can feel the author moving the characters around on the chess board trying to figure out and end the dilemmas for a remotely happy ending.
I enjoyed the reasons for the Bones being out of Boneville and here at the city of Barrel Haven. It suggests that there is another series where the Bones are at home, a shorter comic series that comes in daily episodes, like the Peanuts or Charlie Brown. The amusement with Phoney Bone's schemes to get back home with a boatload of treasure was also amusing at first, then became very exasperating by the time the battles rolled around, but that was not something that could be changed, because he was such a strong character and he doesn't listen to anyone, but it just proved to be a bit distracting.
The little friends that the Bones made, all those little animals who are orphans, also disappeared, which I thought was too bad, but I guess there wasn't that much use to them in a battle between humans and rat creatures for ownership of the valley. At one point, I thought there were too many characters, but that may also be personal preference. The LOTR series had that problem as well, too many characters. It makes it seem like it might do better as a video game where you take the main character, create parties and go visit people, rather than something we should watch on the big screen.
What little romance was in this story was also played off as either comedy or a way for Fone Bone to just keep following Thorn wherever she went. I'm just happy that this story is more for children, and there were no sexual harassment, dirty jokes, or semi or full on sex scenes, which is all too rampant in the movies that they have in the theaters today. The feminist movement would approve. Though I guess there was that one moment between Briar and Lucius, and they both paid for it, and that was part of the poetic justice I was talking about.
Overall, I felt like this was a very good read, and LOTR kept coming to mind because of the sheer length of the book, even though they were pictures, all the species involved, and the whole 'balance of the worlds' kind of theme. Recommended for those who like a good fantasy story.
Characterization is a big thing for me, and it was certainly very well done with the three Bones and Grandma Ben. Smiley Bone was indubitably my favorite character. I also thought that everyone received poetic justice at the end. The idea of the dream eye, or the third eye, influencing reality makes the writer in me happy. The author also made good use of the locust insect and its mythical meanings, as well as the creator dragon queen, Mim. By the time we reached the identity of the Lord of Locusts, I thought he was stretching it, but then again, I was also reading this nonfiction book about ghosts and poltergeists recently, so I thought that maybe leftover excess mental energy creating a ghost or zombie might be viable.
Farming was a good excuse for Thorn and Grandma Ben's super strength. Same goes for the bartender Lucius and his bar-goers, as well. The disbelief in dragons and the Lord of Locusts among these ordinary citizens seems to set the story a little back into reality, which was missing in LOTR if we were to contrast the two. Also, the random motives of the cast of characters make them gray, neither on one side or the other, and I felt that that was also missing from LOTR. The largest element missing from LOTR was the element of comedy, which the Bones themselves provided much of, especially that whole arc about the Lord of Locusts being intimidated by Phoney Bone.
The rat creatures were rather cute, and I was happy that there were two in the fray who didn't really have any loyalties except to food, and minimal awareness that they are monsters and what they're supposed to do, rather than what they want to do. I was also happy that Bartleby was a part of the cast, makes me want a rat creature myself. Plotwise, I thought everything started becoming kind of ordinary once the enemy started running its army around looking for a few of the main characters, and also went downhill once the actual battles and war started. I didn't feel all that impressed from then on, because you can feel the author moving the characters around on the chess board trying to figure out and end the dilemmas for a remotely happy ending.
I enjoyed the reasons for the Bones being out of Boneville and here at the city of Barrel Haven. It suggests that there is another series where the Bones are at home, a shorter comic series that comes in daily episodes, like the Peanuts or Charlie Brown. The amusement with Phoney Bone's schemes to get back home with a boatload of treasure was also amusing at first, then became very exasperating by the time the battles rolled around, but that was not something that could be changed, because he was such a strong character and he doesn't listen to anyone, but it just proved to be a bit distracting.
The little friends that the Bones made, all those little animals who are orphans, also disappeared, which I thought was too bad, but I guess there wasn't that much use to them in a battle between humans and rat creatures for ownership of the valley. At one point, I thought there were too many characters, but that may also be personal preference. The LOTR series had that problem as well, too many characters. It makes it seem like it might do better as a video game where you take the main character, create parties and go visit people, rather than something we should watch on the big screen.
What little romance was in this story was also played off as either comedy or a way for Fone Bone to just keep following Thorn wherever she went. I'm just happy that this story is more for children, and there were no sexual harassment, dirty jokes, or semi or full on sex scenes, which is all too rampant in the movies that they have in the theaters today. The feminist movement would approve. Though I guess there was that one moment between Briar and Lucius, and they both paid for it, and that was part of the poetic justice I was talking about.
Overall, I felt like this was a very good read, and LOTR kept coming to mind because of the sheer length of the book, even though they were pictures, all the species involved, and the whole 'balance of the worlds' kind of theme. Recommended for those who like a good fantasy story.
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