Review: The Shadows of Grace by David Dalglish

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

Would you sacrifice your child for the world?

Questions. Life, many times, comes down to having the strength to ask oneself the correct ones, leaving the answers almost secondary. In literature, we judge characters, especially those who’ve fallen from grace, by their actions. And yet those actions are often a direct reflection of not having the intestinal fortitude to look past the shiny veneer of their unfortunate circumstances and ask, “Is what has happened to me my own fault?” A great example of this would be Humbert Humbert from Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. He is a character who is obsessed with an underage girl, and throughout the novel he questions not what depravity lies within himself that causes him to fall for (and run off with) this “nymphette”, but the societal pressures and breakdowns that force him to do so. He hates his life and his actions yet takes no action to remedy – or understand – them. In the end, he dies the same way he lived – ignorant and afraid of asking the right questions.

In The Shadows of Grace, the fourth book in David Dalglish’s fantastic and captivating Half-Orc series, the questions come to the forefront. No longer are the brothers and heart of the story, Harruq and Qurrah, slogging through life letting events guide their actions. They make choices, they contemplate their place in the world. Qurrah, for his part, finally begins asking questions of himself – only he’s not asking the right ones. The line at the beginning of this review is his. However, he has it all wrong. For any parent, for any being living in any form of society, the real question should be “Would I sacrifice myself for my child?” However, the simple fact that he asks that question shows a change in his character. He’s learning, pondering his station in life and looking inward rather than reacting to the horrors that have always surrounded him, for the first time.

Harruq is on a different path. He’s asking the right questions for someone in his situation. He’s led his people, folks he’s learned to love and appreciate, to safety. And yet he fights the inner battle of regret. He had a chance to kill his brother in the past and couldn’t do it. Should he have? Is the price of his love for his brother worth the thousands who’ve died by his hand, not the least of which being his own beloved daughter? Is Qurrah worthy of forgiveness for his sins? Does that even matter?

The answer to this is complicated. It’s both a resounding NO and a heartfelt YES! The brothers are a metaphor for choice and faith in one’s abilities. They are a fable of sorts. Think of two inner-city siblings, raised in a culture of violence and fear. One overcomes his upbringing, goes off to school, and becomes a productive and admirable member of society. The other takes the easy way out. He falls prey to the corruption that surrounds him, joins gangs, lives a life of aggression and brutality. The first example we put on a pedestal, idolizing for his ability to rise above. The latter is vilified, looked at as a lost cause and written off. Should he be? If we are able to commend the successful brother for overcoming the trials and tribulations of a rough childhood, shouldn’t we also feel pity for those who aren’t able to triumph? Shouldn’t we try to place ourselves in his situation and ask, “If that were me, would I have the strength to be the better man?” Most times, we don’t. Just look at the headlines of any local newspaper if you require proof of this. Are they worthy of redemption? Some would say no. But they are. It’s hard to look at the horrors they’ve committed and see a soul worth saving. It is the great among us, those with an almost mystical amount of compassion, who have the ability to forgive. Not forget, forgive. And in this particular book, it is Harruq who encapsulates this. He has no reason to forgive his brother. Qurrah has given him nothing but pain. And yet he does. He sees through the veneer of hatred and revenge and bestows upon his brother the greatest gift he can – a clean slate. It’s a beautiful occurrence, and the scene at the end of the book where this happens is a stunning piece of writing.

The Shadows of Grace is a very, very deep book. Besides the aforementioned plotlines involving Harruq and Qurrah’s path to redemption, there is political intrigue, huge battles, and emotional threads that run throughout most every word on the page. We are reunited with old friends, watch some of these friends give up their lives for the greater good, and are given a fresh perspective on matters of faith and self-sacrifice. Harruq and the Eschaton, along with King Antonil, lead the survivors from Velderan into the city of Mordeina, where they find peace and rest after heading off to warn neighboring towns of the approaching armies of orc and undead. Ultimately, truces are made between warring factions and battles are fought. Long-held prejudices are put aside. Before too long, we end up back in Mordeina, where a siege of the great city is under way. The war demons brought through the portal held open by Qurrah and Velixar are ready to exterminate all life. This scene, in particular, is written spectacularly. It delves even further into Harruq’s growing sense of honor and grace (there’s that word again) and the violence that follows his epiphany on the state of his life and faith is almost a foregone conclusion…though there is a particularly unexpected occurrence that helps swing the almost impossible odds against our heroes back in their favor. I won’t discuss it much, because it’s a bit of a spoiler, but I will say that some might find it to be a deus ex machina. It’s not. If you sit back and think about the plot, of where Dalglish is taking this tale, it makes perfect sense.

These points are interesting, but this book really finds its legs in the aforesaid growth of Harruq and Qurrah and the overall message I think the author has presented to us. And it is this message, the parable that the storyline of all the books have combined to now reveal, that is the most wonderful aspect of all.

What we have here is an allegory – or a critique, if you will – of Christianity. It’s brilliant, and I never thought of it, never noticed the events occurring could be discerned in this way before. There are three factions at odds with each other, in the form of the gods the author has created: Karak, Ashhur and Celestia. Karak is the personification of the Old Testament; demanding of obedience and order, self-sacrifice, and complete devotion. Ashhur reflects the New Testament; he demands only love and forgiveness, and all who worship him hold the promise that they will one day be blessed by a lifetime in the golden afterlife. Celestia is the universe itself, a deity devoted to balance. She refuses to let the scales tip too far in one direction or the other – in other words, cause and effect, or every action has an equal or opposite reaction. The three of them combine to form its own holy trinity of sorts, the three-become-one. I might think that if all the particulars sat down and thought about it for a second, they might find that they’ve been fighting the wrong war all along.

Just like the gods, the major characters have biblical counterparts. Qurrah is Abraham, the man asked to forgo everything, even his beloved child, for the sake of a God that seems outwardly cruel and remorseless. His faith is constantly tested, and just as often as not, he fails those tests. Harruq is Saint Peter, the loyal ruffian who denied Jesus yet, in the end, was the one charged with bringing His church to the people. And Tessanna, Qurrah’s lover, is paganism made flesh, all blood magic, sacred runes, and without a singular frame of reference to base her sanity upon. They form their own trinity, as well, and I have no doubt that, come the fifth and final book, it will be the interplay between these six differing yet similar characters that will form the crux of both the outcome and its message.

This was a fantastic book. It was my favorite of the author’s, actually, until the last fifty or so pages. There, I had two issues. One is with a character that emerges toward that point, a great servant of Karak named Melorak. The way he came into being seemed…convoluted somehow. It was hard for me to relate to or care about him. Secondly, after the battle of Mordeina, Dalglish seemed to rush the proceedings, as if he couldn’t wait to get to the final confrontation. I can’t blame him, as that concluding scene is beautifully written, possibly the greatest of the entire series, full of both sorrow and a morose sort of joy. If I’m being honest, it didn’t really bother me – the story is too good to be thrown off by something such as this – but still feel I must mention it, and it did prevent me from placing this tome ahead of its only emotional equal, The Cost of Betrayal.

That being said, this is a special story. All of the threads Dalglish has created are coming to a head. There is a battle brewing in the future, and the soul of everyone in Neldar is at stake. Come take the journey, get lost in it. Cry with the characters, feel their joy and pain, let them into your heart.

You’ll be glad you did. Trust me on this.

Plot - 10

Characters - 8

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

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Closing My Eyes Helps Me To See Clearly by Kipp Poe Speicher

Rating: 1.2 out of 5

When folks send work for me to consider reviewing, I usually read the first bit of the sample to decide if I’d like to carry on with it. Most of the time, my initial assumption based on the text is correct and I enjoy the experience. Other times (and these are in the minority), I’m dead wrong.

Closing My Eyes Helps Me See Clearly, which is a compilation of two short stories by Kipp Poe Speicher, is the latter.

The first short story, which I assume is the title piece, is the tale of a man who wakes in a dream world that is falling apart. It begins with a description of the world told through the eyes of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, which is what drew me into the piece to begin with. It then moves along to the viewpoint a man who watches a little girl being run over. He goes to help her, only to find that no one seems to care.

The story progresses, and eventually ends, and we discover that everything happening up to that point is a dream and what is actually occurring is the end of our universe. It doesn’t really have a plot…more of a stream-of-consciousness like prose, which I do appreciate at times. However, I feel the author’s ability wasn’t up to the challenge and I came away feeling a bit blech about it. Not always a good sign when trying to lure someone in with a short story – though I feel, with a good deal of work, this could be turned into a piece of some power.

Then came the second tale, and I actually wished for that blech feeling to return.

Gas For Grass, the aforementioned second story, begins with a dream that is nothing but a graphic description of a sexual act, and moves on, once the main character wakes up, to become the most disgusting and pointless revenge fantasy I’ve ever read. There is absolutely no purpose to the story, other than to describe the ways one person can do horrendous things to another for no reason whatsoever. There is not a single redeeming quality. It has nothing to say, no theme, and if the author wanted to construct a disturbing allegory on the state of the world, he failed. It’s simply disgusting, bigoted, and, as I said before, pointless.

Now, all of this would be well and good, with both stories, if they were written well. Then, at least, there would be something positive to take from the second one. But they aren’t. The author has no concept of sentence structure or punctuation, no sense of dialogue, no sense of building a proper arc. As far as ideas, as I said, the first story shows great potential. I wish the author would’ve stuck with that tone and decided to expand on it rather than add the second story, because it drives the rating way, way down.

Do you agree with me? Find out for yourselves.

Closing My Eyes Helps Me To See Clearly

Plot - 6

Characters - 4

Voice - 6

Execution - 3

Personal Enjoyment – 5

Overall – 24/50

Gas For Grass

Plot - 0

Characters - 0

Voice - 0

Execution - 0

Personal Enjoyment - 0

Overall – 0/50

Combined Overall – 24/100 (1.2/5)

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Review: The Long Last Call by John Skipp

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

I read The Scream in eighth grade, and The Bridge in high school. I adored both of those books, and they helped build my love of horror. These novels were penned by John Skipp (with an assist from Craig Spector), the guy who pretty much invented the splatterpunk genre.

However, in the time after The Bridge was released in ‘91, it was years before I heard from him again. As far as I could tell, the only appearance Mr. Skip was as the editor of the two “Books of the Dead”, which are the seminal compilations in the world of zombies. And oh, did I miss him.

Well, he’s back. (Actually, he has been for a time, but I’m a bit, er, clueless when it comes to actually seeking things out.) This past week, I was handed a copy of The Long Last Call, in paperback from Leisure Fiction, and I dove in head first.

This particular tome actually contains two novellas – the title piece, “The Long Last Call”, and “Conscience”, which was released in 2004 (unbeknownst to me). I will review them both here, in that order.

In “The Long Last Call”, a strip club off the beaten path in Podunk America is visited by a strange (and oily) visitor. There are the requisite characters for such a setting – the sleazeball owner, the grumpy bouncer, the old hick regulars, the guy who stops in who doesn’t belong, and strippers who snort a ton of coke or are paying their way through college or are simply dumb and blessed with stunning beauty. Yes, these characters are simple, but they work, because this story isn’t about making some grand social commentary (at least not at first). No, this is a slam-bang tale of horror, and we’re all better for it.

The patrons of Sweet Thangs are taken for a ride when that dark (and oily) stranger strolls in with a bucketload of cash. He feeds into the characters’ inherent greed and desperation, intent on proving that all people are corruptible and at their core dreadful, until a twist at the end throws everything on its head. It was quite interesting to see the interplay between all of these characters, both despicable and not. This book would work beautifully if were nothing but a social experiment, but it is much more than that.

The writing style is one I haven’t seen in a long time. It is brisk and fast-paced, leading you from one sentence to another without giving the reader a chance to breathe. The use of ellipses is brilliant. You flip through the pages one after the other, excited to see what sort of depravity Skipp will show you next. It’s a small book, and simple, but it does its job well, which is all you can ask for.

Whereas “The Long Last Call” aims to shock you, “Conscience”, the second of the novellas, wants to do so much more than that. It wants to make you think, to make you consider the frailty of your own soul and those of the people around you.

To say I was shocked by what I read in this second novella would be an understatement. It is the story of Charlie, a killer-for-hire working for a clandestine organization that specializes in ruining the lives of the affluent. (Think “Access Hollywood” run by Don Corlione) He is a miserable sod. He hates life, he hates people, he hates his past and his future. He kills folks without thinking twice and waxes poetic about how the whole world has gone to hell. He also reflects with passion about his first love, his dog Rex, and this is the first clue we are given that there is more going on underneath Charlie’s layers of hatred than we realize.

I won’t go too far into the plot of the book, because to do that would be to ruin the surprise it has in store. And oh, what a surprise it is. I was utterly floored by the revelations here. It read like a tale of Poe for a new generation. It was sweet, it was harsh, and it made me THINK, DAMMIT. Actually, if I had to think of two words to describe it, they would be “hideously beautiful”, because the novella itself is a contradiction, which makes it really close to what we, as people, have always been.

Contradictions.

In fact, I’ll go even further and say that this might be one of the most perfect stories I’ve ever read. My one and only complaint is that more info about the organization Charlie works for wasn’t presented, but that could be another novel for another day (I hope it is). The writing is spot on, there are sufficiently violent and gruesome scenes, the voice is sublime and cynical, the main character changes in a way that makes sense once the hidden meaning of everything is revealed, and it has something beautiful to say. Let’s just say that, by the end, my eyes were welling up. For a work of art as cruel as this is, to have that purity underneath, that sense of lost innocence that might someday be regained, is something to be greatly admired.

So yes, folks, John Skipp is indeed still one of the best horror writers out there. And with these two stories, he proves that, with age, comes wisdom and understanding. His unveiling of the human condition in these tales says that much…and more.

They’re well worth the read. You’ll love every minute. I know I did.

The Long Last Call

Plot – 9

Characters – 8

Voice – 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Conscience

Plot – 9

Characters – 10

Voice – 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 94/100 (4.7/5)

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Review: 33 A.D. by David McAfee

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

If one were to take the story of the crucifixion and combine it with vampires, you would most likely get one of the most clichéd stories imaginable. I’ve read quite a few tales regarding this very setup – all in short story format, mind you – and they all were variations on a few different plots. Either Jesus himself is a vampire, hence his rising from the dead, or he becomes Jesus Christ Action Star, staking those pesky vamps left and right. These are unimaginative stories. They either don’t do anything new with the characters or they pervert them to where they’re no longer viable. And also, there tends to be a trend towards using these stories as a promotion or criticism of Christianity. Never have I seen a story that took the setting of Christ’s last days and used them as a framework. In other words, taking the setting and telling a story around that setting to create a complete, comprehensive, and entertaining work.

Never, that is, until I read 33 A.D. This was a book that I loved so much that I can come to only one conclusion about its author:

I have seen the new face of horror, and it resides beneath the glossy, waxed dome of David McAfee.

Mr. McAfee has done the (virtually) impossible. He’s taken an iconic figure and backdrop, stayed true to their roots in legend, and layered a very human tale that deals with the supernatural over it. This book is bloody, brutal, depressing, and also moral…however, that morality doesn’t overwhelm the reader, as ethical writing is wont to do. Instead it makes us think, both about what we feel about our own past misdeeds and the power each of us holds within us to forgive ourselves.

The two most important characters in 33 A.D. are Theron, a vampire assassin who’s lived for more than nine-hundred years, and Taras, a golden-haired Roman Legionary (think a primitive version of the Secret Service) whose greatest desire is to skip out of Jerusalem with Mary, his forbidden Jewish lover, and start a family. Although there are many other characters (including Marcus, the Centurion, whose nobility and strength are measured against his weak willpower, making him a fantastic creation), this is ostensibly their story.

Theron, after killing a renegade vampire at the beginning of the novel, is saddled with the task of executing Jesus, as the Nazarene and his ability to heighten the faith of those around him is dangerous to the Bachiyr (Vampiric) Council of 13. This proves to be an arduous undertaking becaue Theron, as a vampire, cannot get close enough to a man with such strong beliefs. Because of this, he goes about framing the supposed prophet, for all intents and purposes setting in motion the events that lead to Jesus’ demise.

Taras, on the other hand, is a loyal and capable soldier. He is strong, both in beliefs and in physicality. He, as well as every other Roman, is turned against the Nazarene due to Theron’s actions.

And this is where the meat of the novel lies. Theron and Taras are different characters, and yet they are virtual mirror images of each other. One could imagine that Theron, when he was still human oh so long ago, might have been virtually identical to the Roman he now calls adversary. It’s a brilliant piece of writing, and I think the similarity of their names is meant for the reader to realize that, when you cut down to the core, they aren’t as different as they think they are. In this way, the entire book is about the choices and the aforementioned need to forgive oneself. Theron cannot. He’s been around too long, deviated too much, to will a change, even though he can. No matter how much strength he possesses, he will always be weak. Likewise Taras, towards the end, when confronted with a decision that will define the rest of his life, is similarly frail. This speaks to the humanity in both of them. Even Theron, though immortal, is inexorably human, and it is that human frailty that leads to his ultimate descent into madness. And when Jesus “rises” from the grave, that event is mirrored by the rebirths, in different ways, of the two main characters. In other words, you can draw a parallel between all three, the monster, the hero, and the prophet, and come out on the other side thinking they’re all quite analogous. In writing it this way, the author is telling us that at our core we’re all the same, all fallible, and it’s up to us – and ONLY us – to change.

The subject of religion, when used in fiction, is a slippery slope to climb. It can come off as preachy or ostentatious, and while a core Christian might find that intriguing, my guess is that the majority of readers in no way want to be sermonized to. This is yet another way that McAfee did an unbelievable job. He succeeded in taking the base values of the sermons of Jesus – his theories of love, forgiveness, and togetherness – and took away the devout fanaticism that can curtail lesser works. In this novel Jesus is a loveable, though ethereally strong, hippie. The scenes in which he is involved are tastefully done, subtle, and sublime. He is not a man of action, but one of introspection, tenderness, and amnesty. He never gives up hope for those he runs across, and in the reflection of that faith in others lays the refraction of his words. It causes those not ready to hear them to back away.

I’m sure some, especially those who aren’t Christian, may look upon this book and think it distasteful. It is not. I, myself, am strictly anti-religious. Whereas I do have faith, I understand the dangers of dogmatic belief and have no desire to pursue it. However, and this is important, McAfee does NOT preach. He uses the beliefs of New Testament Christianity as a tool, not a be-all-end-all, because I think most would admit that the idea of love, community, and mercy are something to strive for. In other words, much like in AA, he takes what works and leaves the rest. You will find no heavy-handedness here.

Okay, one last thing. Because I’m anal and certain facts never escape my attention, I have to mention the only problem I had with this book. In one scene, a character is described as “short, only five-and-a-half feet tall.” The problem is, the average height of a Roman at that time was barely five feet even. Not a huge gaffe, but one that I noticed, and I wouldn’t be pretentious old me if I didn’t point it out.

That being said, it’s a tiny little issue that doesn’t take away the fact that this is a fantastic and beautifully written novel. There is death and rebirth, betrayal and loyalty, hope and despair, and ultimately sorrow. We see where the characters end up, and we feel sorry for them. It’s well worth the read, and I have to admit that I did cry more than once while sitting on the beach reading it. For me, it is the best vampire novel to come out since “The Vampire Lestat” hit the shelves a quarter century ago. And I LOVED that book.

You get a heartfelt recommendation from me, people. Go get it. Make David McAfee a success. We should all want to read more of what he has to offer.

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Plot - 10

Characters - 7

Voice - 10

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment - 10

Overall - 45/50 (4.5/5)

Review: The Weight of Blood by David Dalglish

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

What would you get if you turned Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser into a pair of half-orc brothers, gave them severe inferiority complexes, moral ambiguity, and massive tempers, and then threw in a powerful religious zealot who sways them closer to the dark side than any individual should ever be comfortable with?

Why, you’d have “The Weight of Blood” by David Dalglish.

“The Weight of Blood” is an extremely dark fairy tale that tells the story of those aforementioned half-orc brothers, Qurrah and Harruq Tun. As far as main characters go, I don’t think I’ve ever seen their likeness. Sold separately into slavery by their orc mother early on in life, they eventually escaped and found each other again, only to grow up without guidance on the streets of a town called Veldaren, scavenging for food and learning that sometimes in life, when you come from nothing, it’s better to kill than be killed. Qurrah is a spindly and coldly intelligent sort whose greatest passion is to become a powerful sorcerer. Harruq, on the other hand, is a large-bodied and (sometimes) kind-hearted oaf who exists seemingly only to protect his physically weaker brother. The dialogue between the two borders on hilarious in the early going, when they’re still nothing but vagrants. But there is something darker in them, mostly in regards to Qurrah, which begging to be released. They are archetypal antiheroes, existing on the periphery of a society that wants no part of them.

The story starts off with a bang, dropping us in on the brothers as an army of orcs attempts to invade Veldaren. It is here that we first meet Velixar, a necromancer and master of the dark arts, who eventually takes the brothers under his wing. Through Velixar, we also are presented with a sizeable chunk of the world Dalglish has created, which is notable if for no other reason than it gives the reader a frame of reference to draw upon further down the road.

The novel is chock full of intense and extremely graphic battle scenes. It would be easy to get lost in the action if these scenes weren’t expertly crafted, which they are. The actions the brothers take from the onset vary from miscreant to downright evil. They butcher women, children, whole families, mostly without batting an eyelash. Even when one of them seemingly finds love, through the appearance of a beautiful sorcerer elf named Aurelia, this does little to stifle the loathsome behavior. Qurrah and Harruq appear to be brutes, ostensibly without a soul, and they act as such.

That statement is not quite true, however, and herein lays the brilliance of the world author Dalglish has created. This is a story of their fall and hopefully redemption, though as a series, once we reach the end it is still in the early stages. But the hope is there that these two will find their way. We get to see inside the brothers’ heads, and what we find there, though disturbing, allows us to feel a glimmer of gallantry. They are capable of love – this much is evident by the way they feel about each other – and any being who can experience that emotion in its fullest and most vulnerable can eventually learn to harness that inner goodness. All they ever needed was guidance, something that was denied them through unfortunate circumstances beyond their control.

And this is where we come to the crux of the fable that the author is telling us. In many ways, the brothers’ situation mirrors events we see all the time in the “real world”. They have nothing, they are starving and ostracized. Everyone looks down on them. They wander through life without a purpose save staying alive. When one looks at it like this, is it any wonder that when a stranger approaches the destitute pair and offers them a life that has meaning they leap for it? They who have nothing are promised the world. They who’ve been looked at as the lowest of the low are told they will be worshiped as gods. They who have had to scrape and claw are given gifts of such power that they become death incarnate. When viewed from this vantage point, can we not understand, even sympathize, with the plight Qurrah and Harruq have been forced to deal with? If we, as civilized humans, were put in the same situation, would our morality not begin to wither and die after a while? This rings true with what happens every day in certain parts of the world. It is almost the very blueprint for terrorist recruitment. And at the end of the day, that is what the brothers become. Terrorists. They target not only the enemy but the young and innocent. They strike from the shadows, seeking to assist a greater agenda that they either don’t or can’t understand.

This is a very dark book, so take that as a warning. If you don’t like the images of flayed arms and legs, decapitation, or bodies reduced to quivering masses of blood and innards, stay far away. However, if you appreciate a well-told story that pulls you into its world and won’t let you back out, this is the novel for you. It is unrelenting and fast-paced. It makes you care about the characters, no matter what bad deeds they may perform. And, best of all, it allows you to feel hope that the characters will turn it all around, and through something as simple as an act of kindness.

In short, I loved “The Weight of Blood”. The title says it all. It’s about the inherent price of violence, the duty of family, and the pressure to do what’s right. I would definitely recommend it. As far as fantasy goes, I feel you’d be hard pressed to find one that equals its scope and passion. I, for one, can’t wait to get pulled into the next volume.

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Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 7

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment - 10

Overall - 45/50 (4.5/5)