The Beautiful Land

The Beautiful Land, by Alan Averill, is one of those books that I could mostly enjoy as I go along thanks to some snappy dialogue and likable main characters placed in some interesting situation, but always with the nagging feeling in the back of my head that things just aren’t holding together as they should be, that the whole underlying structure is just a little shaky and were one of those moments of witty repartee to suddenly go awry, the whole thing just might collapse underneath me. The Beautiful Land never did, not wholly, but it was definitely teetering by the latter third or so of the novel and though I ended up have a good time with it, it didn’t leave me feeling totally satisfied, especially if I thought about it for very long.

The story opens up with a bang, as our main character Tak, a big star thanks to a reality show where he’d get dropped off anywhere in the world and survive, is about to hang himself in a run-down motel room because he’s “seen it all” (it turns out there’s more underlying that death wish, but we don’t get those revelations until later). Suddenly, a phone rings and the Axon Corporation is on the line offering him a heaping sum of cash and a promise of some place he’s never seen before to explore (the voice on the line is also displaying a disturbingly accurate sense of exactly what he is doing at that moment). Quicker than you can say Takahiro O’Leary, he’s jetting off to Australia to work for Charles Yates, maddest of mad scientists, and his not-so-mad-but-also-not-so-moral assistant Judith (the voice on the phone) exploring alternate realities thanks to the machine Yates has built, called, in a burst of creativity, The Machine.

Meanwhile, Tak’s best friend from childhood (and unrequited love though she doesn’t know it), Samira, is back from her third tour of Iraq/Afghanistan with all sorts of PTSD issues leading slowly but surely down the path to suicide herself. Before she can get there though, Tak (whom she thought actually did commit suicide three years ago) shows up with a magical briefcase and a story about how mad scientists can really do some mad stuff that isn’t so great for the rest of us and if Samira doesn’t come with him like right now, she is so going to be dead. Oh, and so might all the people in all the timelines. So the stakes are pretty high here.

As I said, the two main characters whose POVs we follow the story through are both quite likable, each in themselves and also in their interaction, which moves through the spectrum from great long-time friends since childhood to awkward “oh, you like like me?” to still awkward “I like like you too” to slightly less awkward “I wonder what it would be like if we were both naked,” to out and out love. All of which was handled smoothly and realistically with a nice blend of emotional warmth and humor. Tak, despite being scared out of his mind much of the time, is witty and charming (though not in any suave way) and fun to hang with. Samira is less so thanks to her problems, which are mostly handled as smoothly as the relationship, though this aspect carries a much greater emotional burden. I found myself quite moved quite often by her POV. And this emotional heft is borne throughout the entire novel; Averill doesn’t suddenly make her PTSD magically disappear thanks to a relationship or a “greater threat.” This is a scarred woman and those scars remain through to the end (and beyond). Tak’s backstory is a little more tired (rigid father, daddy issues, etc.) and as much as we’re told about his survival abilities, I can’t say I really felt that was an authentic part of him. I would have preferred to have seen more of that rather than be told it. Especially since it’s what got him the job.

Speaking of which. Granted, nobody is going to explain alternate reality travel well, but I could have done with a bit more of an attempt here. I also would have liked to have seen more of the alternate realities, which have a bit of a dull sameness to them (admittedly, Averill gives us a reason for this), save for one or two really original moments of vivid imagery second-hand via Tak’s description of one or two to Samira. Yates is a bit too on type in terms of the mad scientist route. His dastardly plan makes some kind of sense, but only some kind, and again, I would have liked to see it develop rather than come at us fully sprung. All of the four major characters’ actions run the gamut from perfectly reasonable to make some kind of sense to not so much sense to “really, that’s what you decide to do?” and that’s true as well for some of the authorial decisions. There’s one scene, for instance, where we meet a trucker character who makes the novel really come alive in those few moments he’s on the page (this was in a relatively static section, of which there are several — static or repetitive or cooling one’s heels while plot wheels spin) and afterward I thought more of that would have helped; there’s a paucity of characters in the novel and so it all feels a bit removed and barren. It doesn’t help that one of the four major characters is pretty stock (the mad scientist) and the other isn’t very fleshed out and serves mostly as a plot vehicle (making decisions never really wholly explained).

The ending is a bit anti-climactic and in fact, sometimes it feels Averill wrote past his ending, or maybe could have reordered things to better effect. The very end, however, is poignant and effective. But again, effective so long as one doesn’t think too much about how they reached the point where they could have an emotional close.

A good novel is a balancing act and The Beautiful Land drops a few of the balls. Dialogue, a pair of engaging, likable characters, and mostly smooth and at times original prose makes it all go down pretty quickly and easily and enjoyably. But issues of plot, structure, side-characters, and background make it a less flavorful and less satisfying meal than it could have been. It’s not a bad read; in fact, I’m guessing many will enjoy it, but it is a naggingly frustrating one. I would, however, be happy to pick up a second novel by Averill to see how he’s honed his talent, which does come out clearly here.

Clockwork Princess

Clockwork Princess, by Cassandra Clare, felt like an overloaded cargo plane lumbering down a runway, trying to get airborne. This is the third book in Clare’s INFERNAL DEVICES series, the Victorian prequel to her MORTAL INSTRUMENTS books, and in this one the soap opera overwhelms the story.

The INFERNAL DEVICES series follows Tessa Gray, an orphaned American who came to London to live with her brother. Tessa was captured by demons and forced to use her unusual abilities for their benefit. Tessa was rescued by Will Herondale, a handsome, reckless Shadowhunter (superhuman demon-fighter) and Will’s parabatai or “blood brother,” Jem Carstairs. Tessa was brought to the Shadowhunter Institute in London for sanctuary. Her own heritage was a mystery. Is she a Shadowhunter herself? A demon? Something different?

This has been the central mystery of the trilogy, and in Clockwork Princess Clare wraps that up in a satisfactory way. The secret of Tessa’s clockwork angel necklace is perfectly managed, and the denouement is an incandescent climax on page 461 of my version. The book continues on until page 572 with nothing to add except a lot of angst about who’s marrying whom.

A lot of time is spent on affairs of the heart. In the first two books, Will, witty and handsome, was also cold and cruel, while the handsome, exotic, sickly Jen was kindness itself. It turned out Will thought he was under a curse that brought death to anyone he loved, so he pushed people away. By the time he was able to acknowledge his feelings for Tessa, Jem had asked her to marry him and she had accepted. Tessa, of course, loves Jem, but is in love with Will. She could end her engagement to Jem (we’ll ignore, for the moment, the fact that in Victorian England a broken engagement was a serious business), but Jem is dying and Tessa can’t bear to break his heart. If Jem dies before they are married, Will’s guilt will keep him from ever approaching Tessa. This would all be fine subtext, as our heroes concentrated on solving the mystery of the villain and the automatons he creates… but it isn’t subtext. It’s text. Our principles talk about it, and think about it, constantly. It’s exhausting.

Cassandra Clare develops a couple other romantic relationships, too, and one, Gideon Lightwood and Sophie Collins, is funny and heartwarming.

Meanwhile, Charlotte Branwell, head of the London Shadowhunter Institute, struggles with a Consul, or Shadowhunter leader, who is so obstructive and obdurate that he forcibly reminded me of Cornelius Fudge. I kept waiting for Josiah Wayland’s true motivations to be revealed, but apparently he is just the clichéd, narrow-minded bigot that he seems to be, creating an unnecessary obstacle for Charlotte. He could certainly have been a real obstacle; for example, he could have been in league with the villain, or been misled by the villain in some way.

Wayland is not the only “Potterism” that shows up here. With Benedict Lightwood’s secret demon vices, he might as well have been named Malfoy. Large parts of this book felt derivative. Wayland is the worst, but the Christmas celebration, complete with a new ghost charged with guarding the Institute, felt like it came straight out of the Harry Potter novels.

I can’t discuss my biggest disappointment with the book without spoilers, but I will say this (to read the spoiler, highlight the text): the information about the Silent Brotherhood that is sprung on us with no development amounts to a “get out of jail free” card for one character and undermines whatever dramatic tension Tessa’s choice would have had. [END]

Clockwork Princess abounds with clever banter and wry humor, and Clare makes good use of the poetry of the Romantics, but the verve and energy that filled Clockwork Angel is conspicuously absent here. The small-group-of-geniuses-fighting-the-stuffy-establishment theme has gotten old, and Clare isn’t offering anything new here. I am starting to worry that this series has run out of steam.

Tricked

Atticus O’Sullivan, the 2000 year old druid who looks like he’s 22, has just pissed off a bunch of Old Norse gods (for details, read Hammered) and now he must go into hiding. It’s a good time for that because what he really wants to do is spend the next 12 years training his gorgeous and smart apprentice, Granuaile. Fortunately his werewolf lawyer can fix up some new identities, but first he has to fake his own death so the gods will stop hunting him, and then he needs to do a favor for Coyote, the Navajo trickster god.

Of course, this doesn’t go as easily as he hopes. The favor that wily Coyote demands involves befriending an elemental that Atticus doesn’t know, transferring a vein of gold to a Native American reservation, sabotaging a coal mining company, fighting off some scary skinwalkers, and battling some “locusts of unusual size.” And he’s also a little worried about the new vampires who’ve moved into the Phoenix area after his friend Leif was injured in Asgard.

During all the mayhem we learn a little more about Atticus’s past — there’s a lot of it, so Hearne doles it out a little at a time in each novel. Specifically, in Tricked we learn about why he came to the New World, how he killed Bigfoot in the Florida Everglades, and how some of his charms and tattoos work. We also learn more about who Coyote is and where he came from.

Readers will be happy to know that Oberon and Granuaile are back in Tricked. They stayed home during the outing to Asgard in Hammered. Granuaile is looking pretty and acting sassy, and Oberon, everyone’s favorite Irish Wolfhound, plays a prominent role in Tricked and earns a lot of sausage and bacon snacks. Both of these characters provide plenty of comic relief.

I’ve been listening to the audiobook versions of THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES. Mostly I love Luke Daniels’ narration, though this time I think he went a little overboard with Oberon. A lot of the time he ended up sounding like Scooby Doo. I forgive him.

If you’re new to THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES, I recommend starting at the beginning with Hounded. This is a great series; it’s got a perfect pace, charming characters, pleasing prose, and just the right amount of humor. At the end of Tricked it feels like a major change is coming as Atticus and Granuaile are finally (we assume) able to settle down to get Granuaile trained. The next novel, Trapped (that’s an ominous title, isn’t it?), takes place 12 years later but there’s a novella called Two Ravens and One Crow which takes place between Tricked and Trapped which fans will not want to miss.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

I’ll start by saying that I’m not hugely familiar with Neil Gaiman’s work. I’ve read Stardust and watched his two Doctor Who episodes… and that’s it. At first I wasn’t sure whether or not to absorb more of his work before tackling The Ocean at the End of the Lane, but decided against it for the sake of a fresh perspective. So consider this a review from someone who has very few preconceptions about Gaiman’s style and themes.

Our middle-aged protagonist (I don’t recall if we ever learn his name) recounts to us his movements after a family funeral. Instead of going to the wake he drives through Sussex to his childhood home where vague memories begin to stir. Going down a little country lane he arrives at the Hempstock family farmhouse, certain that he used to play with the family’s young daughter Lettie. At the back of the property is a pond that Lettie once claimed was an ocean, though this never made sense to him as a boy. But now, standing there, he begins to remember…

This prologue leads into the story proper. We’re taken back to the boy’s childhood, on the day when his beloved kitten was run over by an opal miner, learning through his narration that he has few friends, a rather distant relationship with his parents, and spends most of his time reading books. But the suicide of the coal miner begins a domino effect of strange and often frightening supernatural occurrences that throw our young narrator into grave danger, within his home as well as without. He can only be saved from his horror by the three mysterious women living on Hempstock farm.

To be honest, I don’t really want to go into too much detail regarding the plot for fear of ruining some of the surprises in store. I read it with no foreknowledge whatsoever about what it was about and enjoyed the story all the more for it. It’s better to talk about how the book made me feel.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane, more so than any other book I’ve read in recent memory, really recaptured what it was like to be a child. Gaiman expertly encapsulates the wonder, the terror, the powerlessness of what it is to be a seven year old; how adults can be care-givers but also jail-wardens, how things that we take for granted as an adult make absolutely no sense to a child, and how anything bizarre can be taken in stride but everyday things such as relationships and careers and finances can be utterly terrifying.

It actually brought back memories of my own childhood: the way food seemed to taste so much better, the joy of being warm and dry after being cold and wet, the absurdity of taking the main road to get somewhere when I knew a dozen short-cuts, and of course the wisdom and knowledge and comfort that could be gleaned from books. This really is a book written from a child’s perspective, for we are shown things through the boy’s eyes that make no sense to him, though we understand exactly what they are. Alternately, the framing device of the adult narrator also means that he can provide plenty of insight into the way children think. For example: “small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things” or “my parents were a unit, inviolate” or “she was every monster, every witch, every nightmare made flesh; she was also an adult, and when adults fight children, adults always win.”

Gaiman isn’t afraid to portray the dark side of childhood as well as its delights, and the supernatural qualities of the storyline emphasis this theme. Also explored is the mutability of memory. Because the entire story is told from the point-of-view of a grown man looking back on his childhood several questions are raised about the accuracy and nature of his reminiscence. How much are we shaped by what we remember? Who do we become if we forget things? I certainly can’t remember everything about my own childhood, and this book made me wonder whether there are any significant events that I can no longer recall that shaped me into the adult I am today.

Finally, what I loved most about the plot was the way that several bizarre occurrences and arrivals took place without any immediate explanations. It really hooks the reader and gives the entire story a sense of depth and mystery and terror (after all, the most frightening thing in the world is the unknown). Like peeling back layers, only with each layer being more expansive than the one before, we learn more about the source of all the trouble only gradually. It reminded very much of the way Diana Wynne Jones writes her stories (Black Maria in particular) and of Hayao Miyazaki’s ability to instil the portrayal of an ordinary childhood rife with unexplained creatures and diminishing boundaries between us and another world.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is definitely a must-read for me, and will no doubt spur me into checking out more of Gaiman’s work.

Requiem

Requiem is the fourth book in Ken Scholes PSALMS OF ISAAK series, which while having a few minor issues throughout has mostly been a fresh mix of fantasy and science fiction, filled with intriguing characters and exploring complex issues involving the intersection of religion, technology, and society. Requiem continues that exploration, though in weaker fashion than the prior three novels.

By now, the plot has grown extremely complicated, so I’m not going to offer up much of a plot recap, which should probably clue you in that this is a series that requires reading the books in order. While earlier books had many of the main characters together or at least paired up, in Requiem, Scholes has chosen to separate them, sending several all the way to the moon (and separating even the ones there).

The Gypsy King, Rudolpho, helplessly outnumbered and outplanned, is forced to collaborate with the Crimson Empire’s just-landed invasion force. His wife, Jin Li Tam and his son Jakob have been taken to the Empire’s capital city so that Jakob may be betrothed to the Crimson Empress and help fulfill some of their religious prophecies. Her father, Vlad Li Tam, has come into possession of the uber-powerful staff of Y’zir and is on a one-man invasion of his own. Winters has led those of her people still loyal to her out of the Marshes in hopes the Dream, which promises their return home, will come true. Neb, revealed last book to be the son of the Younger God Whym, as well as the prophesied Homeseeker, and Petronus, along with a group of metal men, have flown to the moon and are seeking entry into the Moon Wizard’s tower. And two new characters arrive on the scene — a young girl named Marta and a mysterious metal man who has no memory of who or what he was.

As before, Scholes structures his novel via a series of short, shifting POVs. In some of the earlier books, I felt this at times was overly distracting and also diminished the emotional impact of some of the storylines. While I found that true now and then in Requiem, it was much less of an issue, as the chapters were for the vast majority of the time as long as they needed to be, with consistently smooth transitions. The short chapters, its sub-400 page length, and Scholes’ smooth prose style make Requiem a quick read.

This despite the healthy cast of characters and a by-now convoluted plot, filled with shifting alliances, betrayals and apparent betrayals, and questions of just who are the good guys and who the bad guys. Scholes’ pattern of keeping those questions up in the air — who is working for and with whom and why — has long been one of the better aspects of the series, and Requiem keeps us guessing with regard to several characters, both new and old.

That said, I found Requiem less satisfying than the earlier novels. One reason is that several of the storylines feel a bit stagnant and/or one-tone. Vlad Li Tam, for instance, who has always been a complex character filled with shades, here is reduced to what I’d call a too-simplistic plot line. The staff he carries makes him incredibly powerful, so much so that there is never any tension — when he needs food or water, he makes it. When he needs information, he compels people to speak. When he needs, well, you get the point. His story does have a strong close, but up to that point it isn’t all that interesting. The same is true, though to a lesser extent, of Rudolpho and Jin’s storylines. Surrounded by their enemies, playing a taut game of appearances, these sections should be incredibly and constantly tension-filled, but are surprisingly and disappointingly placid. The sections on the moon, as with Vlad Tam’s sections, suffer a bit from things coming too easily (the sometimes-problem with god-like powers), but more so from things being too abstract and removed. In all these cases, the plot doesn’t compel enough and the emotional impact is either non-existent or too muted, save for the ending, where the emotions pack a wallop.

The big exception to this is the plot line dealing with Marta and the mystery metal man, which from the very start is filled with tension, suspense, and emotion. As mentioned, Requiem is a fast, smooth read and it does hold attention enough to keep one going to the end, but it really comes alive when these two are the focus.

Beyond plot and character, Scholes continues to explore complex questions of faith and technology and humanity: how faith can be used to manipulate, the moral implications of powerful technology, questions of means versus ends, questions about what does it mean to be human (growing up and father figures play important roles in this book and the series as a whole), about humanity’s propensities for both violence/self-destruction and exploration/creation. These questions go a good way toward making up for some of the novel’s plot problems.

Requiem disappoints in comparison to its predecessors, falling into the “bridge book” rut a bit — things happen that move a complicated story forward, but without a lot of impact on the reader. It’s by no means a bad book, and it’s certainly a necessary one with regard to the series, but I would have liked to care a bit more, as much as I did before, about what happened to these characters.

Sharp

Sharp is the second full novel in the MINDSPACE INVESTIGATION series and is a direct follow up to the first book Clean. Adam is still struggling from the after-effects of his over-extension of his abilities at the end of Clean and is having a hard time keeping up with the pace of his work while coping with the never-ending craving of addiction.

A new case comes up, a vicious murder, and Adam is tasked to determine if there is some psychic evidence that he can add to the investigation. When Adam and Detective Cherabino get to the scene of the crime, Adam is stunned to find that the victim is Emily, one of his former students. Adam had destroyed Emily’s psychic abilities through negligence while he was in the throes of his addiction and still an instructor for the Guild.

Mirroring reality, the city budget for law enforcement is facing serious budget reductions and lay-offs are imminent. Contractors and other non-essential staff are all being strongly scrutinized during this process. For Adam, losing his job and the essential mechanism that it provides for him to function with the challenges of his addiction is a terrible threat. Despite the lingering weakness of having over used his talents, the need to excel so he can keep his job is pushing him hard.

On top of all this the Guild has sent an investigative Agent to monitor Adam. Even though he is no longer affiliated with the Guild, this oversight is not only invasive of his privacy, but also represents a real threat. Adam’s choices, while not a real threat to the Guild, are not always exactly in the best interest of the Guild. There is a real pull between his loyalty to the police force and the increasing expectations of the Guild that he will provide them insight into issues that they consider in their purview.

There is so much going on in Sharp and it’s interesting for sure, but the best part of this story is the characterization of Adam. Alex Hughes does such a great job of really letting you feel the stress and anxiety that Adam is enduring. His guilt over having permanently damaged two gifted women as a side-effect of his drug addiction, his desire to protect his functional lifestyle as an addict who is staying out of trouble, and his desire to earn the trust and friendship of Detective Cherabino make him so real. I could really feel just how hard it was for him to cope with all of this at once and not just give up and dash into the oblivion that his addiction promises.

Sharp is so much more than just a paranormal detective novel. The worldbuilding is good, the complexities of the plot, while predictable, are interesting and the development of the main character is awesome. I haven’t been too excited about any other urban fantasies I’ve read recently, but Sharp was fantastic.

Issue 3 has three pieces. The first, “Getting Shot in the Face Still Stings” by Michelle Ann King, is a short story about Marc, a gangster who is plenty dangerous when he loses his temper, and his brother, Dom. As the story opens, Marc is in the process of beating a man to death with a nine iron for claiming he was robbed of the outfit’s profits through magical means. As it happens, though, the unfortunate man was telling the truth: Elena is a goddess of immortal death, able to endure any number of deaths. When she’s killed, time rewinds to a few moments before it happens, and everyone retains the memory of what occurred. Marc is not pleased. Neither is Elena, by the time Marc has killed her for the third time; as she says, “I might be technically immortal, but getting shot in the face still stings.” How long does it take for the bad guys to wise up? Longer than you’d think, but the ending to this story is satisfying.

The second piece is a scholarly work of film criticism entitled “Waking Up from the American Dream: The Horror of Memory in Brad Anderson’s Session 9” by David Annandale. It is largely about the role memory plays in horror narratives, and specifically in the film under discussion. I’ve not seen the film, but this piece of criticism makes me want to do so and then reread the piece. It’s entertainingly written, with a minimum of scholarly jargon. With a bit of internet sleuthing, I learned that Annandale is a fiction writer as well as a university professor, which perhaps accounts for the transparent style in which he writes criticism. It’s a nice trick, and makes for good reading.

The final piece in this issue is a short story entitled “The Autobiography of Jeffrey Kline,” by Laura-Marie Steele. It is a fine piece of weird fiction; you know you’re in for something strange when the first sentence in the story reads, “Della wiped the outcropping of books from her brow.” Della has apparently been infected with the title book, a trashy autobiography by a talk show host, one Della hasn’t read and has no interest in; she doesn’t even watch his show. She tries her supermarket shelves for possible remedies, but comes up empty. When sweating books turns into vomiting books, Della heads for the hospital, where things go from plenty bad to much worse in very short order. It’s unfortunate that the author feels it necessary to explain from whence this infection arose; the weird is so much weirder when it just happens. Still, it’s an entertaining story.

Matlock suggests in his introduction to this issue that he hasn’t been getting the volume of submissions that he had originally hoped for. Perhaps that means this is a market blossoming horror writers might wish to try. The magazine is plainly put together with care, and with considerable respect for the written word. It’s worth watching to see what it might become.

The Weirdstone of Brisingamen

Purportedly written for children but with a strong appeal for adults as well, Alan Garner’s first novel, The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, is a swashbuckling heroic fantasy set in the present day, and one that conflates elements of Welsh, Nordic and English mythology into one very effective brew. Though now deemed a classic of sorts, I probably would never have heard of this work, had it not been for Scottish author Muriel Gray’s article about it in the excellent overview volume Horror: Another 100 Best Books. In her article, Gray describes the book with expressions such as “truly gripping,” “beautifully crafted” and “a young person’s introduction to horror.” And now that I have finally read the book, I can heartily concur.

In The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, we meet a brother and sister named Colin and Susan (their last name is never given, nor are their ages), who, when we first encounter them, are going to stay with their mother’s old nurse and her husband, Bess and Gowther Mossock, while the kids’ parents are abroad for six months. The Mossocks’ farm in (real-life) Alderley, in Cheshire, seems initially idyllic, but trouble soon looms. As it turns out, the heirloom pendant that Susan wears on her wrist is nothing less than the titular Weirdstone, essential for protecting the sleeping warriors in underground Fundindelve from the depredations of Nastrond, the Spirit of Darkness. Delivering the Weirdstone safely to the good wizard Cadellin Silverbrow, however, aided by Gowther and by two Viking-like dwarves, Fenodyree and Durathror, embroils the two children in the adventure of their young lives.

At this point, you may be wondering why a seemingly adolescent fantasy novel was chosen for inclusion in a listing of some of the best adult horror books, but trust me, those horror elements are present in abundance. Besides featuring witches, warlocks, the svart-alfar (goblins), the mara (a sort of monstrous, 20-foot-high, walking female statue of green stone), the Fenris wolf, giant eyeless dogs, malevolent scarecrow creatures et al., the book also throws in horrors of a more subtle variety. All the birds in the county seem to be in league with the forces of evil, and are used as both aerial spies in the story and as beaked and taloned fighters; indeed, the scene in which Durathror goes up against a swarm of these birds cannot help but bring to mind the famed Hitchcock film of three years later.

No one in Garner’s book is to be trusted, either; even a neighbor who one has known for decades may turn out to be a warlock or abettor of evil. An aura of real paranoia is thus engendered by the author, similar almost to the one encountered in the 1956 film Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Garner’s story also features some extended bravura set pieces, including the children’s exploration of sorceress Selina Place’s abode, the 50-page sequence in which they explore the underground caverns of Cheshire (a sequence that will most assuredly prove disagreeable to anyone who suffers from claustrophobia), and the lengthy section in which our five heroes flee across a wintry countryside from all the forces of evil ranged against them.

Garner writes very well, simply but movingly, although his powers of description regarding geography and terrain can be a bit shaky; young (and old) readers might have to exercise their gift of imagination fully to envision some of these sections (not that there’s anything wrong with that!).

Though supposedly a children’s book, I wonder how many adults out there will be familiar with such words as “shippon,” “withy,” “mithered” and “nesh,” not to mention the heaps of mythical references and names that Garner casually dishes out! Having said that, I will admit that The Weirdstone of Brisingamen offers some nice words of wisdom to the youngsters, such as when Fenodyree tells the children, “The deed is nothing. It is the thought that breeds fear; and we achieve little by lingering,” or when Gowther shows us all the perfect way to apologize: “Ay. I spoke out of turn. You’re reet, and I’m wrong. I’m sorry.”

Another plus for this chilling fantasy novel: the inclusion of a pair of charming maps, drawn by one Charles Green, that greatly aid in visualizing the odyssey that the children and their allies make. Bottom line: The Weirdstone of Brisingamen should not be ignored by adult readers, especially if they happen to be horror buffs. The book was followed by a direct sequel, 1963′s The Moon of Gomrath, and I cannot imagine any reader of the first volume not curious to find out what happens next to Colin and Susan…

Extinction

Extinction is the second novel in B.V. Larson’s STAR FORCE series about professor Kyle Riggs who was picked up by an alien spaceship and now captains a fleet of ships that are protecting earth from other aliens. I called the first book, Swarm, “a silly, but exciting, male wish-fulfillment fantasy.” I wouldn’t have moved on to book two, but the audiobook publisher sent it to me for a review, so here we are.

Extinction takes place soon after the events of Swarm. Kyle has made a deal with the bad aliens. He promised that if they’d leave the Earth alone, he’d supply them with trained troops to help them fight their other battles around the universe. He needs to get those troops ready before the aliens come to collect. He also needs to figure out how to make more spaceships because the aliens have kidnapped a bunch of them, along with their captains, so they can use them to fight elsewhere. Meanwhile, Kyle is also dealing with the U.S. government who wants to get its hands on the technology that Star Force is using.

I read about 1/3 of Extinction before giving up. It’s just too cheesy and juvenile. All of the characters are shallow, but the worst is Kyle’s coed girlfriend who is there only to look hot and provide unromantic sex on the beach at random moments. The plot is ridiculously unbelievable and the writing style offers nothing to admire. This series might be exciting for an adolescent male, but for the rest of us, it mostly feels like a cheap SyFy movie.

Why is the STAR FORCE series getting such high ratings at Amazon and Goodreads? Because it was self-published and initially offered for free or very cheaply at Amazon. Compared to most of the stuff that’s published this way, it holds up pretty well since Mr. Larson can, you know, actually write complete grammatically correct sentences and get his plot across clearly. Thus, it gets 5-star ratings from people who read cheap books and then Amazon notices and sends it over to its sister companies, Brilliance Audio and Audible, who put it in audio format. That’s how it ends up in my mailbox (and if they read this, they’ll probably blacklist me). Don’t let these 5-star ratings fool you. STAR FORCE may compare well to whatever other cheap stuff these Amazon reviewers are reading, but compared to the literature that readers who visit FanLit want to read…. well, let’s just say it doesn’t compare.

Frodo: This week has been extremely traumatic so far, roaming in the wild and dodging Black Riders everywhere I turn. The worst of it is that every time I try to settle down and relax with a good book, Strider’s there to bang on about some elven legend or another. Tonight he chanted what must have been half the bloody Lays of Beleriand, stopping every four verses without fail to tell us how much better it would sound in the original Quenya. Getting quite fed up with this, but Sam keeps encouraging our amateur jongleur to ever more ridiculous vocal gymnastics “so long as it’s about elves, Mister Frodo.” There are times I wish we’d never had that dinner with the elves in the Shire. Food is the way to win Sam’s heart, and as the elves seem to bake honey into everything, I should have seen this infatuation coming.

Kat: It was a pretty good reading week for me. Almost everything I read was at least fairly entertaining. The only thing that didn’t hit the spot was John Scalzi’s The Sagan Diary which is a novella set in his OLD MAN’S WAR universe. It was boring. A little better was Simon R. Green’s seventh NIGHTSIDE book, Hell To Pay. The best books were Robert A. Heinlein’s juvenile Time for the Stars, the first three (chronologically) of Lois McMaster Bujold’s MILES VORKOSIGAN books, Shards of Honor, Barrayar, and The Warrior’s Apprentice. Last but not least was Kevin Hearne’s fourth IRON DRUID CHRONICLES novel, Tricked. All of this was done on audio. In print I’ve started Good-Bye, Robinson Crusoe and Other Stories by John Varley. This is looking very good so far.

Marion: The Steel Seraglio  by Mike, Linda and Louise Carey was in the Nebula swag bag and the evocative black and white illustrations caught my interest. I started it over the weekend. The story is interesting, but the language tripped me up (it’s set in a fantasy past, yet one of the evil usurper’s guards refers to a concubine as a “little number,” carrying universal translation too far.) Then I got dragged out of the story by a logic problem; Rem is clearly not one of the concubines, but there are 365 concubines, and the usurper exiles 365, and Rem’s there, and none of them died, so how…  Anyway, yesterday I picked up Mary Robinette Kowal’s regency fantasy Glamour in Glass, and I’m having none of those kinds of problems!

Steven: Started Where the Summer Ends: The Best Horror Stories of Karl Edward Wagner, Volume 1 by Karl Edward Wagner. I’ve read most of these stories before, but it’s great to revisit them. I’m a funny kind of horror fan in that I basically don’t like horror that much. The few horror authors I do enjoy reading are mostly the really, really older ones such as Edgar Allan Poe or H. P. Lovecraft, but Wagner is also a major favorite of mine. I’ve also been reading An Army at Dawn: The War in North Africa 1942=1943, by Pulitzer Prize winner Rick Atkinson. I’m not usually a big fan of military history, but this one has been almost impossible to put down.

Terry: It’s been a busy work week, so I haven’t gotten a lot of reading done. Still, I’ve read the most recent issues of Black Treacle Magazine and Nightmare, and started the new issue of Shadows and Tall Trees. Short fiction works well when I’m working hard! I’ve also started reading Magus of Stonewylde by Kit Berry, which is a YA novel about a girl who finds her salvation in a small, isolated community in Dorset — but there’s something sinister going on here that I haven’t quite figured out yet. I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out.

Tim: Purely on a whim, I reread the two books of Patrick Rothfuss‘s KINGKILLER CHRONICLE this week. The Name of the Wind is a truly remarkable debut novel. The Wise Man’s Fear, as in my first reading, is a work about which my feelings are a bit more complicated, though trying to parse out exactly just what my thoughts are on the matter is proving difficult.

Bill:  This week I read The Beautiful Land by Alan Averill (enjoyable but flawed by some plot and character issues), The Fall of Arthur by J.R. R. Tolkien (enjoyable but flawed by being unfinished), and The Lost Kingdom by Matthew Kirby (enjoyable, but more so for Middle Graders than adults).  Reviews up soon.  Hoping for enjoyable without the “buts” next week.