Journal Of Always

Review: Best Laid Plans (Shader Book II) by D.P. Prior

2012-01-25T21:33:00.005-05:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

Sequels are a tricky business. I consider it a rarity when books actually get better after a fantastic opening volume. Off the top of my head, I can only think of three series that hold this distinction: King’s The Dark Tower, Dalglish’s Shadowdance Trilogy, and of course the Harry Potter books.

In other words, with Best Laid Plans: Shader Book II, D.P. Prior has joined some pretty select company.

Best Laid Plans picks up the story of the events on Sahul (and in other, more surreal locales) with the characters in dire straits. The undead army of the liche Dr. Cadman has overwhelmed Sarum, the Templum fleet is approaching Sahul, and Deacon Shader, our hero, is, well, dead…none of which will stay true for very long.

To say this book has a busy plot would be an understatement. At my count, there are at least nine storylines going on at once: Deacon’s experience in the afterlife, the struggles of the White Order, the survival of those trapped in Sarum, Cadman’s angst and rise to efforts to retain power, Maldark the dwarf’s guilt over his past, the dreamer Huntsman’s continuing education of Rhiannon’s brother Sammy, Sektis Gandaw’s quest to assemble the statue of Eingana and begin the unweaving, Shadrak’s growing importance to the whole (possibly) preordained events unfolding, Shader’s resurrection and subsequent quest, and Emperor Hagalle’s double-handed dealings. Throw into this mix vast battle sequences, and you have a piece of literature that could very well have become disjointed and confusing in a lesser author’s hands.

Yet Prior is up to the task in this opus, and the narrative he builds is a fascinating one. There is mythology and philosophy, questions as to the nature of reality and time, scathing observations on government and religion, and even a few references to modern-day events and objects that bring this beyond the realm of just a great epic fantasy adventure. All of these tropes and points meld together, creating a work that is exciting while at the same time thought-provoking.

This book questions everything. While there are certainly protagonists and antagonists, these characters are as far from being cardboard cutouts that you can get. Perhaps the greatest achievement is the way Prior allows us, through differing points of view, to see inside the minds of virtually every major character and allows us to develop at least an inkling of empathy for them. Even the despicable Cadman and the perhaps more-despicable Gaston (who performed a virtually unforgivable act in the first book) are given time to show they’re real, flesh-and-blood people with doubts and fears and even remorse. It allows them, the characters, the move the plot forward rather than the plot moving them, which for a work that deals a lot in fate and preordination is a feat in and of itself.

The battle sequences were well thought-out and exciting—much more so than in the first book—and particularly the scenes that take place at sea, while Deacon is attempting to find the albino who stole his pieces of Eingana, are captivating. They’re a mixture of new and old, a melding of science fiction and Tolkien-esque fantasy that is truly original and awe-inspiring in scope. There were very few times where I became confused, and even on those rare occasions all it took was a small step backward to realize that I’d simply missed a sentence or misunderstood the usage of a certain word or phrase.

In conclusion, I can say that Best Laid Plans not only matches Cadman’s Gambit, the first book in the series, but enhances it. This is a book chock full of imagery both beautiful and hideous, with a mixture of genuine comedy in places to break up the despair and tension. It was a beast of a story to read, one I didn’t want to put down. And by the time I reached the cliffhanger ending, I wished more than anything that I had the third book on hand so I could get right to it.

That’s right, folks, D.P. Prior has crafted a wonderful mythology that goes perfectly with his spot-on writing. This is a series that should be savored like a fine scotch, one whose sweetness lingers in your mouth long after you’ve swallowed.

Purchase Best Laid Plans in E-book format from:

Top 15 Books of 2011

2012-01-11T10:14:00.005-05:00

Well, I'm a tad bit late to the game here, but better late then never, right?

Once again, I looked over a great deal of outstanding fiction over the past year, and here are my top 15 (well, sort of 16) in ascending order.

(Disclaimer: All of this is according to me, of course. Obviously there are many books I haven't read.)

#15 - Spirit Storm by E.J. Stevens (4.5) - Lighthearted but meaningful, the second book in Stevens's Spirit Guide series came this close to being much higher on the list.

#14 - The Stasis: Powerless book 3 by Jason Letts (4.6) - The best book of the Powerless series, full of despair and dark emotion.

#13 - The Miracle Inspector by Helen Smith (4.7) - A fantastic literary exploration of dystopian Britain. Darkly comedic and unsettling.

#12 - Draculas by Blake Crouch, Joe Konrath, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson (4.7) - Quite simply, this was hilariously gory fun.

#11 - Anomaly by Thea Atkinson (4.7) - Heartwarming and disturbing at the same time, a fascinating (not to mention revealing) look at addiction and the nature of sexuality.

#10 - Freeze by Daniel Pyle (4.8) - A short, powerful story that left me breathless.

#9 - The Gods of Dream by Daniel Arenson (4.8) - This hallucinatory look at the world of our sleep is meaningful and full of wonderful description.

#8 - The Ryel Saga by Carolyn Kephart (4.9) - A work of epic fantasy that is almost poetic in its prose and pace.

#7 - Jenny Pox by J.L. Bryan (4.9) - In the first book of his Paranormals series, author Bryan creates a work that very much stands up to the likes of Carrie and Weaveworld.

#6 - A Dance of Death and A Dance of Blades by David Dalglish (5.0) - Okay, so I'm cheating a little, but since these two books are the 3rd and 2nd in a trilogy, and are both now available in an omnibus, I figured I'd combine them here. Let's just say that Dalglish's Shadowdance books are so well-written and plotted that he'll have a hard time topping them in the future.

#5 - Dismember by Daniel Pyle (5.0) - A truly compelling journey of horror into the broken mind of a man who only wants his family back.

#4 - Cadman's Gambit (Shader Book I) by D.P. Prior (5.0) - With a compelling mix of science fiction and hard-boiled fantasy, this book captured me from the first sentence and wouldn't let me go.

#3 - The Infection by Craig DiLouie (5.0) - I'm a sucker for zombie fiction, and let's just say that DiLouie's opus is a new take on the end of the world and just about as good as it gets.

#2 - A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish (5.0) - Sure, his later series may be tighter and more refined, but as far as emotion goes—and I'm a sucker for emotional threads—Dalglish has never been better than in the final novel of his Half-Orcs series.

And finally...

drumroll

#1 - Burying Brian by Steven Pirie (5.0)

My favorite author over the last 20 years doesn't disappoint with his follow-up to Digging Up Donald. It's a hilarious and poignant journey of one inept man's attempt to save humankind, and heaven, from themselves.

And that's it, folks! Here's to a great 2012, to great books and great writers, so go out there and read!

Review: The Legend of Witchtrot Road (Spirit Guide #3) by E.J. Stevens

2012-01-09T19:26:00.005-05:00

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

Man, do I love E.J. Stevens. She has such a pure innocence in her prose, as if she’s capturing just what it means to be young and in love and also, at the same time, have the weight of the world on your shoulders.

In The Legend of Witchtrot Road, the third installment in her Spirit Guide series, Stevens steps back a bit. The far-reaching story arch that encompassed the first two books is still present, but it is allowed to linger in the background, to heighten naturally. As a storyteller she reins herself in, focusing on the tale at hand rather than building her world outright.

In many ways, The Legend of Witchtrot Road is very similar to a midseason “event episode” of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yuki, our main character who smells the dead, has her own Scooby gang, and together they must solve the mysterious death of a classmate, whose untimely end came on the Witchtrot Road of the title. The road itself is steeped in myth, superstition, and dark history, and if the always stalwart Yuki is going to have a semblance of peace from her classmate’s lingering ghost, the answers to the mystery need to come quickly.

This is a tale of social conscience and, just like the great television show I mentioned earlier, takes some of the more pressing concerns facing our nation’s youth (bullying, eating disorders, the proliferation of drugs in the community, etc.) and presents them in a fantastic manner. It’s a type of storytelling that’s pure in intention and beautiful in message, especially when presented in a professional manner, which E.J. Stevens does with every book she puts out.

Now, even though the specifics of Yuki and company’s world aren’t explored in-depth, as I already stated, they are still there. There are some interesting developments when it comes to Simon (perhaps the best character in the series), and also certain events that made me, the reader, question whether or not Yuki and werewolf boyfriend Cal will indeed have the happily ever after they’ve seemed, until now, destined to live.

Yes, The Legend of Witchtrot Road is a fantastically naïve, touching, and thoughtful novel. Stevens continues on her journey as a writer, and you can plainly tell when you read the words she puts on the page that she continues to grow. The author has a wonderful story to tell, one that I thoroughly enjoyed and will certainly be passing down to my own daughter. To me, this is a coup of the YA genre, one that shouldn’t be missed.

Purchase The Legend of Witchtrot Road in Ebook format:

Review: Livin' La Vida Papa by Louis Mack

2012-01-08T22:02:00.006-05:00

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

Being a father, I understand the parental duty. However, given the fact I’ve always had a job, I don’t have a clue what it would be like to be a stay-at-home dad.

And now here comes Louis Mack, in his hilariously real Livin’ La Vida Papa, to fill in those gaps.

This is a tight and amusing read, as the author—who is himself a rather well known horror novelist writing under a pseudonym—intersperses bits of his personal experience in raising his daughter and infant son between offering advice to young parents that is surprisingly sincere despite its mirth…or perhaps because of it.

Each personal anecdote is humorous and sometimes gag-inducing, while at the same time imparting a sort of innocence and sense of self-exploration that is refreshing. It’s a short read as well, one you can read in perhaps a couple hours. This briskness allows the words to pack an even greater punch than they would have if this was some four-hundred page magnum opus.

So yeah, Livin’ La Vida Papa is a darn good experience. I recommend it to young fathers, to writers who falsely assume that if they were just able to stay home all day they’d get that much more accomplished, and, well, just about everyone else. It’s funny and heartfelt, and no matter what, you’re guaranteed to come out of the experience with at least one story you can rest assured no one else will have heard of.

Purchase Livin' La Vida Papa in Ebook format:

ST Review: Burying Brian by Steven Pirie

2011-12-18T22:06:00.011-05:00

This review originally appeared in Shock Totem Issue 4

Rating: 5 out of 5

When I read Digging Up Donald four years ago, I stated that it was the best book I’d read in the last twenty years, and I meant it. I’d known Steven Pirie for a long time through writers’ groups and other online venues, and knew he possessed a wit and charm that few others could match, but never in my widest dreams could I have guessed that a book written by someone I considered an acquaintance would possibly stand alongside the likes of Douglas Adams, Clive Barker, and the rest of my all-time favorites.

And yet it did, so when Mr. Pirie announced that he had written a second offering that takes place in the same universe, I eagerly requested a copy for review. As an odd happenstance (at least for me), I never once questioned if Burying Brian, this aforementioned second book, would reach the same heights that Donald did.

My assumptions weren’t wrong.

Burying Brian brings us back to Mudcaster, that odd little town sitting snug in the English countryside, where the forces of good and evil perform their seemingly never-ending dance of power. This time God has thrown his all-powerful self into the ring as well, because for some reason known only to God (He does work in mysterious ways), He’s stricken with the urge to head back down to Earth and live amongst the mortals yet again.

The Mother and The Father, the old (very old) lords of balance in Mudcaster, are aging, with The Mother verging on entering Grandmotherhood, which itself carries a litany of “changes”. Because of this, it’s up to their daughter Maureen and her husband, a ne’er-do-well simpleton named Brian, to set things right and stop the demons of hell from bringing about humanity’s Final Judgment.

Brian, in particular, has a large part to play, the biggest of all. In Donald he was a rarely seen character, more used to be the butt of brilliantly sublime sexual innuendo. He has come full circle once Brian begins, however, and he’s chosen to go on a quest, to learn all he can about the failings of the human race so he can properly defend the sins of man. His journey takes him from the dart competition at his local pub to the bowels of hell. His trip is long, often times hilarious, and always affecting. Being a bit of a damp lettuce, Brian many times suffers through his trials only to emerge on the other side with his innocence intact. Because of this, I couldn’t help but think of the themes presented in Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut, in which humans are said to have been cursed by their big brains and even bigger ideas. As Brian vividly displays on every step of his journey, when you live in a world of such unnecessary complexity, sometimes the simple answers, those we overlook, are the ones we should be seeking out.

On the whole, Burying Brian doesn’t just approach brilliance but completely surpasses it. The prose Pirie uses is clever, never dull, and brings about a sense of poignancy that does what the best literature is supposed to do – make you think. The world he’s created is vast, with layers of religious mythology piled on top of everyday existence, creating a setting that is equal parts mundane and fantastic. Common folks and jobs (such as undertakers) are expanded upon, given far-reaching implications and meaning in the history of the universe. He also uses “funny physics” to help drive forward the plot – something as routine as the sequence of the bingo balls at the local old-folks’ home have dire consequences to the order of the cosmos – further illustrating the absurdity of the unnecessary complexity we humans must deal with on a daily basis.

In all, I can once more say that Steven Pirie has done it. Burying Brian is more than an equal to his last book; it’s an indispensable companion to it. To this reviewer’s eyes, Pirie is the greatest writer of his generation. Burying Brian will excite you, make you laugh, and cause you to question all those mores we all hold as law, be it in regards to religion, science, sexuality, or marriage. Burying Brian is the best book I’ve read in a long time, and this author needs to be placed in the pantheon of other greats, alongside the likes of Bradbury, Vonnegut, Adams, Pratchett, and Robbins. This novel is well worth anyone’s time, and I give it fifteen thousand enthusiastic thumbs up.

Purchase Burying Brian in Ebook format at:

And in Paperback at:

Review: Jenny Pox by J.L. Bryan

2011-12-11T19:25:00.007-05:00

Rating: 4.9 out of 5

The teen years. A time of awkwardness and confusion, of inner turmoil and the search for one’s self. Throw into this the pressures of school, the chaos of personal and family relations, and the conflicting messages when discovering of one’s own sexuality, and the stress multiplies. This is hard enough on a normal child, but imagine being someone who has a problem – a real problem such as a deformity, mental handicap, or social deficiency. Then the stress involved with simply growing up becomes that much more difficult.

In a lot of ways, this is the root of the conflict J.L. Bryan explores in his amazing horror yarn, Jenny Pox. He takes the pressures and cruelties of youth, adds in a dash of the supernatural, and what comes out on the other side is beautiful in its viciousness and odd innocence.

Jenny is a lonely child, growing up without a mother, with her alcoholic, depressed father the only loving adult in her life. Jenny is a troubled child, born with a striking physical deficiency – she can’t touch any living thing, lest they die a horrible death as a bane of sickness infuses their bodies…the Jenny pox. So she grows up in solitude, left to imagine what life would be like if she could only be like normal kids, playing, holding hands, kissing, knowing at least the first budding flutter of love.

Her life is spent avoiding people at all costs, and she at all times wears clothes that cover up the majority of her body – including gloves for her hands – that make her an object of ridicule. And when, as a younger child, she has a run-in with the ironically named Ashleigh Goodling, the daughter of the local preacher and a girl who will grow up to be her main foil, the resulting confrontation leads to her being an object of ridicule and fear.

For her part, Ashleigh is the mirror image of Jenny. Strong where Jenny is weak, outgoing where Jenny is introverted, Ashleigh embodies everything Jenny sometimes wishes she could be. Once they reach high school, Ashleigh becomes (of course) the head cheerleader, leader of the student body, and mouthpiece for abstinence and virtue. And this is where the not-so-subtle brilliance of the story lies, for though Ashleigh seems to embody all of the cherished Christian values, her purity is purely surface-level; a disguise to hide her quest for power and domination.

It seems Ashleigh has a “special talent” just as Jenny does – the ability to make people love her. As does Ashleigh’s boyfriend Seth, who can heal most any wound, superficial or mortal. It is in Seth that Jenny eventually finds a like-minded soul, and when she is able to get him out of Ashleigh’s scope of influence, she is allowed to grow as a character, to experience the exhilaration of physical contact and the joy of finally belonging.

The novel is set up much like Stephen King’s Carrie, with the cruel school children – and the rest of the townsfolk – pushing Jenny’s buttons until the final confrontation, when Jenny pretty much loses her mind. The carnage that follows is disturbing yet understandable, not the least of which reason being that Bryan successfully entrenches us in Jenny’s brain, allows us to feel her longing, pain, happiness, and confusion. So when she flips the switch and the story takes a turn down the path of ultimate darkness, though we scream out, no, don’t do that, we completely get why the poor girl goes down the path she does.

Jenny is the perfect metaphor for the everyday lost soul. Even those of us who were in places of popularity in our youths can relate to her much more than the malevolent Ashleigh. Yet this is not the only metaphorical device the author uses. His portrayal of Christian morality as a means of control and subterfuge is inspired; in a way, he’s saying that experimenting while growing up is natural, and that placing false restrictions on ourselves is done not by the ones experiencing the growth, but those wishing to capitalize on the confusion of youth, a way of building an army of likeminded individuals sympathetic with a certain cause, complete with all the prejudices, hatred, and influence that have been passed down through generations. Given the state of our culture today, this is downright frightening.

I think this aspect of the plot may be misconstrued by readers. In presenting us with the iniquity of fanatic belief, Bryan isn’t saying Christianity in itself is bad, but that the way the doctrine is warped and beaten into the heads of our children is dangerous. As a reader I appreciated the message, as a human I wished more people would take a deeper look and understand that diversity and individuality are what drives culture to accomplish great things.

Jenny Pox takes all the tropes of young adult fiction, tosses them in a pot, shakes them up, and then reorganizes them into something meaningful, a novel written for adults using children to explore the deeper reasoning behind our own intolerance. The kids are kids, acting in a way we all did in our youths, not presented as ideals but real people. You will find no damsels in distress here, no characters that derive their meaning from the opinions of the ones they’re infatuated with. Abusive relationships aren’t puffed up as being more than what they are, each character is in charge of their own self-discovery, and misogyny isn’t glorified. Even Jenny, in her weakest state, is a strong individual, one we all can sympathize and grow along with. Even the mystical aspects at the end of the book that set up the rest of the series, and the somewhat clunky execution of the final confrontation (the only reason this book didn’t get a perfect score) don’t take away from this.

Pick up this book. Read it. Enjoy it. Think on it. It’s a great example of horror with heart, of a story that goes against the norm and uses the fantastic to heighten real events, real emotions, real experiences. Yes, I will say that I adore J.L. Bryan’s writing. This is the second book of his that I’ve read, and it seems with each experience, my enjoyment and appreciation for his style and message only grows along with the dazzling characters he’s created. He’s a writer to watch out for, to dive into, to explore.

This certainly won’t be the last book of his I’ll read, and it shouldn’t be for you, either.

Purchase Jenny Pox in ebook format at the following outlets:

Review: The Haunted E-Book by J.L. Bryan

2011-12-07T20:35:00.007-05:00

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

It’s a great feeling when you come across an idea you haven’t seen before, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve all read stories of haunted houses, haunted cars, even haunted people…but a haunted ebook? I mean, think about it for a second—even the term didn’t exist ten years or so ago.

Which makes the appropriately-titled The Haunted E-Book, written by J.L. Bryan of Jenny Pox fame, the first of its kind. This is a primacy that all writers yearn for but very few achieve.

On to the story.

Dee is a librarian in rural Georgia, a broken woman stuck in a place she doesn’t want to be simply because she wants to be close to the grave of her deceased friend Lilah. She spends her time reading her Kindle while trying to forget the fact her life’s gone nowhere in a hurry. Her loser townie boyfriend treats her like she isn’t there, which in fact reflects Dee’s view of herself. She’s a shell of a woman, a ghost wafting through the real world, hardly ever seen.

Strange things begin happening right away, when she downloads a book titled—yup—The Haunted E-Book. The book takes over her entire library of digital books, even inserting itself into other stories when she tries to read something different.

And this is where things get very, very interesting, because what we have here is a story within a story…within a story. Dee reads about Madison, who’s reading about Parker, who’s reading about Elaine. And in each incarnation, the person they’re reading about is reading a book called the same thing, only with the individual story being different. It sounds confusing, like looking into two mirrors at the same time and seeing the same image projected over and over again into infinity, but in fact, with the way Bryan constructed the story, it’s quite easy to follow.

The book follows the same pattern with every reader—so-and-so begins to be haunted by a mysterious, shadowy figure with letters stamped on his flesh, and who carries an iron composite stick with which he kills his victims. And how do you fall victim to this sadistic ghost?

Why, you stop reading.

Dee is thrust into the lives of the people she reads about, and her life at home falls apart. Then, following a familiar pattern with tales of hauntings, she is sent on a mission to discover the history behind the book, actually meets a few of the characters she’s read about (who turn out to be people just as real as her), and begins a daring chase in hopes of putting an end to the bad guy once and for all. In a way, it’s the story of one woman coming to grips with who she is, realizing her worth to both herself and the ones who loved her. And since this is horror, this epiphany comes when her life hangs precariously by a thread.

While the last third of The Haunted E-Book does follow a familiar pattern, the hows and whys of the plot make it refreshing. The evil presence behind the haunting is sinister in a subversive way, a “man” whose every action is made out of love—or at least his own twisted definition of it. He’s creepy and evocative of horror tales past, and his backstory, yet another book-within-a-book, is fascinating, as is the description of how he comes to haunt the books in the first place.

In all, I can heartily recommend The Haunted E-Book to anyone who enjoys reading an original, inventive horror yarn, complete with dismemberment, terror, and visceral thrills. It’s a hellride, the journey of one woman who wishes to be reborn while experiencing the most dreadful events of her lifetime. It will chew you up and spit you out, and by the time you read the final page, you’ll be left wondering if the words The End are truthful…or if it’s yet another vehicle of malevolence to lull us into a false sense of security.

Purchase The Haunted E-Book in, ahem, ebook format at the following retailers:

Review: A Dance of Death (Shadowdance Book III) by David Dalglish

2011-11-16T13:50:00.006-05:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

I love David Dalglish’s books. There, I said it. Everything he’s put out I’ve devoured and raved about. From Weight of Blood, the introduction to his Half-Orcs series, to his new Paladins adventures, each story builds upon the next, further enhancing and enriching the world he’s created and presenting new conspiracies, enemies, and themes.

Now we come to A Dance of Death, the climactic work of the Shadowdance series – which, strangely enough, are really stand-alone novels masquerading as a series. And I will now say, as I seem to after virtually every Dalglish book, that he’s once more raised the bar, making this reviewer swoon, sway, and cheer with each swing of the sword (or thrust of the dagger).

This time around, we find Haern, fully entrenched in his role as King’s Watcher, being led out of Velderan by a copycat killer in the town of Angelport, miles away from home. This mimic kills seemingly indiscriminately, leaving behind Haern’s old calling card, the bloody, traced eye, one he hasn’t used in years.

Haern, along with Alyssa and Zusa, head south. There are other bad things going on in Angelport – a fight with the elves over the woodlands, the proliferation of a new, powerful drug that is spreading through the streets, and the infighting between the merchant lords, who own the boats, and the lord of the land, who is slowly losing control of everything. Into this mix is thrown the Wraith, Haern’s much-too-talented, unwanted protégé, which pitches everything into a great big smorgasbord of murder, conspiracy, deceit, and political intrigue that brings the city to the brink of war – both with the elves and amongst themselves.

For the first time, Dalglish introduces a plot that is truly mysterious and isn’t concluded until the very end. While all of his books possess tremendous character development – and are usually carried by it – this one actually uses the plot itself, the mystery, to drive the story forward, using the previously stated character development to enhance the story, making the characters come to even more life than they already are. We understand Alyssa’s doubt, Zusa’s anger, Haern’s guilt, because each step of the way we’re shown why they feel what they’re feeling.

And they aren’t the only characters spotlighted here. We’re also reintroduced to Torgar, from way back in book one, who serves as the master of the guard for the Keenans, the Trifect members who reside in Angelport. We also get further insight into Madelyn Keenan’s character, who, let’s just say, is one of my favorites in the whole book, maybe the whole series. We also get inside the head of the Wraith, this mirror of a creation whose goals and actions don’t quite match up.

This is a book filled – and I mean filled – with meaning and thematic exploration. Everything from drug trafficking to environmental preservation to the question of how far is too far when it comes to the use of violence in making the world a better place are explored. Haern, for his part, is left to question his own motivations, to doubt his every action. He’s presented with a man much like himself, one that kills ostensibly at random, with no thought given to whether his victims deserve their fate or not. All of which leads Haern to wonder, what makes me so much better than him?

Because of this fact, there are no true heroes in A Dance of Death. What we cheer for when we read are incomplete people – in other words, fantasy representations of actual, real people experiencing the type of trauma – gang violence, drug dealers, vigilantism – that are found in any city across the world. All of which makes me repeat something I’ve said many times before: David Dalglish is not a fantasy author. He’s an author, period; one whose words would mean just as much if they were set in Chicago or Paris or Los Angeles as they do in Velderan…or Angelport.

The bottom line is this: A Dance of Death is a great, great read, a much more than worthy offering to close out a fantastic series. The characters are great, the story even better, and it has enough twists to make your head spin. We even get to see elves portrayed being not-so-elflike – you know wise and mystical and peaceful and all that – which I absolutely loved. There is heartbreak and anger, betrayal and gut-wrenching decisions, as well as some rather inspired deaths. I heartily recommend it, as I would all of the author’s books, and can honestly say I hope he gives us more of Haern’s story in the future, because there has to be more to tell.

Yeah, this is pretty much the perfect novel. You won’t be disappointed. And if you are, that’s on you, not the work.

If you want to read this fantastic work for yourself, buy them in Ebook format at the following sellers:

Review: Suspense (Spencer Nye Trilogy Book 1) by Jason Letts

2011-11-09T13:02:00.007-05:00

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

In certain ways, Facebook has become an integral part of my life. I spend way too much time on it, conversing with friends, making connections, sometimes simply passing the time. It’s become a useful tool, but also a slightly frightening one. If you were to think about how connected everyone is through these bits of data flowing invisibly all around us, it would be very easy to come up with a nightmare scenario where we not only use programs like this as a tool, but they become necessary to continue our way of life, a world where without social networking, the whole of society would be lost.

Jason Letts took this scenario, fleshed it out, and in a flash of unique and original storytelling created Suspense, the first book in his Spencer Nye Trilogy. To say I was impressed with what he came up with would be a grand understatement.

Suspense centers around the exploits of the girl for whom the series is named, Spencer Nye herself. She is a gritty character, full of anger and distrust. She is also a diehard, one who will do anything – even kill – to protect and defend the image and life of her Idol.

What is this all about, you ask? Diehards? Idols? Well it seems that in Letts’s brilliant new universe, the general world populace uses a program called Connect – the most powerful social media ever invented, accessed through nodes implanted into peoples’ skulls – to, well, keep themselves connected. They float through life only half-existing in the real world, spending the rest of the time immersed in the data that flashes in front of their eyes, reading up on the latest trends, what their friends are up to, or just perusing. I found it to be a quite disturbing visual the first time I read a scene depicting this, representative of a world where the flesh is at times looked at as a hindrance.

A good chunk of society also uses Connect to keep up with their Idols – basically folks who’ve gained so much popularity, so many followers, that they’ve become, in a certain sense, godlike. All six of the Idols live in a fortress on a hidden tropical island, to keep them safe. And the animosity between the diehards for each of them is frightening. They’re constantly at war, constantly killing each other, with the end game being to elevate their Idol to an even higher level. It’s a scary thought.

The specifics of the society the author created are interesting, even beyond the whole social networking angle. There is no more industry, as anything anyone would ever need is created simply by pressing a button on something called a molecular synthesizer. There is no more crime – other than diehard-on-diehard violence – as why in the world would you have to steal if it everyone had everything they wanted and money no longer existed? And people get around by using terminals that transport them from place to place in the blink of an eye, simply by pushing numbers into a keypad.

In a lot of ways you could look at this and think, that’s not so bad. On the surface, this society is bordering on a utopia, but with the loss of personal freedom that comes with everyone knowing what’s on your mind at all times, and the amount of fanaticism the Idols create, it steers in the opposite direction and becomes pure dystopia. With a lack of purpose, a lack of direction, it leads folks to act irrationally, to search for meaning in a world that, in truth, means absolutely nothing.

The story itself is an adventure, as Spencer and her friends, a cyborg named Jetta and a programmer named Patch, seemingly uncover a plan to take out the Idols – including theirs, the actor Cleary Mintz. This leads to a great many action sequences and a rather ingenious plan, thought up by the three friends, to turn Spencer, herself, into an Idol and fix the situation from the inside.

What follows is a great amount of intrigue and a further exploration into how this whole world started in the first place. There is mystery, paranoia, and a hint that the direction society has taken was orchestrated by something wholly not of this world. And in the middle of all this is Spencer, the unstable teenager whose only desire has ever been for her life to have meaning.

This is a very good book, folks. Suspense is resourceful and technical, a mix of science fiction and dystopian fiction with a truly original premise. Though written for a young adult crowd, it’s definitely been created for an older audience. There are scenes of violence, confusion, and at one point a rather inspired scenario of sexual exploration while not in one’s own body, experiencing the sensations from the opposite viewpoint. The book is obviously not perfect – what book is? – but it’s more than worthy of your time and energy. In fact, I’ll go a step further to say this particular work of fiction may be important, as well. It allows us to look at our own actions, how much time we spend on the internet “connecting” with people while ignoring those who are standing right beside us, and urges us to find balance.

It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, and the author shows us what might happen if we fall off. Brilliant.

Purchase Suspense in Ebook format from the following sellers:

Review: Fourth Reich Rising (Jack Shepherd Mystery Thrillers) by Tom Schwartz

2011-10-26T11:19:00.007-04:00

Rating: 1.3 out of 5

I have struggled with writing this review for a few weeks now. I know what I want to say, but the hard part is figuring out how to say it in the most gentle way possible.

Fourth Reich Rising by Tom Schwartz is a very strange book. It starts out interestingly enough – with a prologue introducing us to Eric Goering, son of Hermann Goering, and offering a very haunting statement on the purpose of the Third Reich and plans put in place by those who’d constructed it to reform the idea if ever the Nazis lost control of the power they’d built. It was this prologue that pulled me in and made me want to review the book.

However, after this prologue, everything goes downhill. What we have here isn’t a novel, but an outline for a whole series of novels.

The story goes something like this: The children of all the former Nazi leaders and their remaining families come together, led by Erich, to facilitate the recreation of the Reich. The history is explained – in mind-numbing detail – of how they go about this, from college all the way up until present day. Then there is a cruise ship, upon which are mystery writer Jack Shepherd and his friends. The ingenious plan by the new Reich is to smuggle a nuclear warhead from the Ukraine, stow it away aboard the cruise vessel, detonate the bomb in New York Harbor, and all the while create enough “chatter” to blame the whole shebang on Iran and the Saudis, then organize all the white supremacists in the US and bring the government down.

Now this is all well and good, and as outrageous as it sounds, I’ve read pretty entertaining books that have presented much less believable scenarios. But the writing is so robotic and tedious, it is, like I said, an outline more than a novel. Even the “fun” scenes involving Shepherd and company come across as completely emotionless. Here’s an example passage from the text, so you can see what I mean:

Tonight they all ordered lobster. These were one-and-a-half pound Maine lobsters with drawn butter and crab stuffing. Jack said, “People, we can’t have lobster without wine,” and he signaled the wine steward. “Three bottles of Schwartenkatz Rhine, please.” As usual, the service was great and the wine went down easily. When it came time for dessert, no one was interested until Judi spotted baked Alaska on one of the tables next to them.

“I can't take any more of this. I’ll have to buy a new wardrobe,” exclaimed Bob, but he ate his entire dessert anyway.

And this is seriously one of the more exciting segments. The entire book reads this way, only often time even more stilted.

Another major gripe – the supposed main character is, of course, Jack Shepherd, mystery writer. Hell, his name’s on the subtitle. Two problems with this. #1, he’s flat as unleavened bread. (But then again, all the characters are, so why should he be any different.) #2, he appears in literally one-third of the book, at most. That’s right, most of the story deals with the reformation of the Reich, the plans of the Reich, how the Reich kill people, how they spread fear in rather simplistic ways, and so on. It becomes more than tedious. At certain points I started wishing I was reading my son’s accounting textbook instead.

With all the being said, the reason I’ve waited so long to write a review is that I appreciate Tom Schwartz’s point of view. Especially toward the end, when all these outlandish and excruciatingly boring plot points come together, the author is able to write more freely, to illustrate his rather beautiful perspective of the world to us in a touching, albeit slightly naïve-sounding way. I appreciated that, and thought that maybe the book could be saved if he could only hold on to that tone and stretch it out a little longer. But no, soon we’re back with the Reich as they try to escape the authorities after Shepherd helps thwart their plans (in possibly the most ridiculously overstated part of the book.)

There is also the strange tendency the author has to start just about half his chapters in present tense, introduce a huge block of dialogue, and then – bam! – the rest of the chapter is in past tense. It’s seriously one of the most odd and baffling conventions I’ve ever seen, in any type of literature.

I could go on, but I’m going to stop here. I don’t want to keep piling it on, which I feel like I’m about to do. All I have to say about Fourth Reich Rising is this: Tom Schwartz is a man with a lot of good to give the world, a lot of ideas about community and nationalism and religion and loving your brother. He’s defended our country in the military and is an upstanding, thoughtful individual.

He just can’t write. At least not yet.

Agree with me? Disagree? Buy the ebook if you wish, and let me know:

Where on earth has the Journal gone?

2011-10-24T18:38:00.005-04:00

Come tomorrow, it will have been exactly one month since I've posted a review on this site. Oh, the horror! I'm here to inform you that I've not left you stranded, my few readers. Rather, I've simply been quite busy.

On January 5th, 2012, I will be releasing the 3rd installment of The Rift, "Death Springs Eternal." In other words, it's been crunch time over in these parts. The beginning of the book stifled me a bit, as I wanted to take it in a bit of a different direction from the previous book, "Dead of Winter." Because of this, my numerous other projects have taken a backseat - reviewing being one of them.

This does not mean to say that I have stopped reading. I haven't. Not in the slightest. In fact, there are five - count 'em, five - books that I still need to craft a review for. I've been pushing them back, as reviews take me usually about an hour or so to write and I've been paranoid about not meeting my deadline. However, I seem to be back on track, so the next review will appear this coming Wednesday, October 26th. The books to be reviewed go as follows:

Fourth Reich Rising by Tom Schwartz
Suspense by Jason Letts
Dance of Death by David Dalglish
The Haunted Ebook by J.L. Bryan
Jenny Pox by J.L. Bryan

Also, in case anyone hasn't noticed, I've removed the submissions page from this site. That's right, I'm no longer accepting submissions. At all. I'll take suggestions, but from now on I will be reading what I want to read. I think part of the reason I've lost a little bit of interest in the reviews is that there have been quite a few books I've started, and then stopped reading after a few pages because they weren't very well written or just didn't interest me. What's the solution? Why, to read what interests me, of course! So that's the way it'll be from now on.

So, that's it for today. Take care all, and see you this Wednesday.

- RJD

Review: Cadman's Gambit (Shader Book I) by D.P. Prior

2011-09-25T20:18:00.008-04:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

Oh, how much I love the melding of genres. To mix and match different aspects of specific literary tropes and use them to tell a truly original and captivating tale can be a wonderful thing to experience, when executed correctly. It then becomes nothing but a story, allowing the reader to concentrate on the strength of the tale being told rather than if they followed all the requisite “rules” ascribed to said genre – ala, in the case of fantasy, the use of magic, mystical beasts, and world-building.

This all brings us to Cadman’s Gambit: Shader Book I by D.P. Prior, a novel that now holds a place in my heart as the most perfect introductory novel to a series I’ve ever read, surpassing the previous champion, The Gunslinger.

In truth, there are quite a few similarities between Prior’s book and the seminal work of King. We follow a gruff, old, and cranky warrior (Roland and Shader), travel along a path in search of an object of untold power (the Rose and the statue of Eingana), and there are remnants of an advanced, ancient civilization lurking beneath the surface of both worlds.

This is where the comparison ends, however. While The Dark Tower chronicles the journey of a single man and his quest for absolution, in Shader we’re presented with a much larger, more universal plight – the elevation of man into a place of honor within the universe. It’s a rather lofty goal that Prior has saddled himself with, and one he’s amazingly able to pull off.

In Cadman’s Gambit we’re introduced, in different flashbacks and wild, swashbuckling tales, to the main character, Deacon Shader. But in almost every way, Shader is overshadowed by the complexity, originality, and turmoil of the world he exists in. This is a version of Earth that has gone far beyond us – 900 years since the end of “civilization as we know it”, pretty much – and there are mystical, as well as scientific, wonders drifting about. There are individuals who have lived for centuries, galactic warlords on the quest for universal domination, and many questions pertaining to the nature of existence, including time, itself. Religion is widely discussed, and even ridiculed, in fact becoming the one uniting and divisive cog in the machine, echoing that fact that though society as we know it has moved on, humans remain humans, whether they ascribe to a Christian derivative, a pagan understanding, immerse themselves in Platonic doctrine, or a combination of all three.

But more than anything else, Cadman’s Gambit is the story of man’s quest for immortality. Every major character either desires it – in spirituality or actuality – or already has tasted a hint of it. It is one of the saddest theological plotlines I’ve come across, and each key player is, in their own way, selfish to a fault. In an existence where death is all around them, in the form of plague or warfare or strange, bio-engineered beasts, rather than trying to survive, they attempt to cheat death.

Which is why Deacon Shader, the warrior monk (and how great of a contradiction is that?), means so much to the story. He is flawed, cranky, violent, and stubborn, a man set in his ways who wants to change but can’t. Because of this, he reflects each and every person I’ve ever known…though he’s way cooler, and stronger, than the average man. Let’s just call him an “ideal human,” which is a fantastic description because of how imperfect he is. Prior has definitely created a conundrum of a story here, and he couldn’t have chosen a better figurehead to anchor it.

The mystery in the tale abounds. What’s up with the hidden, underground tunnels? What’s a “technocracy?” Why do so many people, when exposed to the deity-like entities (or are they?) that save the world from itself, end up living pretty much forever? He also has the courage to introduce magic, only to pull back and suggest, in a brilliant piece of storytelling, that there’s no such thing as magic at all. Just like the rest of the story, it’s a grand negation, and one that can make a reader’s head spin…in a good way, of course.

There is more than theory and world-building at work here. There is actual emotion and real, honest-to-goodness human relationships. Shader’s love for the girl he can’t have, his understudy’s obsession with the same, a dwarf named Shadrach’s fixation on the woman who would be his mother, the religious elite’s love of Ain, their godhead, or Dr. Cadman’s (the main antagonist) love of, well, himself. (I don’t want to spoil anything here, but let’s just say Cadman is a near-flawless villain. You’ll love him.)

The fight scenes in this book are extremely well executed, even if they may be few and far between. Just like everything else at work here, this is a contradiction, for the action acts as a break in the dialogue and philosophic musings instead of the other way around, which is usually the case. Also, there are little Easter eggs thrown in for those of us who still exist in the 21^st century, as some of the “immortal” characters reflect upon events and locales from their past, letting we the readers know that, yes, this strange land was once not only very much like ours, but was ours.

Oh, and I’d be remiss to say that, for the first time ever, the map at the beginning of the book was not only well-made, but necessary to the plot! Go figure. I’ve always been one to never look at them, thinking them superfluous. Not here, my friends. No, if it weren’t for that map, I would’ve been lost.

In fact, I can say in all honesty that the only thing I think might hold this novel back is the fact it’s almost too smart for its own good. The language is dense, the plot sometimes convoluted. You really have to read each and every word, to take in each minute detail presented, to truly understand what you’re reading. I think there may be some folks who may not appreciate it, though there’s nothing wrong with that.

I, on the other hand, loved it. Cadman’s Gambit is a work of pure intellect, taking the best facets of fantasy, science fiction, and philosophy, and mixing it all together into a genus all its own. It's surprisingly humorous in parts, and the Kantian undertones of consciousness as it relates to time and space resounded with me greatly. I couldn’t put it down, though I took my time with it, wanting to bathe myself in every word, every turn of a phrase.

Yup, that’s right. My Year’s Best list just had a new book jump to the top. D.P. Prior’s book is that good. He has a lot to say, and one hell of a story to tell. In my opinion, you should take him up on that journey. Now.

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 50/50 (5.0/5)

Purchase Cadman's Gambit in Ebook format at:

THE SILAS BLOG TOUR IS OVER!

2011-09-20T18:20:00.001-04:00

And we have a winner!

There were over 450 entrants into the contest, so there was some tough competition. So congratulations goes out to...

KAREN OLIVIA!

Thank you to all of the blogs who participated! It was a fantastic experience for myself, and with the fantastic reception this book has received, things are only looking up from here!

A huge thanks goes out to Kismet Book Touring for organizing this whole shebang. You do great work ladies!

ST Review: The Zombie Feed edited by Jason Sizemore

2011-09-14T12:49:00.005-04:00

(Note from the Journal: This review initially appeared on ShockTotem.com - sans ratings)

4.1 out of 5

I love me a good zombie tale. Dawn of the Dead is my favorite movie of all time, Romero is a god to me, and my first book is about those meandering, rotting corpses. So when I was sent The Zombie Feed, the new compilation put out by Apex Publications and edited by Jason Sizemore, for review, I was more than pumped to dive right in.

Inside this volume are 17 tales of zombies in all of their various forms. At first I expected a grouping of run-of-the-mill apocalyptic, undead stories. I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered how different the collection is, with how many various directions the authors took what very often are clichéd tropes and plot devices.

In order to adequately break down this fantastic collection, let’s look at The Zombie Feed story by story.

Not Dead by B.J. Burrow: A woman wakes up on her deathbed, questioning if she’s still alive. A touching story of the nature of faith and what really defines humanity. (5/5)

Tomorrow’s Precious Lambs by Monica Valentinelli: An original, if somewhat clunky, take on the origins of the outbreak and the privileged nature of the wealthy. It could’ve been spectacular given the original premise the author came up with, but it falls flat. A little too “Ah, gotcha!” for my taste. (3/5)

Cold Comfort by Nathaniel Tapley: What is this? A zombie tale without a true zombie? A fantastic story dealing with the undead that only exist in the narrator’s head, as a Russian mortician whose wife is cheating on him communes with his recently-departed patients. Ironically enough, in this particular tale it isn’t the dead who should be considered zombies. (5/5)

The Final December Day by Lee Thompson: This one follows more along the lines of a traditional zombie tale. A lone cop, searching for his long-lost partner on his last day on earth, runs across a young photographer. An interesting take on the apocalypse where the zombies are simply drug-addicted, insane humans, and aliens roam the earth. I enjoyed the message, but it fell a little short. This is one short story that begged to be longer. (4/5)

Broken Bough by Daniel I. Russell: A particularly heartbreaking tale of the end of the world, told from the point of view of a young family of three struggling with the ultimate decision. Truly sad, it makes you wonder what you might do should the unthinkable happen. Would you be able to take the actions necessary? Haunting. (5/5)

The Sickness Unto Death by Brandon Alspaugh: A somewhat convoluted tale of the recently departed rising up, remembering their pasts and able to act as human, though they’re no longer living. A bit confusing, and written in a way that I think might seem like the author’s trying to “put one over” on the reader. I’m all for an original, inventive story, but this one seemed too clever for its own good. (2/5)

A Shepherd in the Valley by Maggie Slater: Now this one was creepy. A man, all alone and living in an old airport, has figured out a way to “tame” the dead. A heartening examination of a parent’s love and the sacrifices one must make in the face of absolute terror. (5/5)

Twenty-Three Second Anomaly by Ray Wallace: Eh, I could give or take this one. The story of human experimentation and how exact science can be. Interesting, but the punch isn’t punchy enough and the emotions seems forced. Not bad, but could be better. (3/5)

The Last Generation by Joe Nazare: Another very interesting and not-quite-zombie story. All people have fallen over and entered a state of non-death, and only a few wake up, albeit minus their memories and sense of self. An inventive story, but lacking in some important information (such as how do they remember pop culture references and not their names or pasts) that could have made the story much more affecting. Decent nonetheless. (4/5)

Bitten by Eugene Johnson: One of the few standard zombie tales in the whole collection. A very short story of a bunch of folks trying to protect a house at the end of the world. It is what you’d expect. (3/5)

Lifeboat by Simon McCaffery: A very entertaining story of a group of people surviving the apocalypse by sailing the ocean on a cruise ship. Intriguing and imaginative, the narrative takes twists and turns I never expected, coming out at the end in an intense, hell-bent-for-leather climax. One of the best in the bunch. (5/5)

Rabid Raccoons by Kristen Dearborn: Now this is what I call taking a genre and flipping it on its head. A teen girl does her friend wrong, only to be assailed (possibly mystically) by zombie raccoons. A stupendous job of telling a story from the viewpoint of a young adult, this tale captures the sense of seclusion and fear beautifully. Great story. (5/5)

Zombies on the Moon by Andrew Clark Porter: Another short tale, and while the imagery of a moon cluttered with zombies has stuck with me since I’ve read it, this is another example of a story that could use some fleshing out to be perfect. (4/5)

The Fare by Lucian Soulban: The absolute best story of the bunch. A lonely man in the aftermath of the world’s end hires a mysterious cabbie to help him obtain closure for his past sins. A tremendous study of the human condition, of how guilt can guide our actions after a traumatic event, no matter if we were in the right or not. (5/5)

What’s Next? by Elaine Blose: This is the only story that I don’t think belongs in this collection. It wants to be campy, describing a world where aliens bring about the zombie apocalypse, only to have monster after monster appear in their wake, but it comes off as amateurish. The rest of the stories in this collection are so strong and insightful, it seems entirely out of place. (2/5)

Goddamn Electric by K. Allen Wood: Another ingenious story, imagining a “different” sort of zombie, when the skies open up during an apocalyptic storm and fry everyone who wasn’t smart enough to find shelter. High on anxiety and even (surprisingly) emotion, this story follows an old man who’s lived a long life and isn’t quite ready to give it up. (5/5)

Hipsters in Love by Danger Slater: This is the oddest story of the bunch. I absolutely hated it until I was a couple pages in, when I went back to the beginning and re-read the title. This is a complete farce of a tale, a satire poking fun at a certain segment of our modern culture, complete with kids and their ironic t-shirts worrying about obtaining some Pabst Blue Ribbon in the face of the undead. A highly funny romp, it’s the perfect choice to end this anthology. (5/5)

So that’s it! In all, I’ll say this is well worth the read, and the best zombie anthology to come out in years. Congrats to Apex and to Jason Sizemore. You’ve collected something highly entertaining and even touching. I highly recommend this to anyone who loves this genre of story.

Overall – 70/85 (4.1/5)

Purchase The Zombie Feed in ebook format:

BOOK RELEASE: Suspense (The Spencer Nye Trilogy, Book 1) by Jason Letts

2011-09-07T10:59:00.008-04:00

SUSPENSE
THE SPENCER NYE TRILOGY BOOK 1

by Jason Letts

$2.99 at Amazon
$2.99 at Barnes & Noble

-------------------------------

PRODUCT DESCRIPTION

Spencer Nye can’t control the rage bubbling under her skin over the world around her. The trouble is, by the year 2102, the world has solved most of its great problems. Without hunger, war, greed, or even money, people obsess over the glamour of the Culture Industry and its mega-celebrity Idols, who vie for followers over the social networks of Connect.

But Spencer discovers there is plenty to fix within the Idols’ competition for more popularity. She becomes a diehard and promises to do anything to help her Idol, a dreamy movie star named Cleary Mintz, bring his vision of hope and purpose to the world. When she stumbles onto a threat against his life, she’ll have to fight harder than she ever thought possible or lose the man who means more to her than any other.

Suspense, the first book in a dystopian trilogy, contains 76,000 words and is recommended for ages 16 and up because of depictions of violence and some sexual themes.

SPECIAL RELEASE CONTEST
SPONSORED BY THE AUTHOR

http://www.facebook.com/authorjasonletts

From the author:

Suspense Book Release Giveaway!

Coming out with the first book in a new series is always exciting, but I doubt I've ever been as excited about a book release as I am for Suspense, book 1 of The Spencer Nye Trilogy. To see if I can get your enthusiasm up, I'm announcing some big prizes for its early and observant readers. All you have to do is read the book and send an email to me with the answers to four little questions to be entered. Then you'll be in the running for the following goodies.

Grand Prize: Your choice of either a Kindle Wifi with Special Offers + a custom Suspense Gelaskin OR a Nook Touch + a custom Suspense Gelaskin

First Prize: A custom Suspense Gelaskin + a signed paperback copy of Suspense

Second Prize: A signed paperback copy of Suspense

Rules and Deadline: To be entered in the grand prize drawings, participants must send me an email at infinitejuly (at) gmail (dot) com with the correct answers to four questions about the book. These questions will appear here on the day that Suspense is released around September 9th, and the contest will run for one month until October 9th (my birthday!) when winners will be drawn. Only U.S. residents can win the Grand Prize, but the First and Second prizes can be awarded internationally. I hope you enjoy the story, and thank you for reading!

—Jason

(Visit the author's Facebook page, linked above, for questions and full details)

FROM THE JOURNAL

My own review of this book should appear before the last week of September, right here on the Journal. To say I'm excited to dive into this would be an understatement. I've been a fan of Jason's work from the beginning, and it will be great to see his writing continue to grow. Even without having read the book yet, I highly recommend.

SILAS Blog Tour!!!

2011-09-05T13:44:00.007-04:00

Nope, no review today...but I do have an announcement that has to do with my own writing career!

I'm a little late to the game here - with the lack of power last week and all the overtime because of the hurricane, my internet usage was limited, at best - but I'm here to announce that the fine ladies of Kismet Book Touring kicked off the blog tour for Silas last week! Here is the list of hosts and links to the content they've provided so far:

Tour Dates:
Monday, August 29th - April, My Shelf Confessions
Tuesday, August 30th - Johnny, Pages of Forbidden Love
Wednesday, August 31st - Greta, Paranormal Wastelands
Thursday, September 1st - Lisa, A Casual Reader's Blog
Friday, September 2nd - Karen, The Slowest Bookworm
~~~~~~
Monday, September 5th - Melissa, Books and Things
Tuesday, September 6th - Heather and Pushy, Bewitched Bookworms
Wednesday, September 7th - Cindy, Oodles of Books
Thursday, September 8th - Theresa, Just One More Paragraph
Friday, September 9th - Gef, Wagging The Fox
~~~~~~~
Monday, September 12th - Mandy, The Well-Read Wife
Tuesday, September 13th - aobibliophileô
Wednesday, September 14th - Aparajita, Le' Grande Codex
Thursday, September 15th - Farrah, The Book Faery Reviews
Friday, September 16th - Nevey, Le Vanity Victorienne

-------------------------

So now that you have the list, whatever are you supposed to do with it? Well, as a part of this tour, along with the interviews and special stuff that abounds, we're giving away a Kindle 3 along with a brand-spanking-new Silas skin! All you have to do is go the the blogs, read through the posts, and enter into the contest forms. Each form has a rather simple question having to do with building the Silas playlist, and the correct answer will award you 3 points toward the grand prize! In other words, there are 15 chances to gain a total of 45 "entries". Can you get better than that?

So head over to the blogs, folks, and enter to win! Oh, and help support up-and-coming authors!

Review: Tears of Requiem (Song of Dragons Book II) by Daniel Arenson

2011-08-27T19:23:00.006-04:00

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

Look out, everyone! Big scaly beasts are on the loose!

Daniel Arenson returns with the second book in his Song of Dragons series, Tears of Requiem. We pick up the story right where Blood of Requiem leaves off, with the surviving Vir Requis – King Benedictus, his wife Lacrimosa, their daughter Agnus Dei, and Kyrie – fresh off their defeat and (near) fatal wounding of Benedictus’s brother and ruler of the land, Dies Irae. The griffins have been released, and hopefully life may come just a tad easier for these poor, harrowed folks.

No such luck, because Gloriae, the stolen daughter of Benedictus, has released the Nightshades, a race of strange shadow-creatures that swallow the souls of the living, leaving a hollowed (yet still living) husk behind. I can’t tell you how horrible this concept sounds, on theory and on paper. To have your soul sucked away and splintered into a million tiny pieces, while your consciousness is still aware, feeling every morsel of fear, longing, and pain it endures? It really is one of the more frightening concepts I’ve seen in a book.

Anyhow, I’m getting off track here. So Gloriae releases the nightshades, and then Dies Irae, who’s apparently indestructible – a dagger in the eye won’t kill this bastard? What’ll it take! – kicks his adopted (stolen) daughter out of his kingdom, for all intents and purposes disowning her. She eventually runs into the remaining Vir Requis she is intent on killing, to prove her loyalty to her “father”. Angst, fighting, seduction, and all sorts of other wackiness ensue.

From there, the book becomes a mad dash against time, with the survivors trying to figure out a way to defeat the ostensibly undefeatable nightshades and save what’s left of this new kingdom of the living dead. Blood is spilled, love is made, unexpected allies are brought together, and we all know that though there may be a light at the end of the tunnel for these tormented characters, they’re going to experience a good amount of tragedy first.

This is a more than worthy successor to the first book. It moves along very quickly, and it really boils down to a mad – though exceedingly violent – survival romp. The characters stay true to themselves, some make grand discoveries about themselves, and through it all an almost horror-novel sensation of isolation and fear washes over near every word.

And yet, unlike the first installment, there is an underlying sense of lightness. Strange as that is to say about a book as dark as this, there is actual levity in certain parts – particularly in the repartee between Agnus Dei and her father. These scenes worked very well to split up the doom and gloom that encompasses the rest of the story.

As for characters, Benedictus remains the stalwart old king, firm in his beliefs and yet nearly overwhelmed with guilt. Kyrie grows immensely, though he is still somewhat trapped in the timidity of being a very young man, especially when it comes to women. (As the father of two teenage boys, I can relate.) Agnus Dei demonstrates perhaps the most growth, as the angst that consumed her in the first book slowly wanes, revealing a strong and yet still sensitive woman underneath. About the only character that seemed a little off was Lacrimosa, as she sometimes acted a bit out of character, almost as a convenience for the plot. And Dies Irae is evil incarnate yet again, a bundle of hatred and brutality so single-minded in his goals that he’ll even sacrifice his own humanity to reach them…though it could be argued that, because of his loathing, he ceased to be human long ago.

As I said, Tears of Requiem is a brisk novel. It punches you in the gut from the very first chapter and only lets you regain your breath for moments at a time. It brings you on a journey of darkness and love, and asks the question of how this struggling race of people will ever survive in a world where everyone hates them. Even with this, it’s an overly fun read, a tale of mythical adventure. And Tears of Requiem does something very important for any series; it builds the tension of a fantastic storyline, with the sorrow at its conclusion setting up what is surely to be an intense – and imminently heartbreaking – conclusion to the series.

Bring it on, Mr. Arenson. I’m waiting.

Plot - 9

Characters - 9

Voice - 10

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 45/50 (4.5/5)

Purchase Tears of Requiem in ebook format:

Review: Clash of Faiths by David Dalglish

2011-08-26T14:47:00.010-04:00

Rating: 4.6 out of 5

David Dalglish writes what I want to read. He’s listed as a fantasy author, and his books take place in a world that includes magic, orcs, wolf-men, paladins, knights, and ancient gods, but that’s only the surface of what’s happening. I look at Dalglish’s work like this – whimsical explorations of modern-day themes and issues that both entertain and force the reader to examine what goes on in the real world around them.

Clash of Faiths, the second book in his Paladins series, is no different. It continues the story of Jerico and Darius, the paladins of Ashhur and Karak, respectively, and their struggles in the time after the attempted wolf-man invasion of Durham. Jerico finds himself up north, prisoner of a man named Kaide, who is heading up a people’s rebellion against the brutal Lord Hemman. It might not be the best of situations to be in, but at least he’s hidden from the legions of Karak who are hunting him, those who’ve recently destroyed the Citadel, leaving Jerico as possibly the last of his kind. All the while Darius is stumbling about all by his lonesome, getting into trouble and being an overall grouchypants after his run-in with Velixar, Karak’s prophet. And Velixar isn’t done with him…not in the slightest. It is the Big V’s principal goal to lead Darius back to his faith – or the Dark Side, if you will.

The story plays out in equally distributed parts, flipping from Jerico to Darius and back again, paralleling their respective struggles and demonstrating just the types of people these two faithful men are. Jerico joins forces with Kaide (who is actually one of my favorite characters Dalglish has ever created; a living, breathing, gray area of a concept) against Lord Sebastian Hemman, while Darius ends up being thrown in prison by said Lord, for the sin of not being faithful enough to Karak’s cause, even though Darius is constantly professing his love of the deity…and believing every word of it. It is there, while in prison, that Velixar comes to him once again, therefore setting the stage for the rest of the tale to play out.

The story climaxes in a final battle between Hemman’s men and Kaide’s army of farmers and merchants. Unlike most episodes of warfare in Dalglish’s novels, this one is brisk, taking up only perhaps a tenth of the text. Why is that? Because the fighting, while intriguing, isn’t the point of the book. It only serves as a metaphor for the war raging inside Darius’s head – can he love his friend even after all he’s been through, what constitutes righteousness in a faith that preaches order and conquest above adoration, and which system of belief is right, which is wrong, and does it even matter if he chooses one over the other?

This is what makes Dalglish’s books so special to me – those posed questions. And finally, we have the order of Karak shown to be what I’ve long suspected it is – a religious cult that uses suppression and mind control to grow its following. One might ask, but why would someone willingly join a cult like that? The answer is quite simple, given the context of the world it exists in: there is safety in power, in influence, and Karak offers that. The deity promises protection (and a lack of decapitation) to those who follow, while those who don’t are doomed to a lifetime of pain and flight from an aggressive enemy. Add to that the fact that the concepts of order and self-control are the tenets of the faith, and one could understand how an individual who feels unstable could look at the order as a way to heal the fractured parts within them. There are many similar cults, such as Scientology, in the world today that do much of the same. They rely on coercion and peoples’ inherent insecurities to draw them in, promising solutions to the ills of their lives, and then instill the members with an us-against-the-world mentality. If you’re not for us, you’re against us, to the extreme. It is these elements that make Dalglish’s books that much more important, not to mention insightful, than many other works of fiction.

To counterbalance Karak’s aggressive, neo-fascist nature, we have followers of Ashhur, the passive, loving god. When I first started reading these novels, I always took Ashhur to be a representation of Christianity – which I’m sure the author intended. However, the more I read, the more I realize that this is not entirely the case. In fact, you can look at it like this: Ashhur’s teachings are the manifestation of all that is good in spiritual belief; the care for others, the virtue of forgiveness, the living of life with the sole aim of being the best individual you can be. It’s an inclusive system of belief, one in which all people, even those who don’t believe, are treated as equals. Unlike the history of Christianity, Ashhur’s followers don’t actively seek to convert the people, only to show how much they care, saying that if you ever need a place to stay, a steadying hand to lead the way, someone to heal your sore and tired bones, we’ll be here with no strings attached. In other words, everyone has a chance at salvation, whether they buy into the dogma or not. And Jerico embodies this. He treats every person he meets with the same amount of respect until they prove a danger. This is also the reason why Darius has a very difficult time understanding his friend’s actions: to the dark paladin, existence is a series of trials, of sacrifices, both mentally and physically, to a demanding god. The mere concept of something like forgiveness, or even pity, are lost on him, at least on the surface. But once he dives a little deeper, he has the potential to learn that not only is he capable of changing, of becoming something other than the stormtrooper of death he is, but all people are. And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

I’ve gone on a bit of a tangent here, and I’m sure this sounds more like a term paper than a review, but I felt this book deserved to be broken down in this way. Every word written down means something – each line of dialogue, each description, each instance of cruelty or kindness. That being said, the only thing I didn’t like about Clash of Faiths was the very end of the book. After so much flowing prose and inner turmoil, it seemed that suddenly everything happens too quickly, especially Darius’s character development. I would’ve liked some more exposition, more scenes of him questioning his faith and coming to grips with the possibility that what he’s always believed may be a lie. But that didn’t happen, and in a way that’s a shame. Darius and Jerico, and their relationship as brothers-in-spirit, deserved it.

That being said, this is still a wonderful book. It more than adds to the canon of David Dalglish’s work – it creates a template for the beliefs of the world that I’m sure will be carried on in volumes to come. The scenes that built upon what we already know about the characters were wonderful. And Velixar? Let’s just say he’s deliciously evil, and whenever he appears on the page, that scene becomes his. Also, one thing the ending did get right was introduce us to a new, potentially lethal villain, one that I’m sure will appear in the next book and wreck all sorts of ungodly havoc. Just that has me excited to continue.

In closing, Clash of Faiths is well worth a read, for both fans of Dalglish and those new to his work. It’s filled with important questions and shrewd observations of the world at large, and it is an improvement on the previous book in the series. I seriously can’t give the author any more props than to say I’m a fan for life, that everything he does strikes me where it counts, and it is always a joy to read what he puts on paper. To me he is the best fantasy author of his generation, the Stephen King of the sword-and-sorcery genre who transcends the normal tropes, and even when there are things I think can be improved, what he puts out there is second to absolutely no one.

Seriously.

Plot – 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 7

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 46/50 (4.6/5)

Purchase Clash of Faiths: The Paladins 2 in Ebook format:

BOOK RELEASE - Tears of Requiem (Song of Dragons Book II) by Daniel Arenson

2011-08-25T08:55:00.003-04:00

TEARS of REQUIEM
SONG of DRAGONS BOOK II
by Daniel Arenson

$2.99 on Amazon.com

-----------------------------------------------

PRODUCT DESCRIPTION

Song of Dragons -- the fantasy series beginning with Blood of Requiem -- continues with a new tale of blood, steel, and dragonfire.

BOOK TWO: TEARS OF REQUIEM

The nightshades cover the land. Demons of smoke and shadow, they fear no sword or arrow. They suck the souls from all who live, like a glutton sucking marrow from bones. The world falls under their darkness.

But the nightshades crave more than random ruin. The souls of mere humans will not sate them. They seek dragons.

Requiem's last dragons, a mere scattering of survivors, have fought off men and griffins. But how can they fight the nightshades, creatures they cannot cut or burn?

FROM THE JOURNAL

On Monday, Daniel Arenson released this second book in his series. This book has already been read by myself, and let me tell you--it is a more than worthy followup to the gripping Blood of Requiem. The review will be published right here on the Journal this coming Saturday, August 27th. I hope to see you all here!

Review: Draculas by Jack Kilborn, Blake Crouch, Jeff Strand, & F. Paul Wilson

2011-08-24T09:47:00.008-04:00

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

A few weeks ago I suffered a serious case of fantasy over-exposure. After opening the next novel on my list, I found myself dreading yet another exploration into world-building and magical powers. So, to relieve my readerly doldrums, I put it down and picked up another book, one that’s been hiding in my Kindle since I bought it the day it came out. That book…Draculas, by the combo of Jack Kilborn (aka J.A. Konrath), Blake Crouch, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson.

I'm glad I saved it, for it was the cure for what ailed me.

Draculas is a wham-bang, smack-em-around, eviscerate-the-enemy, action-packed adventure. It takes place in the boondocks town of Durango, Colorado, where the staple eccentric old rich guy, Mortimer Moorecock, has been delivered a very special package – the skull of an unknown, ancient being; a slice of archeology (complete with a mouthful of dagger teeth) that could possibly, if it proves real, be the missing link between the myth and reality of vampires.

Due to a self-imposed wound involving said artifact, Mortimer is rushed to the hospital. It is there, in Blessed Crucifixion, that the rest of the story unfolds. Regular, everyday people undergo startling changes, becoming blood-driven maniacs, their physical forms changing in virtually a blink of an eye. Bedlam ensues, as those poor survivors are forced to fend for themselves in this incongruously-named, backwoods medical center while murdering, scissor-mouthed freaks – the draculas from the title, though they’re nothing like traditional vampires except for the bloodlust – run amok.

Taken at face value, the rest of the book is standard hack-and-slash fare. The text is filled with gore, with people tossed into unbelievable circumstances and responding in some pretty outlandish ways. The body count becomes too high to count by the time the fifth chapter rolls around. In a way, the violence on the page is almost mind-numbing. And I mean this in a good way. A very good way.

The thing is, Draculas is the furthest thing from a serious book. Is it horror? Yes. But more than anything else, this is satire to the extreme. (The authors tell you this right from the dedication: For Bram Stoker, with deepest apologies, it reads.) Every character is a cliché – the skeptical researcher; the lawman obsessed with ultra-powerful weapons; the egotistical small-town doctor; the brave nurse who’s been shortchanged; the idiot lumberjack with a heart of gold; the clown with depression issues; the spoiled little girl. However, these clichés are exaggerated to the point of absurdity, which demonstrates a group of authors that 1) don’t take themselves too seriously, and 2) are just having fun with the typical horror tropes – making the characters special by amplifying personality traits, in effect flipping truism on its head. In fact, if this book has any fault at all, it’s that there are a couple characters that aren’t absurd enough. The scenes involving these particulars are the only ones that seem a bit slower than the others – as contradictory as it is to say, in the scope of the story involved they become less real.

But these scenes are few. For the most part, we have page after page of action, of wisecracking dialogue and dismemberment gone awry. And, oddly enough, there’s some actual emotion here, as well. Toward the latter stages of the novel, when the poop really starts hitting the fan, there are a couple extremely well-written and affecting scenes. It was strange to find, especially in a work of fiction this ridiculous and over-the-top, but it was most certainly appreciated. It takes a ton of talent to do this, talent these four writers obviously possess.

The writing is very smooth and virtually seamless, to the point that the only way you’d know this was written by more than a single author is by reading the multiple names in the title. Though I’m sure each of them have a style all their own (this is the first work I’ve read by any of them), here they’ve managed to meld their different approaches to the craft into a cohesive whole. Again, that takes talent.

Draculas is an exceedingly fun read. It might not be for everyone, what with the amount of blood spilled within its pages, but for those who want to laugh, cringe, and even feel their heart skip a beat more than once, this is the book for you. It’s a grindhouse adventure that doesn’t take its foot off the pedal until the end, which in itself is hilarious in its irony and rewriting of myth. But more than anything it’s a good time, no matter how irreverent to the source material the authors may be – in an affectionate way, of course.

I had a blast reading it. You will, too.

Plot - 10

Characters - 8

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

Purchase Draculas in ebook format:

Review: The Miracle Inspector by Helen Smith

2011-08-10T19:40:00.005-04:00

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

The most wonderful thing about being a reviewer is the opportunity to uncover little gems that I might have otherwise overlooked. For example, I don’t usually read literary fiction…not because I have anything against it, but simply for the reason that I enjoy reading other things so I don’t usually seek it out. Luckily though, authors and publishers send me books to review, which eliminates that particular variable from the equation.

Because of this, into my life steps The Miracle Inspector by Helen Smith, a generous morsel of science fiction/dystopian/literary goodness.

The “Miracle Inspector” of the title is a young man named Lucas, who lives in London with his wife, Angela. He’s called a miracle inspector because he, well, inspects miracles. You see, all of Britain has been segmented in this fascinating world Smith has created, with London being the apex of underhanded, dastardly government practices. Women aren’t allowed to leave the home exposed, men are considered pedophiles until proven…well, okay, they’re just all considered pedophiles, and naysayers who speak out against the ruling party – whether they realize they’ve done so or not – are quickly imprisoned and left to rot. With this knowledge, it comes as no surprise that there is a need of a miracle inspector. When everyone’s life sucks, there has to be an urge to do something – anything – to make it better, even if it’s only pretend.

Lucas is a complicated man. He loves his wife dearly and is overly protective of her, yet constantly pines for that which he can’t have. He’s immature and a bit bratty at times, utterly paranoid, and taken to bouts of underhandedness, himself. Thoughts of sex constantly invade his thoughts, and he knowingly plays his fellow government employees against one another, all the while promising his wife that he’ll do something that is nearly impossible – move with her to Cornwall, where supposedly people are free to live life as they choose. Does this sound like the thought pattern of a sound adult to you? If it doesn’t, that’s because Lucas isn’t a sound adult. He’s twenty-five, and yet he’s stuck in a state of arrested development. In fact, almost all the characters living in London are – mainly because with the threat of terrorism, after the borders were walled off, the older generation was henceforth eliminated, either stolen away in the night or killed outright. So what we have here is the majority of the populace being children who’ve raised themselves, and are therefore not completely evolved emotionally. It’s really quite sad.

This goes the same for Angela, of course. She’s a generally unhappy person, lonely, and a dreamer. When Lucas’s renegade uncle Jesmond – a beat poet bringing a message of revolution and freedom to the people and is therefore an outlaw – drops off a packet of letters at the house, Angela hides them and reads them, letting the words take her far away from the disappointment, solitude, and boredom that fills her every day. Her relationship with Lucas is a bit odd – they really only communicate through sex, like a couple of horny high-schoolers – and these letters only drive home the fact that she’s missing out on something huge in her life.

When Lucas meets an older woman named Maureen, whose daughter Christina suffers from some sort of mental disorder, his life is thrown into a tailspin. He develops feelings he doesn’t understand about both mother (who called up requesting a miracle inspection) and child, and he goes against the rules and brings Angela to meet with her. (Women gathering together is illegal unless they are family, which creates a lot of rather humorous discussions about falsified “familial” bonds.) Suddenly, Lucas decides to stop playing at promises and begins to formulate a plan, and it is this childish belief that “no one can hear me!” that gets him tossed in a prison cell while Angela, Maureen, and Christina flee London, finding adventure and horror (and still more depressing societal amalgamations) in the provinces outside the city walls while they attempt to reach Cornwall.

I’d be lying if I said this book was a bundle of happiness and joy. It’s rather the opposite – dark, depressing, and seemingly hopeless. But that’s all right, because Smith has her story to tell, her point to make, and it really is a doozy.

This is a tale of bleakness, of what would happen if the child within us never grew up. It focuses on the shadowy aspects of society and ponders a world where these low ideals are presented with a cheery demeanor. It examines the bonds between women, between mother and child, between husband and wife, and tosses gasoline on the simple fact that many take the lives they’ve been so fortunate to have for granted. It examines the role of women in society – any society – and dares to ask whether the right sex holds the power and questions if a driving force behind the subjugation of women is fear that they might actually make sense. And it is also a text that takes responsibility for its actions – there are no “convenient” plot contrivances here. Each and every word means something, must be read once and then again, mulled over, and then discussed.

In other words, this is an absolutely exceptional piece of fiction, a work of art befitting the best in socially-conscious literature.

The only real problem I had with the book is that the exact reasons for society’s collapse are never fully explained. In and of itself, that isn’t such a bad thing, but I did find myself being slightly disappointed come the end, when I’m still left in the dark. There were occasions where I kept asking, “Please tell me HOW!” This is the one and only reason I docked points, and to be honest it may have more to do with myself thinking of how I would write the book. But still, I couldn’t help but think that Smith could have made her many points even more affecting if she gone into more detail.

Overall, though, this is a great, great read. Helen Smith crafts a story like she’s the British lovechild of Kurt Vonnegut and Philip K. Dick, only with a feminist slant. And The Miracle Inspector is a powerful, insightful, darkly funny, and principled conception. It’s short on page length yet long in ideas, and each and every one of them will spit you out with your head spinning as you keep asking, “Why?” while making you come up with your own answer.

Trust me, that’s not a bad thing.

Plot - 9

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

Purchase The Miracle Inspector in Ebook format from:

Review: The Black God's War: Splendor and Ruin Book I by Moses Siregar

2011-08-03T16:03:00.005-04:00

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

(Reviewer’s note: I received this book as an ARC from the author)

Spirituality and religion. These words have been the salvation and bane of human existence since we first formed coherent thought. From the tribal convictions of the earliest African nations to the ancient Greeks to the world as we know it today, we have celebrated them together, found solace through their teachings, fought and killed each other over their differences.

What Moses Siregar has sought to do in The Black God’s War: Splendor and Ruin Book I is show the dangers of intransigent religious belief, to do for literature what Aqualung by Jethro Tull did for music: demonstrate how spirituality and religion are projections of our own thoughts, fears, adorations, and prejudices, that desires propel our convictions rather than the other way around.

The Black God’s War tell the story of two warring peoples – the Rezzians, modeled after early European culture (Celtic in particular) who believe in a covenant of ten gods, and the Pawelons, whose principles and appearances mirror a more eastern, Buddhist/Indian ideal. We are first introduced to Lucia, the daughter of the Rezzian king Vieri, at the birth of her brother Caio, who, by the way of markings on his hands, is proclaimed the people’s Haizzem, or savior. It is here that Lucia is first haunted by Lord Danato, the god of the underworld according to Rezzian myth. He kills her mother and sets in motion a series of nightmare experiences that will forever alter the makeup of this innocent young girl.

By the time Caio is nineteen, the war that has begun (for nefarious reasons disguised as virtue) between the Rezzians and Pawelons has been raging for ten years. Lucia does all she can to fulfill her father’s wishes for victory, though she sometimes has a hard time telling what is real and what is a dream because of Lord Danato’s nightly visits. Caio, on the other hand, is gentle in nature. He wants peace, to use his uncanny abilities to heal people, not fight a war he doesn’t believe in. But being the Haizzem, it is his sacred duty to lead Rezzia’s army, so he does so…reluctantly at first.

On the other end of the spectrum we have Rao, the only remaining prince of Pawelon. He has become a sage, the most powerful sage in the history of Pawelon, and he takes it upon himself, along with his best friend Aayu, to travel from his homeland and assist his father, the Rajah Devak, in defense of their country against the invading Rezzian army. Like Caio, he wants peace – but unlike the Haizzem, his father, though brutal, is a generally fair man, and is allowed the courtesy of his own convictions. In almost every way this makes him the better of the Haizzem, one whose ability to love and forgive is below no other.

As the story progresses, we are thrown into multiple “coincidental” scenarios that are seemingly set up by the Rezzian gods. At least, this is the way things are presented on the surface. If one looks a little deeper, they will see that all the gods did was point the way. Every decision made, though sometimes predictable, was solely the result of the free thoughts and actions of the characters. They are all bound by their upbringing and nature, and it isn’t until they realize this that all the major players begin to actually change. And the nature of the gods, themselves, are brought into question as well. Are they timeless deities or a result of the combined subconscious power of the people? It’s a question the story asks often in the latter stages, and it’s one that really makes one think.

I won’t go any further on the plot other than to say the battle rages on, the gods get involved in some rather surprising ways, and eventually there is a rather brilliant climax that left me grinning from ear to ear.

As a novel, The Black God’s War works on many levels. For sheer entertainment value, we have many epic battle sequences. As a love story, we have Lucia and her brother’s protector, Ilario, as well as Rao and his lover, the young, beautiful, and precocious Narayani. As a spiritual tome we have many segments discussing the nature of spirituality and its effects on the people who practice it. And it’s also a tragedy, in by which only through sacrifice and understanding the nature of balance can the issues presented ever be truly resolved.

And that’s really what the book is about, when it all boils down to it. We have two differing opinions, western pre-Christian (that looks very much like early Christianity, despite the numerous deities), and the nature-loving eastern “godless” peoples. In some ways this book could be looked at as a fantasy retelling of the Crusades, as the lily-white forces descend on the dark-skinned masses, trying to “enlighten” them by basically killing off a whole gamut of folks. How one could ever read a spiritual text and think the murdering of a whole ethnic group because they don’t believe in your god is justified is beyond me. But it happens, and just as in this tale, the results are always disastrous.

Siregar does a fantastic job of painting both faiths in a kind light, though the Pawelon’s, by the nature of their not having started the war, obviously fares better in presentation. It allows for almost every character to come across as sympathetic – Lucia especially. Her tormented nature shines through in everything she does, from her conflictions to her anger to her confusion over the role she has to play in the grand scheme of things. She is the main character of this novel, and more than lives up to it.

That being said, if Lucia is the main character, Rao is the one who steals the show. With his compassion and understanding, his willingness to take risks and ability to see through the veil of righteous deceit, he comes across as an individual who could one day be a spiritual leader strong enough to lead his people to enlightenment. He is young in this book – about the same age as Caio – and yet we see a glimmer of the man he could be, the man he is well on his way to becoming. It really is quite beautiful.

And do you know why it’s beautiful? Because as a character, Rao is balanced. And as I said, this is the main point I think Siregar is trying to make. When his prose speaks of the nature of life and death, of the scales that must always be adjusted, he’s talking as much about the cosmos in general as he is any religious belief. The concept of Karma, after all, can be boiled down to a scientific principal – for every action there is an equal opposing reaction. We see it in nature, we see it in the universe, we see it in people. For every (perceived) evil in the world, there is an equal (perceived) good. I write “perceived” because, just as Siregar presents in The Black God’s War, evil is subjective, not quantifiable on any realistic scale. This book has no evil characters, even though the characters themselves often think their opposing party is such. And in order for their war to end, each individual must come to their own conclusions and make choices – yes, choices, free-thinking choices – about what is right, what is wrong, and what path will best lead to a sense of harmony, both between their respective peoples and within themselves. Some make this discovery, others don’t. You’ll have to read it to find out which is which and what happens when their choices are made.

For a first-time author, Siregar surprised me with the strength of his voice. It’s consistent, and he knows what he wants to say. However, it’s not perfect. He can be a bit wordy at times, and a couple of his major characters (a Pawelon sage and the Rezzian king) are a bit one-note. Normally I wouldn’t make a huge deal out of this, but with the other characters being so fleshed out, complex, and believable, the presence of these less-than-satisfactory entities was all the more obvious. Not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but something I feel I have to mention. As it stands, the author isn’t quite up to the level of Salvatore, Dalglish, or Pyle, but he’s not too far away. This book is proof of that.

In conclusion, The Black God’s War is a unique experience. The plot is intricate, the characters even more so, and the message is one of beauty. By the time you flip to the last few pages, I hope you have the shivers just as I did, which is how I know that Moses Siregar is going to be around a long time, and his voice, one of unity, passion, and loving sensibilities, is important – in the world at large as well as literature.

So bravo, Mr. Siregar. You wrote a damn good book. You should be very proud.

Plot - 9

Characters - 8

Voice - 9

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 45/50 (4.5/5)

Purchase The Black God's War: Splendor and Ruin Book I in ebook for the Kindle at:

Review: The Submersion: Powerless Book 4 by Jason Letts

2011-07-27T18:14:00.008-04:00

Rating: 3.7 out of 5

I’ve been following Jason Letts’s Powerless series from the very beginning, when we were first introduced to Mira, the girl with no special talents in a world where the rest of the population is graced with super powers. I immediately found it a thoroughly entertaining and innocent ride, one that carried with it that sense of wonder and purity until the end of book 2 and into book 3, where events grew exponentially darker by the page.

So here we are at book four, The Submersion, one episode away from the climactic moments, and while there is still a lot of darkness, a bit of that purity has been retrieved.

The Submersion begins a short time after The Stasis ends. Mira, Vern, Chucky, and Aoi are sequestered in one Sunfighter labor camp while Will, Mary, and another character (who will go unnamed because I was shocked to see them and it would be a spoiler) are in another. They struggle through each day in quite depressing and depraved conditions, trying to keep their spirits up in a world that is trying to destroy them inch by painful inch.

This small band of survivors from Corey Outpost, the only ones who know how to offset the Warlord’s sway, are in constant peril. Their fellow townsfolk, those who’d been their friends and neighbors up until one book ago, have turned against them. Even Kevin and Jeana, Mira’s parents, are opposed to them, which helps to heighten the feeling of dismay. These two, through the first three books, were always points of light in an increasingly dark story; now that they’ve succumbed to the poisonous influence of the Warlord, their actions and words drip with venom. It makes for rather depressing reading, and this reviewer in particular wanted to bash them over the head just so I wouldn’t have to be reminded just how far the tone of the series has fallen.

The main plot of The Submersion has to do with the Sunfighters’ quest to build a giant ark, so the Warlord can sail across the nameless sea and bring his influence to those who might lurk on opposite shores. It also deals with the survival instincts of our young heroes, how they deal with day-to-day pain and attempt to foil the plans of the evil ones before it’s too late.

Now, I did enjoy the book. It has everything I’ve loved about the series from the start, from the characters constantly growing as individuals to the undercurrent of mystery surrounding why these people have been blessed with powers in the first place. Aoi, the strong girl who can absorb energy, and Chucky, the young man who sweats oil, in particular, have seen vast amounts of growth, to the point where they are the two best characters in the book, outshining even Mira.

I also enjoyed the darker elements, the ways the Sunfighters torture Mira and friends. It’s sadistic and cruel, and helps bring about an aura of hopelessness. And when the innocence begins to return, in the form of a birth that demonstrates the cyclical nature of life in all its wonder (and acts as a metaphor for always holding those who’ve passed close to your heart), I started to really get invested. I was so excited by what transpires afterward that I felt I should’ve been jumping for joy by the end of the book.

But I wasn’t…at least not completely. This is where we start to run into some of my problems with the narrative. While dialogue has never been a strength of this series, it’s often been easy to overlook. But in this instance, the clunkiness of the speaking parts tended to distract me from the story. There were also a couple instances of individuals acting completely out of character, seemingly just to ratchet up the tension, that didn’t strike me as authentic. And there were also certain aspects of the plan Mira comes up with that stifled me, being that they were over-explained and dwelled upon for much too long, especially in the planning process.

That being said, the beginning and climax worked wonderfully. It’s almost as if Letts was bored with the middle and simply trudged along, which is completely understandable in any series. But when it picks up its pace…man, does it pick up. The culmination of everything that happens leading up to said climax is wonderfully written, thrilling, and rang true with the tone of the series.

If only the whole book, like The Stasis, could’ve been like that.

That being said, The Submersion, while imperfect, is a necessary chapter in the long tale of Mira and her quest for self-discovery. Much of the time it hits the right notes, and I can sincerely say that the themes of friendship, family, perseverance, and the stalwartness of clinging on to hope are seriously important for any teen to come to understand, especially in this progressively me-first society. So pick it up, ingest the message, and look forward to the conclusion, because the way it’s set up promises that the next installment will be epic.

Plot - 8

Characters - 8

Voice - 8

Execution - 6

Personal Enjoyment – 7

Overall – 37/50 (3.7/5)

Purchase The Submersion in ebook format:

Review: A Gnome Problem by Michael Crane

2011-07-20T19:56:00.007-04:00

Rating: 3.3 out of 5

Michael Crane is an author with a wicked sense of humor. Just from reading his drabble collections (Lessons and Lessons II), you can easily see his sarcastic wit and ability to transform threatening, potentially harmful situations into a form of dark comedy. He’s gifted in turning a phrase and uses an economy of words to get his point across. In short, I think he’s brilliant.

When I purchased A Gnome Problem, his novelette, I expected much of the same, only in a wider format. And I wasn’t disappointed in that. The story follows the adventures of Pat, a pathetic down-and-outer, after he receives a panicked phone call from his buddy Spencer, who goes on to explain that he’s being tormented by gnomes. Garden gnomes. See? Already it’s hilarious.

Pat heads out to Spencer’s house, confronts his friend, thinks he’s just nuts, and then, when he discovers there really are gnomes attacking his friend, goes about trying to solve the problem.

That’s as much as I’ll give you for plot, since this is a short piece and revealing any more would be tantamount to full disclosure. And the story does work. It made me laugh multiple times, especially when Pat starts getting irritated when no one involved will listen to his advice.

And yet this is where I ran into problems with the tale. Pat, as a character, is a bit flat. Yes he’s funny, yes his quips are delivered with aplomb…but there doesn’t seem to be anything beyond that. The running plot about his girlfriend leaving him did nothing for me, and I couldn’t help but think that if the story had been written in third person instead of first, it might have come off much, much better. As it is, he’s an unreliable narrator in a tale that needs a reliable one.

Also, the ending really rubbed me the wrong way. When it finished I said, ”What…really?” Not that the conclusion is bad by any means. It isn’t. But it felt unsatisfying, as if the author had too many ideas in his head and couldn’t figure out how to use them all, so he used the simplest version he could think of. Not to be cruel, but that’s what the end felt like. A cop-out. There were so many different places the author could’ve taken it in either direction, darker or more hilarious. It demanded to be expanded upon, to be more fleshed out. But alas, it didn’t happen.

Now, of course, I can in no way state that this is a bad story. It’s not at all. I did genuinely enjoy myself, just not as much as I thought I should. Crane has oodles of ability, and I really enjoy reading his prose. If anything, the poor rating has more to do with my high opinion of his talent, with my expectation for what he produces, than anything. And I simply don’t think this tale stood as tall as it could have…ne, should have.

That being said, I would still recommend this novelette and not feel the slightest bit bad about doing so. You’ll end up laughing and cringing more than once, and by the end, I think you’ll want more more more. Because if A Gnome Problem does nothing else, it serves to demonstrate how well Crane can tell a story. He most certainly has the potential to be great. If you’re like me, you’re rooting for his next offering to fully deliver on that potential.

Plot - 8

Characters - 5

Voice - 9

Execution - 5

Personal Enjoyment – 6

Overall – 33/50 (3.3/5)

Purchase A Gnome Problem in ebook format:

Review: A Dance of Blades by David Dalglish

2011-07-09T16:41:00.011-04:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

Sequels are tough business, especially when the first book of a series is extremely well written. There’s a ton of pressure to put out something equally as good, and there’s a good chance readers could walk away disappointed because the author wasn’t up to the challenge.

After reading A Dance of Blades by David Dalglish, the sequel to last year’s A Dance of Cloaks, I can tell you with all certainty that this particular writer accomplished just what he set out to do.

Blades starts out five years after the end of Cloaks. Early on we find Aaron Felhorn, the son of Spider Guild leader Thren who now calls himself only Haern, living on the streets and waging his own personal war of attrition against the thief guilds of Velderan. Gone is that sliver of innocence that Haern tried so hard to hold onto in the first book, replaced by an undying need for vengeance against the man who sullied his life. And when I say need, what I really mean is obsession, because that’s truly what it is. Haern hates his father and all those like him so much that he cannot help but paint every thief he runs across with the same blood-drenched brush.

As for those thief guilds and their never-ending battle with the Trifect, the powers-that-be in the land, all is not going so well. It seemed the aftereffects of the Bloody Kensgold, where Thren tried to wrest power away from the businessmen, has left all parties worse for wear. The guilds are in shambles, shamelessly murdering and stealing from any they wish, while the Trifect, themselves, are struggling. Alyssa Gemcroft, now the leader of the Gemcroft estate after the assassination of her father, is particularly stressed. She’s sent her son Nathanial to the north for protection while she constantly wards herself from poisoned food and the fortune her family has lost to the thieves that surround them at all times.

The thing she most needs, at least according to her advisors, is a husband. She eventually acquiesces after Nathanial is killed, apparently by the Watcher (Haern), which introduces us to the main villain of the piece, Arthur Hadfield.

Hadfield is a very strange baddie, at least when it comes to Dalglish’s work. He’s in no way supernatural, he has no otherworldly power or strength, and isn’t the face of some great and secret organization. All he is, is an opportunistic scoundrel who wants nothing but more power. That might make him the weakest of Dalglish’s villains to some, but to me, he’s the best because he’s so real. Arthur’s like a crooked politician with no moral compass, and he attracts like-minded men to his side, such as his right-hand-man Oric. Let’s just say I hated both these characters with a passion, their deeds and thoughts (or lack thereof), and that made me love them…if that makes any sense.

As for Alyssa, she’s come a long way from where we saw her in the first book. She’s a strong woman now, leading her people and doing just what leaders are supposed to do – making the tough decisions, even if they turn out to be wrong. After she discovers her son has been killed, she takes it upon herself to personally dispatch every criminal in the entire city, and hires countless mercenaries to carry out her request. What follows are a series of hellish nights as the streets of Velderan are filled with blood.

Let me say this right now – Alyssa Gemcroft very well may be the most brilliant character Dalglish has ever created…and I don’t say that lightly. She bucks trends and stereotypes and displays power and weakness in equal measure. Throughout the entire book, there is never once a mention of her beauty – it’s simply assumed that she is. As a character she is so well conceived that she almost overshadows the other particulars in this tale of deceit, violence, and woe.

Almost, but not quite.

There are characters aplenty to care about in this novel, just as in the first. We get to see the coming to power of Deathmask (who appeared in the last couple Half-Orc books), and he gobbles up every scene he appears in. We are also reacquainted with Veliana, the lady-behind-the-curtain of the Ash Guild, and Zusa, the mysterious, cloth-wrapped woman who assists both Alyssa and Vel from her place in the shadows (yet two more imminently strong female characters…I have a feeling Dalglish is trying to get to something about women banding together being more powerful than any force in the universe). Also, as readers we get to meet the Eschaton once more, Tarlak and Delysia and Brug, along with Senke, Haern’s former mentor. For those who’ve followed this author’s work, it’s a wonderful homecoming of sorts; to those who haven’t they are introduced to some pretty entertaining personalities that have been sorely missed.

But of course, with all this being said, A Dance of Blades is Haern’s show, and he doesn’t disappoint. We get to see him evolve as a person throughout the length of the novel, from angry outcast to bitter vigilante to, finally, an accepting adult who comes to understand his role in the world. I think, during parts of the book, I forgot a very important part of Haern’s makeup – he’s still a child. He’s at most eighteen years old, and as a father of a son near that age, I can honestly say that none of them have anything figured out. Life is a big, confusing, sometimes hellacious ball of experience, and it takes time to come to grips with that…especially without an elder guide, which is why I found Haern’s progress as an individual to be so profound. Though he does develop friendships by the end, most every decision he makes, he makes on his own, with very little input from others. This shows the strength of character we see when he appears in Dalglish’s earlier novels, and also demonstrates just how capable of righteousness in the face of cruelty he can be.

As the second book in a series, A Dance of Blades loses some of the innocence from the first installment, as I mentioned earlier. However, it more than makes up for that with the amount of brutality and self-sacrifice that is demonstrated within. The three-night battle between the mercenaries and thief guilds is atrocious, and there is very little care for who’s guilty or innocent. There is also one particular scene that turned my stomach, as a kind family is cruelly assaulted by Oric and some more of Arthur Hadfield’s men. Though Dalglish handles the visuals and presentation respectfully, we still get to witness the horror of these actions, and imagine the repercussions for the victims. So when you add all this in together with Haern’s mad fixation on killing every thief he can get his hands on, I guess you can say that this is a book about the loss of innocence…or a fall from grace, if you will.

Which is important in any work of fiction, because of course you have to fall before you can get back up.

In all, A Dance of Blades is a more than worthy compliment to its predecessor. In most ways it even surpasses the first book, which I didn’t think possible. It’s a novel full of treachery, disturbing images, underhanded dealings, war, and desperation, but it also shows the reader how, even in these trying times, there is still a capacity for love and friendship in the world. It says we don’t have to be alone, even if we’ve become monsters to ourselves, because no one worth a salt is ever beyond redemption.

With that, I can honestly say that this is the second-best book Dalglish has ever written, just a fraction of a percentage point behind A Sliver of Redemption. Who knows, perhaps when the final book of the Shadowdance trilogy comes out next winter, he might outshine himself again.

Knowing this author’s work the way I do, I wouldn’t put it past him in the slightest.

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 50/50 (5.0/5)

Purchase A Dance of Blades in ebook format:

Review: Freeze by Daniel Pyle

2011-07-05T20:35:00.009-04:00

Rating: 4.8 out of 5

I usually start out these reviews with a bit of exposition about select themes I find within a given book, but this time I’d like to focus on something that is, in itself, a part of writing.

Voice.

Some writers know theirs. Some don’t. With the best authors, you know who they are from the moment you read the first sentence. It’s a comforting, and important, trait to have. King has it. Robbins has it. Layman and Lovecraft had it. Hemingway had it in spades, as did Fitzgerald.

And so does Daniel Pyle.

From the second I picked up Freeze, this author’s new novella, I was immediately sucked in. I felt the same exact way I did when I opened Down the Drain and Dismember, previous works by Pyle – like I was about to be taken on one massive, wildly-swinging ride of terror. Needless to say, I wasn’t disappointed.

Freeze is the story of Warren and Tess, an older couple living high in the mountains with their dog during the snowstorm of the century. There are strange goings-on about the house after the power goes out, adding to the feeling that this isn’t your garden-variety blizzard. A window breaks, showering Tess with glass. There are strange sounds outside. The family car has been seemingly vandalized. And all the while the cold and isolation creep in on this tight little family, until finally, after an emergency, Warren is forced to try and brave his way down the mountain in search of help. Little does he know, there are strange beings waiting for him out in the frigid wilderness, creatures that would love nothing more than to tear him apart.

The plot is very basic – couple trapped, flees from monsters, fights monsters, encounter terrors they never thought imaginable. However, it’s the way the story is constructed – the voice I spoke of earlier – that makes this such an entertaining and unrelenting read.

Pyle does something very interesting here, and it’s a way of constructing a story that I appreciated to no end. He makes the setting, the weather, the storm and cold, as important a character as Tess, Warren, Bub, or the strange creatures outside. I read this book outside, sitting in ninety-degree heat, and on more than one occasion I found myself shivering. That, my friends, takes copious amounts of talent. The seclusion of Pyle’s words wraps around you, the wind blows inside your ears, and you can’t help but empathize with what these poor characters are going through. In effect, we are placed directly in their shoes, made to feel their fear, anger, and desperation.

In many ways, this book reads like an episode of The Twilight Zone with a little Tales from the Darkside mixed in for good measure. Nothing is explained, the ending is open to the reader’s imagination. All we’re left with are the sensations involved. It’s like being plunked in the middle of a nightmare scenario and forced to fend for ourselves, which is refreshing, and also common with Pyle. Just as in Down the Drain, there isn’t page after page of details about the nature of the monsters. They’re there, they’re frightening, and that’s all you need to know. Is that enough? It damn well should be.

There is only one aspect of the writing that I didn’t like, and it’s the single issue keeping it from receiving a perfect score. On more than one occasion, the internal dialogue of the characters’ seemed to be too much for the given situation. There were a couple examples of ill-timed, ironic thoughts that I, personally, don’t think would go through the mind of someone experiencing that kind of terror. It slowed the momentum for me a bit when this occurred, but thankfully this only happened a few times, five at most. I can forgive an author for trying too hard sometimes, and that’s what those little snippets felt like to me. And it could also just have been my mood at the time, so my point dockage is very small.

In conclusion, Freeze is a gem of a short novel that will leave you panting by the end. It’s the perfect creature feature, hitting all the right emotional notes, making you care, cringe, and rattle your teeth at the same time. And once you finish, you’ll never be able to hear a scratch at your window on a cold winter night and pass it off as nothing again. There will always be that nibble of panic in the back of your mind that says, but what if…

Which is the type of effect that all horror – hell, all fiction – should aim to accomplish.

So congrats to Daniel Pyle, because he’s created something wonderful.

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 48/50 (4.8/5)

Purchase Freeze in ebook format from:

Review: Night of Wolves by David Dalglish

2011-06-29T21:54:00.008-04:00

Rating: 4.6 out of 5

What does friendship mean?

Is it sticking up for your cohorts in time of need? Is it putting aside differences and trying to find a common ground? Is it a solemn smile or a firm slap across the face when the other starts to stray? Is it setting aside your own fears and convictions, even though everything about you says to get away, because deep down you just trust this person, for better or worse?

These are the questions David Dalglish asks in Night of Wolves, the first book in his new Paladins series.

With this series, it seems Dalglish is going down a Memento path when it comes to his characters’ stories – aka going backward. This particular book is the tale of Jerico, the paladin of Ashhur we first met (and fell in love with) in The Death of Promises. Wolves takes a few years before the events in the Half-Orc series, and introduces a major plot point that those who’ve digested Dalglish’s work might find unbelievable.

A friendship between paladins of the two polar gods, Ashhur and Karak.

Jerico, it seems, has befriended a young man named Darius while both are stationed in the farming town of Durham, preaching the messages of their particular religions. Theirs is a relationship built upon mutual respect – they learn from each other, protect each other, help each other grow…the gods be damned. And when the wolf-men from the Vile Wedge start crossing the river, threatening the lives of the townsfolk, they must work together even more so than before, which causes just a few moral dilemmas within each of them. But work together they do, because they both realize that without their combined strength, the good men and women of Durham don’t stand a chance.

There are interesting threads all around in this book, such as a new leader rising to lead the pack of wolf-men: Redclaw, a powerful foe with the desire to pull a Moses, bringing his people out of the dead landscape of the Wedge to enter the lush, bountiful forests that lie just out of their reach. There is also the fall of the Citadel, which occurs from afar, the repercussions of which are hinted at, and are haunting. Finally, there is the concluding battle, as the wolf-men gather together and assault the human forces in what is a greatly realized battle sequence.

But none of these threads can compare with Jerico and Darius. They steal the show, and as often happens in Dalglish’s novels, their quiet scenes together are magical. These are two men who grow to love each other over the course of the book, and that brotherly bond is something beautiful to behold. As usual, the author’s asking a philosophical question that not many others do – in this case, can we ever shove the veil of faith out of the way and see our brothers and sisters for what they truly are: fellow human beings, just as deserving of love as any other.

There are many surprisingly tender moments to be seen, and these aspects are what I appreciate the most. On the bad side, some of the battle scenes early on are ho-hum, to the point where I had to fight the desire to skim and turn the page, saying, “Just give me more Jerico and Darius, dammit!” However, I can’t decide if that’s because they really are subpar, or if it’s because the interplay between those two characters is so brilliantly done that everything else seems unimportant. No matter, though, because as I said, Dalglish pulls it out in the end, and the attack (and defense) of Durham is truly a sight to behold, equaling (though not surpassing) those more tender moments

Reading Night of Wolves is a fantastic experience. It’s short and to the point, filled with just about everything I love about the author’s work. It’s dark yet filled with hope, brutal yet compassionate. The words he weaves captivates, pulling us in and making us care about these people. The story is chock-full of metaphor, of the questions of what moral belief is correct, if there’s a correct one at all. This is one point I’m not going to harp on in this review, however, for I’m sure I’ll have plenty of things to say on that very subject when the next book comes out in a couple months.

Once again, I fully recommend Night of Wolves. You’ll enjoy seeing friends and enemies, old and new, and be intrigued by just how the ungodly mess Jerico and Darius have gotten into will resolve itself. It’s an oddity: an edge-of-your-seat fantasy thrill ride and quiet literary piece all rolled into one.

You’d be hard pressed to come up with a better read.

Plot - 9

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 46/50 (4.6/5)

Purchase Dance of Wolves in ebook format from:

Review: Anomaly by Thea Atkinson

2011-06-26T21:58:00.007-04:00

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

When I received Anomaly by Thea Atkinson as a review copy, I set it aside, pretty much uninterested. I accepted it because the sample was well written, but I was deep into a new fascination with fantasy and other genre fiction at that time, and thought to myself, I don’t really like literary fiction, so this one can wait a while…let me enjoy myself first.

Well, recently I glanced at my to-be-read pile, saw that book still sitting there, and decided it had waited long enough. And when I started reading, all I could think was that I should’ve gotten around to it sooner. It surprised me in so many ways.

Anomaly is the story of J, a ne’er-do-well transgender/recovering drug addict living in rural Nova Scotia. This book doesn’t have so much of a plot in the traditional sense; it’s more an exploration of what it means to be J, taking place during a few tough, stressful, and let’s face it, downright depressing days out of his/her life. No, existence is not easy for our J, who has a big mouth and a bit of a masochistic streak. J’s struggles with his/her sexual identity create a character who’s constantly on the edge of darkness, questioning what it means to be man, to be woman, to be both, or to be nothing at all.

While recovering from a particularly brutal beating, J begins to worry about his/her neighbor, whose colicky baby has suddenly stopped crying. In a feat of humanity uncommon for J (and most addicts, really), he/she strikes up a protective relationship with said neighbor,, a young woman and fellow addict who (hard as it is to believe) is actually more pathetic than J.

The bulk of the story takes place in J’s apartment and a local bar, and we get to meet his/her friend Molly, a boisterous lesbian who, herself, has far-too-long-ignored substance-abuse issues. There is also a kind nurse who is a welcomed voice of reason to the rest of the characters’ insanity, who forms a quite beautiful bond with J and ends up being a lynchpin for suggested further growth, development, healing, and self-discovery.

It might seem like I’m making fun of this book and what lies inside, but I’m truly not. When I call the characters pathetic, it’s because that’s the way Atkinson created them – and purposefully so. Having known quite a few addicts throughout my life, I found their portrayal both accurate and heartbreaking, though not without a sliver of hope. But what I appreciated most of all were the reasons for this addiction, for J in particular. I have no idea what it’s like to not know my gender, to one day know I’m a man and the next know, just as strongly, that I’m a woman. But I can imagine how much pressure that must place on an individual, socially as well as emotionally. Like it or not, we have some pretty strict public codes of conduct in this world when it comes to gender roles, and for those who choose (or have no choice in the matter) to buck them end up paying a high mental and physical cost.

This novel is told in first-person, from J’s viewpoint, and we the reader get to hear his/her thoughts on so many subjects – from the nature of religious icons to the contradictory messages of the LGBT community to how pitiable the life of an addict really is. He/she’s a very reliable source of information, for no matter how screwed up J might be, he/she still has his/her head on straight…mostly. So when J latches onto a single phrase, one used to describe the reasons her neighbor’s baby was taken away, those words gain that much more importance and a new, particularly foreboding meaning.

Failure to thrive.

That phrase is repeated over and over again, and really, that’s what Anomaly is all about. It’s the story of how incomplete we are as people – all of us – and how our standard definitions, though they might help keep things tucked neatly in little boxes, often times hurt us more than anything. It’s about the malfunction of the concept of love and how often we don’t know what that word means. It’s about caring for others more than ourselves, and realizing that when doing so we completely disregard the fact we must care for ourselves, lest every action we make means nothing.

But most of all, it’s the story of life, of the struggle to survive in a world that really has no one’s best interest in mind, a world that, in effect, makes it difficult for anyone to thrive. In that way Anomaly is a difficult and occasionally stomach-churning read. But it’s a learning experience, and very much worth the investment of time.

I’m glad I invested mine.

Plot - 9

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

Purchase Anomaly in ebook format from:

BOOK RELEASE - Night of Wolves by David Dalglish

2011-06-06T22:28:00.004-04:00

That's right folks: David Dalglish, author of the Half-Orc and Shadowdance series, has started yet another series, this one chronicling the trials and travails of the paladins, both dark and light, that appear in his other books. Here's a look at the first installment, Night of Wolves.

PRODUCT DESCRIPTION:

"The humans are weak. Their skin is soft, and their minds dull from years of safety. We are the vicious. We are the destroyers. Come the full moon, when our goddess watches our victory, we will taste of their blood!"

----

Wolf-men, savage creatures given humanoid form in an ancient war, mass along the Gihon River. Led by their packleader Redclaw, they seek to cross the river and claim a land of their own, slaughtering those that would stand in their way. Two paladins, Jerico of the god Ashhur, and Darius of the god Karak, must helm the desperate defense against the invasion. Their friendship will be tested as their gods resume an unending war, and their very faiths call for the death of the other. Together, friend or foe, they must face Redclaw's horde.

NIGHT OF WOLVES by David Dalglish
Can faith remain when the gods call for blood?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

David Dalglish currently lives in rural Missouri with his wife Samantha, daughter Morgan, and snake, Velixar. He graduated from Missouri Southern State University in 2006 with a degree in Mathematics and currently spends his free time watching Spongebob Squarepants with his daughter.

Night of Wolves is currently available in ebook format for the rock-bottom price of 99¢ at Amazon and Amazon UK.

Inexpensive Kindle Books - EYE OF THE WIZARD $2.99

2011-06-04T11:12:00.004-04:00

EYE OF THE WIZARD

Average Rating: 4.6

2.99

by Daniel Arenson

On the longest night of the year, a dark wizard murders a knight and his wife.

The knight's children survive and swear revenge. Sam and Jamie vow to become knights like their father. Neev, the middle child, vows to become a wizard.

Five years later, things look grim. Sam is useless with the sword. Jamie is denied knighthood because she's a girl. Neev cannot cast a spell without growing donkey ears, a monkey tail, or an elephant trunk. The siblings feel like failures.

That's when the dark wizard strikes again.

Are the siblings powerful enough to defeat him? Or will they too die at his hands?

Purchase Eye of the Wizard for $2.99 at Amazon.com.

Inexpensive Kindle Books - MODEL AGENT $2.99

2011-05-30T05:57:00.001-04:00

MODEL AGENT

Average Rating - 4.6 Stars

$2.99

by Sean Sweeney

The human body consists of two-thirds water.

As concertgoers on a steamy day in Boston find out, water can kill as much as it gives life.

A terrorist attack at City Hall Plaza has the authorities perplexed. The government, in response, sends in a capable but young agent – an agent born from the ashes of terrorism itself – to handle it.

But as her partner dies and the terrorist strikes again, Jaclyn Johnson – code named Snapshot – finds herself in a situation she has trained a decade to face: She’s up against a man with enough money to finance a war against his competition. With a deadline in place to stop him – and with a car holding enough hidden tricks to evade capture – Snapshot infiltrates his hidden installation and finds out her target’s true end game, a secret that could have the world fighting over water.

Purchase Model Agent for $2.99 at Amazon.

Inexpensive Kindle Books - THE SHOP 99¢

2011-05-29T12:36:00.003-04:00

THE SHOP

Average Rating - 3.8 Stars

99¢

by J. Carson Black

When former Navy SEAL Cyril Landry and his team of assassins enter a chalet in Aspen, Colorado, he recognizes the pop star Brienne Cross asleep on the couch. As he is about to kill her, she wakes and looks into his eyes.

There is that one moment between them. And then she is dead. Someone with a higher pay scale than Landry has been ordering celebrities killed. Now he wants to know why.

At first glance, the shooting death of a police chief in a rundown Florida motel room appears to be an assignation gone wrong. But as detective Jolie Burke plumbs deeper into the crime’s murky undercurrents, she unveils a conspiracy shocking in its scope.

In her relentless pursuit of justice, Burke follows a byzantine path that will take her from the lottery-driven fantasies of a yard maintenance worker to a Panama City Beach missing-persons case and finally to the island compound of her estranged uncle--the Attorney General of the United States.

The death of a celebrity in Aspen has set the table for an orgy of death, destruction, and infamy. As the stakes rise, Jolie finds herself teamed with a killer. Only Jolie and her unlikely partner, Cyril Landry, can dismantle the shadowy entity known as The Shop--before it strikes again.

Purchase The Shop for 99¢ at Amazon.

Inexpensive Kindle Books - NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS

2011-05-28T09:51:00.005-04:00

NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS

Average rating - 4.2 Stars

$2.99

by David McAfee

Eight scientists and one ex-marine accept an assignment to study the effects of deforestation in Aroostook County, Maine. It’s a routine job, and everything seems to be going according to plan. But when one of their number goes missing, leaving behind only a severed foot as evidence, former lieutenant Colby Phillips must lead an expedition to find him.

What they find instead is an entirely new species. A large breed of insect whose ravenous larvae display features and abilities never before seen in nature. The scientists’ amazement turns to fear when they find themselves at the bottom of the food chain. Can Colby lead the survivors to safety? Or is it already too late?

Of course, escape would be much easier if the dead would stay that way.

Purchase Nasty Little F!#*ers for $2.99 at Amazon.

Review: Blood of Requiem (Requiem Fire I) by Daniel Arenson

2011-05-25T22:45:00.007-04:00

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

When I like an author, I read books by that author. Sound like a simple statement? Well, it’s not as easy as it sounds, especially when you have a review blog to run. There are many books out there, by many different talented (and some not-so talented) writers, and you want to believe that, as a reader, they each deserve equal time under your eyes.

Well, the truth is, I have my favorite authors, but sometimes I feel the need to push aside the books these fine scribes send me in order to give everyone a fair shake. Yet there are also instances when doing so is a detriment to the book I choose to read, because from the moment of that decision onward, that book will be compared – perhaps unfairly – to the one I postponed.

This is why when Daniel Arenson, one of those aforementioned “favorite authors”, asked me to beta read his new book, Blood of Requiem, I gladly set everything else down and picked it up. He needed it finished by a certain date, you see, which took the decision of what to read next completely out of my hands.

I’m SO glad I did.

Blood of Requiem is the sad tale of the Vir Requis, a race of humans with the magical ability to become dragons. Sounds interesting already, right? And it is. At the very start of the book, we’re introduced to the fact that the Vir Requis are on their last legs. They’ve been hunted to virtual extinction, and they make one final stand against an army that far outnumbers them. The Requis are killed off, one-by-one, leaving seemingly only one survivor – Benedictus, the king of his people. Their home, the land of Requiem, is left in ashes.

From there, the story jumps into the future, where Dies Irae, the leader of the army of griffin-riders who destroyed the dragons, continues his reign of terror. It seems that there is another survivor of the Vir Requis genocide – a boy named Kyrie, now a teenager, who was rescued from the battlefield, injured and dying, by Mirum, a kind woman whose family was slaughtered by Irae and their land taken. Kyrie has grown up living in fear while locked away in a tower, hidden from sight. On only rare occasions does he brave the world and spread his wings, but it is because of one of these voyages outside that his reality – and safety – is shattered.

Dies Irae discovers him and seeks him out, and Kyrie is forced to flee. He traipses across the land in search of Benedictus, who most have written off as dead.

Kyrie eventually finds Benedictus, finds out that the old king’s wife and daughter are still alive, and together the four of them flee the searching Griffin hoard. There is great tension here, including a kidnapping and a search for the “true dragons” embarked upon by Kyrie and Benedictus’s daughter, Agnus Dei. The imagery is fantastic, the world the author built is wonderful and full of strange, dark forces, and the Salvanae, the “true dragons”, are a wondrous sight to behold. It all adds up to become a magnificently subtle world, with shades of Martin’s bleakness and Pratchett’s ingenuity.

But once more, with Arenson’s work (and the work of the other authors I admire), it is the premise that quivers just beneath the surface of the tale that brings it to life, battle scenes and melodrama be damned, and it all centers around the principal villain of the story, one Dies Irae.

You see, it turns out that Irae was born into Vir Requis royalty. He was Benedictus’s older brother, the rightful heir of their father the king’s throne. Yet the unfortunate Irae was born at a disadvantage – the magics that allowed the Vir Requis to take wing and fly were absent in him. He was abandoned by his father, left to live his life as a joke passed down upon their family. Stripped of his birthright and constantly told how worthless he was, of course Irae grew up to be a damaged person. Even the only one who loved him – Benedictus, his younger brother – treats him with a certain amount of pity rather than true love, as if he’s a charity case, not blood. He sees everything his brother has been handed, from the throne to his future wife, and despises the “Poor guy” attitude his admittedly supercilious brother displays.

Taking this into account, is it any wonder that Irae turned out to be such an asshole?

In other words, even though this novel does have a hero, in a twist that I appreciated greatly, there are really no true heroes to be found. All are tainted, either by pain or anger or despair. The great enemy that Kyrie, Benedictus, Lacrimosa (Ben’s wife), and Agnus Dei are fleeing from is a monster of their own creation, or at least the creation of their people. This is a pertinent aspect of storytelling for today’s world, especially those in the States, what with virtually every enemy the U.S. now faces being individuals who we nurtured and helped bring to power. Now, I’m not saying the author is making any judgments on this particular facet, just saying that he recognizes it exists. And that makes what the story brings to the table that much more important.

But even greater than this is the theme of hate spread through lies and fear. It’s everywhere in the book – the people of the land hate the Vir Requis because of the lies they’ve been told, just as Gloriae (the daughter of Benedictus, kidnapped by Dies Irae as a young child and raised as his own) is. This is such a heartbreaking development, and one that Arenson milks for all it’s worth from all angles, from the parents to the kidnapper to the child, herself, who has grown up with this hate imprinted on her soul and wears it like a badge of honor. And then there is Dies Irae, who honestly believes that his quest is justified and good because he’s convinced himself, through his own lies and deceit, that it is so. I’d go on about how much this line of thinking means in modern society, but I don’t think you have to look too far to see examples sprout up all around us. They’re everywhere, from the Middle East to fundamentalist churches to backwater towns and so many other places. It’s frightening, it’s disheartening, and it’s real, which gives the book that much more potency.

Blood of Requiem is an outstanding first book in a series, and by the end, when both the heroes and villains have been put through the absolute ringer, we see how much farther this story has to go to reach its conclusion. Sure, there is a major victory won, but that victory does not come without a dire price.

In all, this is a fantastic book that I couldn’t put down, and I can’t wait for the second volume to be released, because with all the loose threads, both emotional and dealing with the plot, that Arenson has left hanging, I know the intensity of the tale will only heighten. This is a special book with an original premise and a dark and gritty storyline, a book that will excite you and make you feel something.

And that, folks, is what it’s all about.

(Note to say that as a beta reader, I find it unfair to post my usual rating breakdown, so I’m simply going to give Blood of Requiem 4.5 stars. And it deserves it.)

Purchase Blood of Requiem in ebook format:

Review: Dismember by Daniel Pyle

2011-05-11T09:39:00.011-04:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

Last year, the offer was put out to me to review books for Shock Totem Magazine. Of course I gladly accepted, and immediately went out looking for material.

I didn’t have to look far. I’d reviewed Down the Drain, the fantastic novelette by Daniel Pyle, here in the Journal, and, knowing that he had a full-length novel out, I took a chance and requested a copy of Dismember from the author.

I am so glad I did.

Dismember is a special book, an oddity in the most wondrous of ways. It’s odd because it bucks the trend of “horror” without losing its niche in the genre, for horror isn’t always about slime-drenched creatures (or bathtub monsters) leaping out and torturing the innocent. No, when horror is done properly it deals with the more important issues, those that keep us commonfolk firmly entrenched in our lives, everything from family to death to the loss of personal freedom. When this happens, as it does in Dismember, the terrors on the page grab hold of you and cause your heart to skip, not because something might jump out of the darkness, but because it lets you know just how thin the thread separating life and death really is.

Dismember is a brisk, almost meditative story of purity corrupted. The tale takes us on the twenty-three year journey of Dave Abbott, the only survivor of a terrible car accident that occurred while traveling with his family in the Colorado Mountains when he was seven years old.

Davy has lived a life of seclusion and fear since that day, trapped in a rickety old house by a twisted mountain man who is only called Mr. Boots. Very few details of Davy’s captivity are explained in the book, but you get the impression that Mr. Boots performed certain illicit acts on little Davy that society would most certainly not condone. I appreciated the lack of exposition in this regard, because I haven’t the desire (or stomach) to read the particulars of child abuse, be that abuse of a sexual nature (which the text suggests) or not. In fact, these circumstances are handled with style, using cursory hints dispersed through the story in flashbacks, which stick with you simply because of what we are not shown, for what our minds create to fill in the blanks is almost always more disturbing than overdone exposition.

The story picks up with Davy on his thirtieth birthday. It seems all those years in captivity haven’t done wonders for poor Davy’s sanity, because he’s hatched a plan to reassemble his dead family through any means necessary. Once this re-gathering begins, Pyle tells his story through five points of view: an eleven-year-old boy named Zach, Mike and Libby Pullman, a divorced couple trying to retain a sense of the familiar after the dissolution of their marriage, Trevor, the Pullman’s son, and Davy, himself.

Of all the different emotional threads in this novel, I found the interplay between the Pullmans to be the most fascinating. At last we’re given a divorced couple who show each other respect instead of filling the air between them with venom and petty discord. Sure, you can tell right off the bat why their marriage failed, but to them raising Trevor, their son, the correct way is paramount. Neither would ever even think of using their child’s adoration as a manipulative tool against the other, which is refreshing…and unusual in a usually cliché-riddled genre.

Despite this aspect of the plot, the driving theme of the entire book is the death and disfigurement of innocence. In a brilliant sliver of storytelling, the author contrasts Davy’s childhood terrors with the stresses he inflicts on Zach and Trevor after he abducts them. This phase of the novel reinforces Davy as a sympathetic scoundrel. On many occasions I found myself openly rooting for him to realize that what he was doing was wrong, because I realized that his state of mind wasn’t his fault. This is a guy who grew up segregated from society, under the watchful eye of a cruel guardian. His only education was through pain, and his only joyful memories are those that he experienced before he was seven years old, leaving a stunted and incomplete person. Even with the amount and degree of brutality he enacts on people, he demonstrates a massive capacity for love and thoughtfulness that actually makes his cruelty seem all the more brutal, for this is a man with psychological arrested development, and it isn’t his fault.

The differing points of view in this book were beautifully executed. The shift between the children and adults were convincing and real-to-life – the kids were kids, and the adults were sufficiently imperfect. The blood and gore is there, and it is vicious, but it doesn’t overwhelm, instead pulling you even further into the story and making your gut clench as you experience these frights alongside the characters. And the ending is a thing of beauty, as well. I was stunned by what happens, not necessarily because it’s laughable or frightening, but because it’s haunting in its unexpectedness (and simplicity). I won’t go into details, but let’s just say Daniel Pyle is a very brave man to end this book the way he did, for I’m sure there are some out there who won’t appreciate it.

This reviewer, however, thought it was brilliant.

To finish things off, I’ll say that Dismember is an unbelievably good book. It reads quickly, as I constantly wanted to flip the page just to see what happens next. It’s a story about life that centers on the mundane and how much we might overlook those simple pleasures given the freedom we’ve been blessed with. It’s a tale of the fractured soul and how much we rely on, and mimic, the family that sprouted us. But most of all it’s simply one hell of a ride, one that I am so glad I took. And for that, this reviewer must give Daniel Pyle some well-deserved congratulations on receiving only the fourth perfect score I’ve ever handed out.

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 50/50 (5/5)

(Reviewer’s note: A version of this review appears in Shock Totem #3)

Purchase Dismember in the following formats:

Paperback

Ebook

Review: Kafka's House by Gabriela Popa

2011-05-08T12:06:00.007-04:00

Rating: 3.3 out of 5

I find it wonderful to read about a slice of life that is separate from my own, a sliver of reality alien to me in setting and social construction yet human enough to allow me to feel for the characters and wonder what it would be like if I, myself, lived under these circumstances.

In Kafka’s House, Gabriela Popa transports the reader to Romania in the 1960’s, a land where old ways are beginning to be ushered away at the onset of communism. In this tale we meet Sylvia, a precocious 10-year-old with a wandering mind, love of stories, and the unquenchable urge for knowledge apart from the everyday life she’s always known.

The story is simple. Sylvia lives in a small town with her parents and younger sister, Mirela. She spends her time (both in school and out) with her best friend Duck and avoiding a young boy named Florin who she dubs “the enemy”, the perpetrator of much of her youthful angst. She is constantly sent to pick up bors from a pair of older ladies down the street, Ana and Crina. Ana in particular captures Sylvia’s attention, as she is a woman of travel. Ana tells the girl stories of Prague and lets Sylvia see postcards from other countries, as well as occasionally smuggling snippets of wonderment (in the form of pages from a diary) into her bags. Sylvia laps this all up and her thirst for adventure is only heightened.

The most brilliant aspect of the plot is that while her thirst is heightened, Sylvia is inexorably trapped by her everyday life. Her parents are overprotective and the simple truths of her country’s conversion to a communist state and the ever-present threats from neighboring countries don’t exactly make it safe or practical for this child to explore her inner voyager. So she spends much of the book trapped in her own mind, questioning the reasoning for what happens around her and using fairy tales to try and come to grips with what she doesn’t understand.

Author Popa creates a Romania that is wonderfully unfamiliar and yet atmospheric. We the readers are transported to this land and by the end we come to at least a modicum of understanding of what life in this time, in this place, might have been like. She uses a delightfully innocent voice that gives the book the feel of being an autobiographical memoir rather than fictional tale, which this reviewer will go ahead and assume is done on purpose. With the intimacy with which Popa describes these people and their surroundings, this reviewer will go ahead and assume this is a story based directly on the author’s life.

But this voice is also part of the problem with the book. Whereas the story is told through Sylvia’s eyes and in the present tense, there are contemplations and language used that effectively pulled me out of the story every so often, for there is no way a sheltered girl of ten could be possessed of such worldliness. I wish the book had been written in past tense and constructed more in the way of a reflective memoir, because each time I was yanked from the wonderful atmosphere it canceled out what the writing is trying to accomplish.

The format and language used in the book was also a problem for me. Commas are abundant and often misused, words are constantly mashed together, grammar is spotty, and there are sporadic indents and spacing. Also, the author doesn’t use quotes around dialogue, instead relying on an em-dash to connote someone speaking. Taken on its own this is a writing convention I don’t necessarily mind (Cormac McCarthy doesn’t use quotes either, and he’s one of the greatest American writers of this century), but when placed atop the other issues it becomes noticeable, distracting, and confusing. It gives the book a sometimes amateurish feel, and also makes one think that perhaps English is not the author’s native language, which might well be true.

However, with all this being said and despite my rating, I can honestly say that I would recommend this book. It’s a slice of youth and innocence that serves to inform us that no matter how different two cultures might be, in the end we’re all human. We live, we learn, we encounter disappointment, pain, and fear, and yet still we may be able to rise above, even if it’s through nothing but our imagination. You will wonder at the idiosyncrasies that people possess and ponder just how much of the unknown is unknown for a reason, for when faced with dire circumstances and a society living on the edge of fear, morality is sometimes hard to judge. I think that morality play, and the loss your individual voice, may be the main points of the story, and for that alone I can say that I truly enjoyed the time I spent reading this.

Plot - 7

Characters - 9

Voice - 7

Execution - 3

Personal Enjoyment – 7

Overall – 33/50 (3.3/5)

Purchase Kafka's House in ebook format for:

Guest Review: The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

2011-04-27T09:39:00.007-04:00

Today's review comes to you from Jason Letts, author of the Powerless series and The Inevitable Trilogy. I thank him greatly for contributing this review.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi is a rich dystopian fantasy that seemed to sit perfectly at the intersection of a number of interests near and dear to my heart.

To understand everything going on in this story of power and survival, a reader must have a hand in a number of different pots. In the near future, the world has coalesced around Bangkok as its thriving epicenter. Those familiar with current events will know that Thailand is tagging along with India and China as a surging developing country, and so it’s interesting to think about how it could have not only leapt ahead but flourished while current economic powers decline. Despite an acknowledgement in the end notes that this is not the case, future Bangkok seems an awful lot like present Bangkok, the crazyness of which compelled me to leave it after just one day while traveling the country. Poverty and commotion at the bottom compete with warring government agencies at the top for the prize of which aspect of society is the least stable. It’s a wonder the country managed to peak at all, but apparently they found a way.

Much of this has to do with the growth of genetic manipulation as an industry that both combats and creates a number of futuristic plagues: cibiscosis, blister rust, Nippon (Japanese) genehack weevil. These words complement a textual language that is both challenging to grapple with and sometimes slow to trudge through. Language fans will encounter a handful of Thai and Japanese words, travelers will meet with Thai names and places that must either be looked up or glossed over, science buffs will face some scientific concepts concerning calories and joules that add depth to how society functions, and everyone will have to slog through noticeable typos and errors that occur way too frequently (I read the Kindle version). Altogether, the thick prose always gives you something in the way of color and only occasionally drifts into the realm of over-writing.

Because of plagues that lead to famines that lead to starvation, the creation of new food sources is critical. At the beginning of the story, Anderson, an American businessman operating in Thailand, wants to get his hands on the next big genetic creation.

The story shifts between several points of view, and a lot happens before we finally meet the title character, Emiko, a Japanese “Windup.” The fun for the first quarter of the book was trying to figure out exactly what she is. Where is the line between machine and human? But figuring out what she is occurs simultaneously with severe scrutiny over what she stands for. Emiko is essentially a sex slave, which to a large degree is the purpose of her creation. Maybe it’s just because I lived in Japan for two years, but I think there’s a very special place in the Western consciousness for Japanese women as sexual objects. The author does a good job of linking cultural perspectives to characters, but I found more to resist in the insistence that we feel sorry for her. She is obviously the crux of the story, and her growth constantly comes in conflict with the premises for her creation and behavior. Although I could go along with most of it, I’m sure there’ll be more than a few readers for whom she slides into contradiction or cliché. She is the most problematic part of the story, but if you can buy her (no pun intended) then everything else will work great.

I did have a wonderful time with the story, which was both elaborate and expansive. The characters were interesting. I felt invested in the unfolding plot even though there were still some things that went over my head. I’m satisfied with the ending. Overall, a good reading experience.

Paperback:

Ebook:

Review: A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish

2011-04-20T08:51:00.013-04:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

This is a special review, so let’s start things off with some reflection.

I first reviewed The Weight of Blood by David Dalglish in July of 2010. It was my first foray into fantasy in years, and I didn’t know what to expect. I walked away from the experience in a state of wonder. I didn’t know that a world populated by orcs, elves, and dark magicians could be so captivating, could mean so much. I immediately fell in love with the characters. I understood their background, their point of view, and found it to be, overall, a much more than solid (not to mention valiant) story.

From there I went on to The Cost of Betrayal, and if I hadn’t fallen in love with Dalglish’s unique voice before, by the time I reached the end of that second novel I was hooked. The emotion was palpable, the plot complex, and the message was clear.

This was a story with something to say, and it did so in spades.

The following two books, The Death of Promises and The Shadows of Grace, I plowed through. Though very well done in their own rite, they never quite reached the very high bar that Dalglish set with Betrayal. Not to say they weren’t fantastic stories – they were – but there was just something special about that second book, something that grabbed hold of me and took me down a path that made me care about these characters – their actions and contemplations, their failures and victories – more than any reader really should. By the time I wrote the review for Grace, I’d made up my mind that as talented a storyteller as David Dalglish is, there was no way in hell he could top what he’d achieved so long ago in a book that at the time I stated was one of the five best books I’ve ever read.

So here we are now, and I’m going to tell you that he has surpassed himself. The list has changed, folks, for the narrative that unfolds in A Sliver of Redemption, the fifth and final novel in the Half-Orc opus, is second to absolutely none, including that aforementioned special second book. Hence, it has replaced Betrayal on my list of great novels.

The story of Redemption begins, as always, with the resolution of the cliffhanger from book four. The god Thulos has been released into the world of Dezrel, and he’s in a sour mood. His arrival forces our heroes to retreat and regroup, as they now find themselves faced with the nearly insurmountable odds of having to fight not only the followers of Karak, the god of order, but also an army of demons with a War God on its side.

Qurrah, the miserable half of the brothers Tun, continues on his quest for salvation, which began halfway through The Shadows of Grace when his batty girlfriend Tessanna gave birth to their stillborn child. His doubt in himself only grows here, as he’s forced to confront not only war demons but those inside himself, as well. This is a man who’s inflicted immeasurable horrors upon the world, a man who’s slaughtered the innocent, including (in a roundabout way) his beloved brother Harruq’s own daughter. He doesn’t understand why Harruq should forgive him. Hell, he doesn’t know if he could ever deserve forgiveness. And yet forgiveness is what he’s given, and this turns out to be the impulsion for him to look deeper into himself than he ever did before. What we have here is Qurrah stripped of all pretenses as to who he is. For the first time in the entirety of the series he’s naked, and what he sees in himself he loathes.

As for Harruq, our big lug of sanctity continues on his own quest for forgiveness. What Qurrah fails to realize is that Harruq forgives him because he’s been forgiven, as well. It doesn’t matter that Harruq’s transgressions all occurred four books ago, that his personal body count is thousands upon thousands less than his brother’s. Murder is murder, sin is sin. Just because one individual carries this out on a large scale and another on a much smaller one doesn’t matter. Harruq understands this, and he gives his brother the grace that his understanding (and integrity) demands.

The forces of good hunker down for the coming fight. There are new allies made and old allegiances rekindled, all while Thulos is hard at work recruiting added reinforcements to his army, for the portal to his own world is closed and cannot be reopened. These scenes in between battles are actually the best in the book until the end, as this is where the seeds of Qurrah’s redemption are planted. We get to see all the characters come to grips with their love and loss, we get to see them hesitant and doubtful, we get to see them as real people with the weight of the world on their shoulders. No one is spared from this – not the wizard Tarlak, not paladins Jerico and Lathaar, not Deathmask or Veliana. Not even King Antonil himself is spared. They all have their moments of weakness, and we’re left hanging as to whether the choices they make end up being the correct ones.

The groups end up separating, with most heading up to Mordeina to reclaim the city from Karak’s followers. Qurrah stays behind with the army from Omn, to protect the Bloodbrick Bridge. This is one of many battles that take place in the novel, but it gets special mention here, because this is where Qurrah earns his redemption. It is also, without a doubt, the most perfectly illustrated action (or chain of action) sequence that Dalglish has ever written.

The fight is long and drawn-out, with Velixar guiding his undead, the human army Thulos gathered, and the demon army. It is rife with ingenious strategy, drawn-out stalemates, and edge-of-your seat action. This may sound like a contradiction, but even the sluggish procession of time held me rapt at attention. There are twists and turns, times you feel the heroes will fail, times you think they’ll win, and then it seems certain they’ll fail once more. All this is encapsulated in what might be the most breathless sequence of events I have ever read.

And yet through it all, the entire battle – and I mean all of it – is encapsulated by Qurrah. Finally, after more than four hundred thousand words worth of him faltering and hating his own existence, he shows the intestinal fortitude to sacrifice himself for his fellow man. He wears himself to the bone and refuses to quit defending his charges, even when things seem most dire. When the battle finally ends, when he’s given everything he can (and then some), he goes on to offer up the last gift he has left. It is a moment of selflessness five books in the making, and he goes about it with reserve and respect, much like a hero should. Some would say, “finally!” to that. This reviewer, understanding the nature of his character and the unfortunate circumstances of his life, simply let out a cheer and said, “YOU ARE FORGIVEN.” This was Qurrah’s moment of glory, his chance to not repeal all his transgressions, but pay for them. And pay for them he does.

However, this being a David Dalglish novel, Qurrah’s work is not done, and neither are his trials. After all, this guy did bring about virtually every hardship the peoples of this world experienced. You’d be kidding yourself if you thought the author would take it easy on him.

In the end, the city is retaken and a final, massive battle is waged at the gates (and above) Mordeina. I said the battle of Bloodbrick was the most perfect battle Dalglish ever wrote; if that is true, the siege of Mordeina is by far his most epic. There are uprisings and mythical creatures, both heavenly and not. There is heroism aplenty and seething vengeance to be had. This all plays out over only thirty pages, and yet it seems so much bigger than that. The writing here is amazing. There are no wasted words, no extraneous descriptions. Everything just flows. The whole series has boiled down to this very moment, to the time when the cruel forces of Karak, now joined by Thulos, face off once and for all against the magnanimous armies of Ashuur. The payoff is brilliant, and also foretold. If anyone remembers the stand at the gates of Veldaren way back in book three, it serves as the perfect presage to what happens next.

I’m tempted to say that words can’t describe how good this book is, but of course I’m now writing a review, so that in and of itself is a lie. But trust me, it’s wonderful, the best Dalglish has ever written. The emotional threads aren’t only equal to those in The Cost of Betrayal, but actually surpass them, which I thought impossible.

And yet it is not sorrow that I felt as I swallowed these themes. There were no tears of mourning shed, no shudders while I held my family close. Instead there exists a pervasive sense of kindship, of hope, both for the loved ones now passed on and those whose lives we’ve written off as worthless. There is one particular scene towards the end that brought real tears to my eyes, for it is among the most beautiful and bittersweetly hopeful events I’ve ever read in literature. It made me think of my own past, my own lost loves, and wish I would have the opportunity to relish in their presence once more, if only for a moment. In a real way it is confirming the importance of our lives; in a selfish way, it allows us to feel wanted, to feel that we’ve done well with what we’ve been given, and gives us the confidence to move on.

In the past, when writing reviews of these books, I’ve gone out of my way to describe (sometimes in annoying detail) the religious premises presented within. On this occasion I will only say that good wins out over evil, though evil as Dalglish describes it is sometimes hard to define. There is not a single character that has no virtues (well, maybe one, but I’ll just forget about him). Even Velixar, the prophet of Karak and the biggest antagonist in the novel, is in many ways a sympathetic character. He has given his life (and unlife) to the one he believes in, and he actually believes he is doing the right thing.

Here’s the conundrum; both major religions of the realm are incomplete. Both have positive and negative points. Sure, the positive is exaggerated in Ashhur’s followers and the negative in Karak’s, but let’s be frank here – both sects have their failings. The truth of the matter is, there needs to be order, even in forgiveness, and there has to be mercy in ardor. This is why I have a sneaking suspicion that the tale of these two opposing gods is nowhere close to being finished. I hope they someday do find a resolution, because honestly, when and if they do, it might be the most perfect belief system ever created.

But that’s almost beside the point. This story – hell, this whole series – isn’t about warring gods, even though that was the backdrop. No, it’s about two underprivileged kids who go in opposing directions. It follows their failures and triumphs, their mistakes and good decisions. It’s about love, family, friendship, trust, and sacrifice. Though disguised as a work of dark fantasy, I don’t think I’ve ever read a series that ended up having such a positive message as this one. It’s a triumph of literature. I tell you this much in complete honesty. And A Sliver of Redemption is more than a final novel; it is, in many ways, a philosophical text, a learning tool. Through it one can learn of the goodness, the beauty, the love that exists in the world, even through layer after layer of ugliness. We can examine our relationships and see that there is no correct way to go about it, be it the idealized bond between Harruq and Aurelia, the journey of pain and loss between Qurrah and Tessanna, or the call to righteous duty that both joins and divides Lathaar and Mira (Tessanna’s twin goddess). And what is the one thing that binds them all together? Love. Love allows them to overcome the greatest of odds, to make the difficult decisions, to look past each others’ failings and choose the path most righteous. Yes, my friends, at the end of the day it is love, between lovers, brothers, family, friends, and allies, that wins the day.

And it is with great love that I call A Sliver of Redemption the greatest book Dalglish has ever written. Hell, it might be the best he’ll ever write in his lifetime. The emotion is real, the cost is high, and the payoff at the end is both satisfying and hopeful.It's the perfect end to a fantastic series, by all means the best set of stories I’ve ever read. In the eyes of this reviewer, it even blows away The Dark Tower, which I adored. And when I say blows away, I mean there isn’t a comparison. None. Nope. Not even close.

I can’t think of a more fitting end to this review than that.

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 50/50 (5/5)

Purchase A Sliver of Redemption in the following formats:

Paperback:

Ebook:

Review: Tempest by Holly Hook

2011-04-13T14:31:00.007-04:00

Rating: 4 out of 5

There seems to be a growing trend in young adult fiction where the love story is the main crux of the plot. The main characters do grow in these instances, but their growth is charted by their feelings for the “other” in their lives. The hero or heroine therefore becomes defined by this other and fails to be a viable personality any longer. They turn into puppets on the strings of love and lust, and any real change they experience is nullified because the journey isn’t a personal one. Take the fictional example of Hannah and John. Hannah has no self-esteem. She meets John, who thinks she is a fantastic person. Hannah is now filled with pride and a sense of purpose – not because she has done anything to deserve this newfound confidence, but strictly because John says she should. It’s an artificial way to build character, the easy way out. And as it pertains to real life, it doesn’t last.

Because of this, I feel thankful any time a young adult book slides into my inbox that bucks this trend. Tempest, a wonderful slice of innovative fiction by Holly Hook, more than fits the criteria.

Tempest is the story of Janelle, a sixteen-year-old girl whose mother is long dead and whose father has recently moved them from Michigan to sunny Florida. Janelle is a brooding, generally unhappy youth. She misses her friends back home and suffers from a serious lack of communication between her father and her. She seems angry at the world, but in fact this is simply the result of being firmly tied to her convictions. Her outlook on right and wrong is solid in the usual teenage I-know-the-world-and-my-parents-don’t-see way, and she holds tight to these threads of morality like a barnacle clings to a rock.

At the beginning of the story, when a hurricane is plowing along the Florida coast, Janelle is dumbstruck by the fact her father seems wholly unconcerned. She cries out against him, asking why he should seem so cavalier in the face of impending danger, and yet her father offers her no explanation other than to say, “Trust me.” She is understandably flummoxed. His action (or lack thereof) only adds to her distrust, causing her to dive even further into the net of her own principles.

As the novel moves along, and be warned that there may be some **SPOILERS** here, Janelle comes to find out that she is descended from a long line of Tempests, which are basically human hurricanes. There is a list of names, and whenever a Tempest’s name comes up, it is their duty to jump into the ocean, become a swirling mass of destruction, and assist in the regenerative circle of life and death. In other words, these people are living forces of nature. When Janelle discovers this she is horrified – she cannot deal with the prospect of taking life and causing others hardship. So she does the only thing she can think to do – she runs away.

There is a very linear plot here. It surges forward in a straight line and doesn’t let up. We are introduced to the Tempest culture, which is pretty well thought out and quite original. Janelle meets Gary, a waifish kid of her own age and “special talent” who she naturally falls for. (Thankfully, this aspect of the story comes across naturally and is not a driving force.) We meet up with the Tempest leader, a wholly evil woman named Andrina, who has a plan for Janelle and might be much more to her than originally thought. There are attempts at mind control and unsavory plots unveiled, and everyone involved – Janelle, Gary, her father, and a whole host of other characters – must hurry to put things back in their natural order before Janelle’s time comes up.

This book deals with some very poignant issues, not the least of which is the danger of secrets. Is withholding the truth ever a good idea, especially when said truth would completely change one’s definition of themselves? When is it harmful? Do parents have a duty to their children to be completely forthright in disclosing information about their history? And, on a greater scale, would the world at large be ready and accepting if they were to find out that there’s a “different” group of people out there, folks with much more power than the normal human could ever experience?

There are no simple answers to these questions, and refreshingly, the author doesn’t try to answer them. Instead she puts the reader through scenario after scenario, showing how this lack of disclosure effects the characters at a personal level, and allows the reader to make up their own mind. This lack of pretension is a most welcomed tool for Hook to use, and allows her work to feel that much more accessible.

The other main thread that weaves through the plot is common to the genre – that of finding oneself. Thankfully, the device implied at the beginning of this review is not present here. Janelle grows on her own, makes her own mistakes, stays true to who she is, and grows naturally (or as natural as one who’s a living hurricane ever could.) Even when presented with the dire facts of her existence, she still goes through the proper channels – anger, distrust, sorrow, and finally acceptance. And it is with this acceptance that she truly shows her mettle, for Janelle is the only true hero in the entire story, the only individual that cherishes all life, even those that may wish to harm her. The others…not so much. The story goes to some surprisingly dark places and makes some very interesting observations about the human existence. One of the questions posed is one for the ages – is the life of one worth more than the life of many? There are righteous answers to both sides, and we see both here in full force.

With all these good things that went on this book, I still have one major complaint. Andrina, the big baddie in the tale, isn’t a well fleshed-out character. There were some attempts made at making her seem like a well-rounded creation, but they fell flat. She talks like a Scooby-Doo bad guy and comes across as more clownish than frightening. If the author had extended the book just a little bit, allowed us to see Andrina in a more vulnerable state, then perhaps this might be different. But as constructed, she’s a one-note character, and simply not up to the standards set by Janelle and her father.

Also, the writing is a bit off at times. The book is written in third person, but told from exclusively Janelle’s viewpoint. We’re so immersed in her that at times the story felt like it was being told in first, which threw me out of rhythm a bit. To my mind, it would have worked much better to either go the first-person route or by limiting the amount of character invasion into the text to italicized sections. Something that can definitely be fixed later on.

And here’s where we get to the crux of the review. Later on. I say that not as if this book needs extensive editing – it so does not – but because I’d like to see this go on as a series. I’d love to see the author grow along with her characters, as she takes them on new adventures and throws new obstacles in their way. With the brilliant mythology Holly Hook invented, there is no limit to the storylines she could incorporate. Now, I’m not sure if this is going to be a series or not, mind you. But it should be.

In all, Tempest is a wonderfully brisk read full of angst and self-discovery. Most of the characters ring true and are decently realized. The innovations are fresh and invigorating. I would most certainly recommend this book to anyone, or to anyone’s teenagers. It’s a good start, and by the end we’re left with

the feeling that things are just going to get better from here.

Plot - 9

Characters - 7

Voice - 7

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 40/50 (4.0/5)

Purchase Tempest in ebook format for the:

BOOK RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT: A DANCE OF BLADES by David Dalglish

2011-04-12T19:51:00.003-04:00

We here at the Journal (which is really just me) have a special announcement.

David Dalglish, whose books I absolutely adore, has just released the follow-up to his best-selling novel, A Dance of Cloaks. Go out and buy this book, people! I for one can't wait to read it when it shows up in my mailbox, because Mr. Dalglish never fails to send me review copies of all his work.

Enough of me, now. Read up on this book below:

A DANCE OF BLADES

“Veldaren aches for a purge, and I will be the one to deliver it. Cry out at me if you wish, but it will change nothing. The gold is spent, the orders are given. Let the blood flow.”

----

It's been five years since Haern faked his death to escape the tyranny of his father. He has become the Watcher, a vicious killer who knows no limits, and whose hatred of the thief guilds is unrivaled. But when the son of Alyssa Gemcroft, one of the three leaders of the powerful Trifect, is believed murdered, the slaughter begins anew. Mercenaries flood the streets, with one goal in mind: find and kill the Watcher.

A DANCE OF BLADES by David Dalglish
Peace or destruction; every war must have its end.

Now available for the Kindle on Amazon.com. Click here, or the cover image, to buy yourself a copy. Trust me, it's worth it.

Review: The Ryel Saga by Carolyn Kephart

2011-03-23T10:01:00.009-04:00

Rating: 4.9 out of 5

Verbosity.

Most of the time when I pick up a book and see this in action, I roll my eyes and mutter, “Oh, no.” There are just way too many authors that fall in love with their own words, with their ability to craft clever phrasing. They overdo it and overdo it until you just can’t stand to look at the endlessly droning sequences of words any longer. This is usually the result of a writer who’s trying to emulate “traditional” literature without understand what that is in the first place. I’ve struggled through a few of these types of books, and it never ends well.

However, there is a rare breed of verbosity that stems not from self-indulgence, but the uncanny ability to turn a manuscript into magical, epic poetry. In these instances the words are necessary. They build atmosphere, envelop the mind, and spiral the reader into a world they could’ve never imagined.

That, my friends, is Carolyn Kephart’s The Ryel Saga in a nutshell.

I have to admit that at first I was a little wary of this book. It’s long (twice my usual 120k word count limit), it’s wordy, and the plotline spirals in many different directions, seemingly at once. But what I failed to take into account as I first dove in was that this is the work of an author at the top of her game, a writer who fully understands human emotion, doubt, and yearning, a woman who knows how to build a world and recognizes that there are many, many different types of beauty…even in darkness.

The Ryel Saga is named after its main protagonist, Ryel Mirai, a wysard (aka magician, sorcerer, mage) from the mystical city of Markul. He leaves the city in which he’s been raised since his early teen years (when he was lured from his home in the Steppes by his uncle Edris) when he is offered a vision of his dearly loved mother, stricken with sickness and dying. Being well-trained and powerful in the use of the Arts (the Markulian term for magic), and having been trained to be a healer, Ryel brings it upon himself to save her.

Along the way he discovers that he is being sought by a daemon named Dagar, an old sorcerer of dead magic (I guess you could call him a necromancer) whose soul (or rai, as it’s called in the book) lives on even after his body has been destroyed. It seems Dagar wants Ryel’s body, and he’ll stop at nothing – and stoop as low as he can, making Ryel’s life far beyond miserable – to make that happen.

Ryel has other adventures, as well. He uncovers lost family, finds out information about his beloved uncle Edris that rattles his world and turns him into a man possessed, falls in love, thwarts a revolution, starts a revolution, uncovers the mysteries of his Art and its legacy, suffers an ancient malady, and finally fights in a massive battle to save not just the city of Almancar, but the entire realm, as well.

There. I’ve just compressed seven-hundred pages of plot into three short paragraphs. Of course this isn’t everything there is to it – there are intricacies aplenty woven throughout the story – but if I were to make this an actual recap, the review would be fifty pages long.

And besides that – and though this might be funny to say – the strange thing about The Ryel Saga is that the plot, as complex and well thought out as it is, is almost a secondary aspect of the book. Actually, now that I think about it, it might be third in line.

The first thing that grabbed me about the book was the scenery. I mentioned at the beginning how this reminded me of poetry, and the settings are what made me think of this concept. Each city and realm visited is so vividly described that they come to life in the mind’s eye. But, oddly, there is a lot left to the imagination, as well. This might sound like a contradiction, but it’s not. From the sway of the Steppes grasses to the mists surrounding Markul to the gardens and excesses of Almancar to the filthy, deprived buildings in and around the cursed city of Ormala, most everything is explained…so much so that what is left out feels mystical, such as the feel of the street under foot or the gust of the wind on a character’s face. It’s a strange sensation to have while reading…and a wonderful one.

The second, and most fantastic of all, are the emotional ties that bind the characters, both to each other and themselves. There is love aplenty – between siblings, lovers, old rivals, even enemies. There is hatred, shown the most in disease and the scars that result from a life filled with torment. (Two characters, the brothers Essern, beautifully illustrate this point. Look out for their characters. My two favorites in the entire book, after Ryel, himself.) There is the anguish of loss, and the hope that some how, some way, those lost loves might be returned to you. There is longing, for life, love, and family. There is honor amongst heroes, and none among the religious.

And this, as a matter of fact, might be the most profound aspect of the story. In the world of Destimar, religion is as much a bane on the populace as would be cancer on the human body. Religious leaders use their preaching to motivate, organize, and manipulate their charges. And yet the text does not lose sight of the everyday person’s need for belief. I completely loved and appreciated this facet of author Kephart’s storytelling. She comes across as evenhanded, highlighting the wonders and necessity of faith while at the same time illustrating via her fantasy world the way leaders throughout history have used the peoples’ desire for understanding and salvation to turn one sect against the other, triumphing the longing of the many in order to heighten the gains of the few. She doesn’t form an opinion about this and isn’t preachy; she just presents it as simple fact. Though truth be told this reviewer thinks she tips her hand at the end and lets us know, in the tiniest of ways, how she might actually feel about the subject of spiritualism and conviction. I could be wrong, but that’s the way it seemed to me.

Above all else, The Ryel Saga is the story of faith – faith in one’s self, in one’s principles, in one’s ability to overcome. Ryel is the embodiment of this. He believes in his quest. He may doubt himself at times, but he never truly falters. He knows what he’s capable of and trusts in his Art, his magic, and his capacity to learn. In fact, throughout the whole book he never stops learning. He’s like a giant sponge, an advocate for the quest for knowledge, of the viewpoint that to gain knowledge only leads to the desire for more knowledge, and that in the end, we can never stop, but we’d be damned to a life of slow death if we stopped trying.

In case any reading this review need it spelled out for them, despite my initial misgivings, I fell in love with this book. The Ryel Saga is a poignant, touching, somber, and exhilarating read, all in one. The sentiments are real, the small scenes take priority, and the action sequences are tastefully done. In a lot of ways it’s like going on vacation to the island of St. Thomas. You know it’s ornate, you know it’s a commitment, and yet once you get there you can’t help but sit back and enjoy the experience. Reading this book is just like that – like sitting in the sun, letting the emotion of the moment grab you, and allowing it to take you where it may. To run your eyes over each word is a grand event by every definition of the word grand. Let it capture you, let it overwhelm you. Once you reach the end, you’ll understand that you’ve undergone something rare, something beautiful, something you might only see two or three times in your life.

At least this reviewer did. And it’s definitely an experience I’ll never forget.

(Final note to say I docked a single point from the execution grade because of some minor formatting errors, aka a few missing quotes and some character name confusion. These weren’t major issues, however, so the damage is minimal. Definitely does not take away from the enjoyment of the story. Obviously.)

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 4.9/50 (4.9/5)

Purchase The Ryel Saga in ebook format for the following devices:

Review: Lessons II by Michael Crane

2011-03-16T09:51:00.009-04:00

Rating: 5 out of 5

Here we are again, folks! Time for another collection of shorts by the incomparable Michael Crane.

Just as with the first volume, Lessons, Lessons II contains upwards of twenty-five "drabbles", complete stories told in exactly 100 words. Also as with the first book, every story the author crafts is entertaining and well worth the read. They suck you in immediately and then punch you in the gut.

I don't know if people really understand how hard it is to write these types of stories. One has to create atmosphere and characterization using an economy of words. And yet here it's pulled off beautifully.

In many ways a collection like this is like a songbook. You have different stanzas and verses, all reflecting a similar theme in different ways. There is horror and comedy, and a twist at the end of nearly every one. From "Solution" (my favorite) to "Punishment", they're small illustrations of everyday problems solved in the most extreme and brutal of ways.

In other words, this is a damn good little collection. My only hope is that the author will start putting out longer works, because his voice needs to be heard in a more fleshed-out format. I, for one, would line up to buy it.

Two great big severed thumbs up from me!

Purchase Lessons II in ebook format from:

Review: Die Already by Kipp Poe Speicher

2011-03-09T10:26:00.005-05:00

Rating: 3 out of 5

A while back I read this author's first foray into self-pubbing, and let's just say I didn't like it one bit. However, the writer showed a great amount of class (not to mention professionalism) by not only accepting what I wrote in the review, but presumably using my rather harsh words as a motivational tool to better his work.

So when Speicher contacted me again and asked if I'd take a look at his new offering, I readily agreed.

Die Already is a short story about a man who has a curse - when he's around, nothing ever dies. This curse has followed him since childhood, marking his life until one day the most horrible outcome he could think of happens - and he's left to wonder what he should do about it.

This is as much as I'll get into the plot, because this story is short (@1500 words) and I don't want to give away too much.

As for things I liked about the story, the author has certainly grown since I've read him last. His vision is more vivid, his voice stronger, and his ideas - well, let's just say he's a pretty imaginative chap. Die Already has a plot that could be made into something truly special. It's creative and creepy and atmospheric.

Which brings us to the bad. For as creative as the idea of the story is, it still reads as just that - an idea. It's not fleshed out anywhere near enough to be considered a complete tale. A little more exposition and a lot more fleshing out of characters and situations would do it very well, indeed. As presently constituted, scenes fly by much too quickly for the reader to gain any sort of emotional attachment to the narration, which is a shame. There's a lot of potential here, but as it is it's an overwritten piece of flash, when the idea begs to be so much more than that.

This isn't to say it's horrible. Definitely not. It's good, but just good. I'd love for the author to take this little tale of terror and turn it into a masterful work of fiction. It has that sort of potential, it just hasn't reached that point. Yet.

Available in Ebook format at Amazon.com