JESS, RISING by DM Guay Review

Rating: 5 out of 5

About four months ago, I picked up this little book on a whim, a friend having suggested it, and figured that it’d be a good backup just in case I ran out of material to read and I was away from my precious WiFi hub. It was a young adult fantasy novel, after all, which I’m always game for, so long as it’s decently written. Other than that, I really gave the book no thought. Hell, I never even read the description before buying it.

And then, I forgot all about it.

Then the day came a couple weeks ago where I found myself at work, having just finished a fantasy novel by Michael Wallace that ended on a cliffhanger and salivating to read more. I’d told myself at the time that I’d get the second book in that series as soon as I got home, but until then, since it was still my morning break and there’s no way I could even consider going the rest of the day without reading something, I needed to scour my Kindle library. And there it was, “Jess, Rising”, sitting front-and-center as the only unread material on my device. So I opened the book and dove in, not remembering when I’d gotten it and with no expectations at all as to what might be inside.

By the time I finished my lunch break, I was kicking myself for not starting it sooner.

Wow. Just… wow. This little unassuming book should’ve been anything but. It’s a typical story for the genre—a teen girl in a new town that has a dark past who gradually realizes she has untold of abilities and a greater destiny—but that rote description hides so much narrative depth, so much emotion and personal exploration, that it’s like a sneak attack, creeping up at you when you least expect it and shoving a thick, meaty fist right into your gut.

Not since Wizard and Glass by King and The Cost of Betrayal by Dalglish have I read a work of fiction that so accurately and succinctly depicts what it’s like to lose a loved one, that so perfectly illustrates the empty space where that person used to be and the questions of what life should mean now that they’re gone. And that’s just the starting point in this little gem! DM Guay does just as fantastic of a job of carrying the reader through the healing process, and all the bumps and heartache and doubt that implies. Just as with the best works of fantasy, the supernatural is used as a proxy for real-life pain and torment, as well as a way to bring about an emotional climax that makes sense and allows the story to continue onward without lingering for an extended period on misery; because, let’s face it, if we linger on loss, we stagnate and die too, in certain regards.

That’s not to say this book is nothing but pain and healing. Oh, it’s totally fun and exciting too. Popular tropes are played with, shifted, perverted, with some playing up to expectations and most completely skirting norms and coming out on the other side as something completely different. We get to know Jess, our protagonist, intimately, with all her faults and hang-ups and desires, and through that tight point of view we’re just as much in the dark as she is. In fact, Guay does such a fantastic job of hiding the truth in plain sight that I was legitimately shocked by what happens at the end. She’d turned the tables on me, someone who usually can guess an outcome pretty easily, and did so in a way that was obvious in retrospect. So, so fantastic. I really wish that I could go into more depth here, but doing so would be plenty SPOILERY, and part of the joy in “Jess, Rising” is in the not knowing, so you’re gonna have to take it at that.

This is a novel that has everything I’d ever want in a work of fiction. Super powers? Check. Emotional weight? Check. Young love fraught with angst? Check. Unexpected, graphic violence? Check. An unexpected ending? Super-check. I loved every freaking minute of the experience, so much so that I grabbed the second and third books when I was only halfway through the first. And I plan on spending all of my reading time for the next couple weeks fully immersed in DM Guay’s world, with Jess and her friends, until there’s no more story to tell.

Honestly, I think you should too.

Buy “JESS,RISING” on Amazon now.

After Cilmeri: The Series That Saved My Creativity

In the middle of this past summer, I was in a huge rut. I was depressed, feeling raw and emotional, and I couldn’t write to save my life. When I tried to either read or watch television or movies, I would get this weird sense of anxiety whenever anything dark or violent happened. Which is tough, because most of the stuff I’ve read and watched over the years tended to be, well, dark and violent. And the same goes for my writing. With the weightiness of real life coming down on me, I just didn’t have the stomach for it.

All of which left me longing for some way to escape. I thought of the last time I’d felt like this—way back in 2001—and remembered how, through happenstance, I’d picked up Diana Gabaldon’s “Outlander” at an airport bookseller. The feel of that book, the romance, and the depth of its world helped distract and heal me during a trying time when I was dealing with not only the fallout of a divorce, but the innate terror that came with the September 11^th attacks. I decided, right then and there, that I needed that sort of escape again.

I’ve been lucky enough over the years to be involved in a sort of support group of fellow authors, and among those included in this group is Sarah Woodbury. I’d been aware of her for years—a given as we’re in the same group—but I’d never even given consideration to her work. But seeing as she writes time travel fiction that seemed to me to be quite similar to Outlander, I decided to take a peek at the initial volume in her After Cilmeri series, a perma-free novel called “Daughter of Time.”

To say I was blown away by what I read would be an understatement. I devoured every word of “Daughter of Time”—a book that revolves around a modern young woman named Meg, her accidental transportation to the 13^th century, and the beginning of her relationship with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last prince of Wales—in less than two days. I fell in love with the pacing, the plot, the characters … absolutely everything about the book, I loved. So I immediately bought the next book in the series, “Footsteps in Time,” and away I went.

(Note to add that “Footsteps in Time” is actually the first book in the series; “Daughter of Time” was written as a prequel, after Woodbury’s fans expressed interest in how the whole saga started in the first place. Which makes anyone who comes into the series late the lucky ones, since the character work in “Daughter” is superb, and the information disclosed is quite helpful in understanding the narrative of later books.)

What impressed me most about these tomes was as much what they weren’t as what they were. I was expecting some Gabaldon-type time-travel romance when I first began, but as I read, I discovered that Woodbury’s books are only similar to “Outlander” in the way that the main characters find themselves displaced in time. (Well, actually, in another dimension, but let’s not split hairs.) Sure, the After Cilmeri books have their share of romantic themes, but they’re secondary to what I find to be series’ main points—to teach the readers some little-known facts about medieval Wales, and to act as a sort of exploratory thesis on the nature of leadership, the effectiveness of governing principals, the importance of history, and the virtue of integrity.

Each of these books are told from different viewpoints, alternating first person and third person narration with every other installment, which helps keep the tone fresh and immediate and, well, different. All the characters we meet, both from medieval Wales and the modern world—from Meg and Llywelyn to David and Anna and Callum and Bronwyn and Ieuan and Math and Lily—are complicated, flawed, driven, yet wholly decent people. I had no choice but to root for, and fall in love with, each and every one of them.

There’s an innocence to the narrative that I appreciated wholeheartedly, and a sort of hopeful optimism that some might call naïve drips off every word Woodbury writes. In the end, it was this optimism in the face of some rather harrowing events (war is a near constant threat in this series, as are kidnappings, betrayals, assassinations, and familial discord) that caused me to devour all fifteen books of the series in the span of about forty-five days.

To say I adore Woodbury's work would be an understatement. After Cilmeri might be my favorite series ever written, bar none. It’s almost like I got to grow along with the author, as some of the earlier books in the series display the telltale flaws of a young writer, one who grows and improves and perfects her craft with each published work. In the end, I found it to be my own version of literary nirvana—a series of comfortable yet intellectually challenging reads that not only wholly entertained me, but had me analyzing my own craft, wondering what, if anything, I can do to honor these novels, and their message, in my own published works to come.

I can honestly say that Sarah Woodbury and After Cilmeri has rescued my own creativity. While my writing isn’t coming as quickly today as it has in the past, the words are indeed coming, and that is due in large part to what one particular author had to say, and how she chose to say it. So thank you, Sarah, for the wonderfulness you’ve given the world. You have a fan for life in me, and for however long you decide to further explore the lives and adventures of King Daffyd and his merry crew, this one man will be right there to go on the journey with you, wherever you choose to take them, whenever those words arrive.

If you want to explore the awesomeness that is Sarah Woodbury’s works, you can see write-ups on each installment, as well as links to various outlets, at this link: http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/the-after-cilmeri-series/

Go. Read. Enjoy. I did. You will too.

Release Day: Lost in the Shadows is now live!

After an extended delay, I'm happy to announce that the third volume in the ongoing saga of Jacqueline Talbot, "Lost in the Shadows," is now live! This has been many months in the making, and is, without a doubt, my favorite book in this series. Alright, enough about me. How about some promotional info?

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In the shadows, you can even hide from yourself…

When Jacqueline Talbot was in foster care, she often dreamed of being reunited with her father. Now she sees him every day, along with her long-dead mother. Together, they protect a world on the brink of collapse by fighting monsters from neighboring dimensions. Despite this harrowing existence, Jacqueline is actually happy. So happy, in fact, that she doesn’t realize she doesn’t belong here.

Back in the real world, Mitzy Sarin and the Otakus face problems of their own. Not only are Jacqueline’s friends dealing with the fact that she’s up and disappeared, they also seem to each have developed awe-inspiring new talents. They’ll need them too, because in Jacqueline’s absence, reality is starting to fracture. More and more creatures are slipping through the cracks. Natural disasters abound.

The only way to set the world right again is to get Jacqueline back home. But her friends need to act quickly, because the Nightwatch aren’t the only ones looking for her.

Now available at most outlets:

Amazon (Paperback)

Amazon (Ebook)

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Google Play

NEW BOOK RELEASE: INFINITY TRIALS #2

It's finally here. The 2nd book in the ongoing story of Jacqueline Talbot, "Wolves at the Door," is now available across most platforms. Here's a little about the book:

WOLVES AT THE DOOR

Sometimes, a girl just wants to be a girl...

Now that the cat’s out of the bag, the other secrets regarding Jacqueline Talbot’s past—and future—begin to come clear. It’s a lot for a sixteen-year-old girl to deal with, especially when she’s told that the fate of the world rests on her shoulders. 

Jacqueline now must prepare herself to take on the rest of the Trials; the only problem is, no one’s really sure what they are. Not even her aunt, who seems to know a little too much about everything. 

At least she has her support system to help her through it all. But that system is as fragile as everything else in Jacqueline’s troubled life. Just one small misstep and it could all be over…for everyone.



Purchase now at the following outlets:

Amazon (Ebook)
Amazon (Paperback)
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Google Play

iTunes coming soon!

REVIEW: Queen of the Void (The Void Queen Trilogy Book 1)

Rating: 5 out of 5

Michael Wallace is an author who cut his teeth on fantasy, then made a name for himself writing gothic contemporary thrillers, and moved on to finding even more success in historical fiction.

So obviously, when I went to dive into science fiction again after years of ignoring the genre, he’s the author I chose.

It ended up being a very wise choice.

A positive aspect of authors who find success in multiple genres is that the aspects of those different genres bleed into, even precept, their current projects. In Queen of the Void, the first novel in the Void Queen trilogy, Wallace uses this to great success. What the author has created is a universe hundreds of years in the future, where space travel is the norm and alien races have both been discovered and warred against, that reinvents facets of his vast knowledge of fantasy and history.

This is a space opera that borrows from our real, earth-time history. It’s a reimagining of the height of the British Empire, set on starships in the middle of the inky blackness of space instead of the Celtic, North, and Norwegian seas. The various cultural sects directly correlate to the players of 11^th- to 15^th-century European history: Albionese are the Britons at the height of their colonialism; the Landino represent Spain, Britain’s sometimes-ally and explorers of the high seas; the Singaporians call on the Song Dynasty’s ingenuity and technological advancements; and finally, the Scandians, the Vikings of lore, only here Wallace subverts expectations—instead of a plague bringing an end to the constant raiding and occupation of a hyper-aggressive people, it instead serves as the reason for their burgeoning bloodlust. Rather brilliant, if you ask me.

The story itself is rather simple: Catarina Vargas, the youngest daughter in a longtime pirate family, has decided to settle her own isolated nook of the galaxy. Only her plans are thwarted by the Albionese Royal Navy, who then bring her on to help set up an outpost in Scandian space, to allow for the Navy to build a supply line for a continuation of a war with aliens (bird-like beings called Apex) that is sure to come. Of course, wackiness ensues, and it’s all rather glorious.

Wallace has done a lot of work to invent a concept of space travel and warfare that is believable, and again based on very real history. The concept of traveling through jump points to different sections of the universe is an old one, but the author does a bang-up job of making it not so easy of a proposition. The prospect of space-warfare-as-naval-battle is another tried and true model, used here to an effect that almost borders on hyper-realism. I really can’t say enough about how expertly these battle scenes are put together, how well they flow, and how gripping they feel. It all just seems so real, even the parts you know are logically impossible, which is the highest praise you can give to a work of science fiction.

In closing, let me say yes, this book is awesome. I’ll be checking out the rest of the series soon, and then likely dive into the set of novels Wallace published before this, titled Starship Blackbeard, which takes place in the same universe. So get this book, people. It’s a hell of a smart, enjoyable ride. You’ll have a good time, no matter what genre you prefer.

Purchase this book on Amazon, or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.

Review: Epitaphs: The Journal of the New England Horror Writers

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

I love short stories. I love to read them, I love to write them. But you know what’s better than a short story? A whole freaking collection of them! And someone recently shipped me over a copy of Epitaphs, a Stoker-nominated collection of tales and poetry from the New England Horror Writers, a group that is very close to my heart. Of course I had to dive right in.

Okay, enough banter. Let’s get down to the daunting task of looking at the stories themselves.

To Sleep, Perchance to Die by Jeffrey C. Pettengill: Well, let’s just say the collection didn’t start out so well for me. Here we have a tale of a CPAP machine gone horribly wrong. The tone just seemed to lag, and honestly the ending seemed a bit campy, though without the fun that camp implies.

The Christopher Chair by Paul McMahon: And here we go! One of the better stories in the collection, about an antique wheelchair blessed by St. Christopher that can supposedly heal the sick…for a price. Atmospheric and full of confliction, McMahon really packs a punch with this one.

A Case of the Quiets by Kurt Newton: The first poem in the collection, and a doozy. It brings to mind horror poetry of old, with a very Poe-esque flow, and comes very close to matching the former master’s penchant for nailing the dark side of human nature coming from within the mundane.

Build-A-Zombie by Scott T. Goudsward: This one was quirky and fun, telling of a boy assembling an unusual gift from a new sort of gift shop. It made me want to know more about the world in which it takes place, which is a good thing.

Not An Ulcer by John Goodrich: Wow. This story, to me, was far and away the best of the bunch. In it a man who hates everything about the world, including himself, literally separates himself from his emotions. It’s “Be careful what you wish for,” taken to the extreme. Tremendous, and the ending gave me chills.

The Possessor Worm by B. Adrian White: A quaint little tale told through emailed correspondences between characters, kind of an updated take of Lovecraft, if you will. In the end the payoff fell a little flat. Still pretty good, however.

Make a Choice by John M. McIlveen: Truly haunting, telling the story of a madman who torments a family for a night, forcing the parents into a decision that no parent would ever—or should ever—have to make. It’s a fantastic exploration of the human condition and how survival of the fittest might not be completely erased from our cellular memory. As an added bonus, the end is shocking because of what doesn’t happen, which surprisingly makes it all the more disturbing.

The Death Room by Michael Allen Todd: Another poem, this one not nearly as good as the first, but I still appreciated the creepy undertones.

Perfect Witness by Rick Hautala: Now this is a twist. A murdered man is brought back to a sort of pseudo-life for a short time in order to testify at the trial of his murderer. The interplay between his thoughts and what might actually be happening in the world outside his rotting brain was really well done. Also, the author hints that this experiment might have grave repercussions down the road. Do I smell a novel coming? Given the author’s enjoyable style, I hope so.

Stony’s Boneyard by Glenn Chadbourne and Holly Newstein: Atmosphere, sorrow, and forgiveness rule the day in this excellently (and traditionally) crafted short. It deals with a tattoo artist and the biker whose back represents the greatest achievement of her life. Unlike a lot of stories in the collection, this one actually ends on a bittersweet note, equal parts solemn and hopeful. Really well done.

Kali’s Promise by Trisha J. Wooldridge: The third poem, and another traditionally-inspired example of getting exactly what you ask for. It’s quite entertaining and told in a repetitive way that added to the tone of dread. I knew it was well written because I guessed the ending after the very first stanza and it still had me captivated.

Sequel by David Bernard: Not my favorite. I’ve seen this sort of plot—about a horror writer who takes his inspiration a bit too literally—many times before. It’s well written, but predictable.

Malfeasance by David North-Martino: This was perhaps the most maddening story in the bunch. Just as with the previous story, I knew how it would end very early on. And yet it was crafted so intricately, I kept thinking no, I’m wrong, there’s a twist here I’m not seeing. But then…it ended just how I thought it would. Disappointing in that regard, yes, but it was still very much worth the read.

Private Beach by Stacey Longo: A fun little romp that harkens back to the pulp horror era, about two beachgoers who of course ignore a No Trespassing sign and pay the price for it.

All Aboard by Christopher Golden: The second-best story in the collection. A disquieting tale of a mother and father’s struggle to come to grips with the death of their child, with a dash of the supernatural thrown in. It really is a heavy-hearted story that thankfully doesn’t come across as heavy-handed. By the end I was on the verge of tears—and I couldn’t tell if they were happy or sad, which is a first for me.

Holiday House by L.L. Soares: This was a decent offering, about a pair of old sisters who live in a ramshackle estate (think Grey Gardens) that might be haunted, or might conceal other, more frightening entities. I particularly liked the ambiguity at the end.

Lines at a Wake by Steven Withrow: A very short poem that brings about one hell of an eerie vibe using an economy of words.

A Deeper Kind of Cold by K. Allen Wood: This one was interesting. On a space station, a woman frets while the love of her life, who is in a rather odd state, struggles to survive a mysterious sickness. The tone was fantastic, and it asks the question of what it is we actually love about a person. Though the ending was fantastic in its grim earnestness, I couldn’t help but think the setting wasn’t used nearly enough. The metaphor of the emptiness of space as compared to the emotional distance between the woman and her mate just never materialized, which I thought was a missed opportunity. That being said, it’s still a wonderful tale. That ending alone is worth the time it takes to read it.

Alone by P. Gardner Goldsmith: A very creepy and very short story of a man wiling his hours away, isolated in his home, as the world may or may not be ending outside. It had a very Twilight Zone vibe to it, which was cool.

Pandora’s Box by Roxanne Dent: I wasn’t the biggest fan of this story, about a woman who suspects her husband is having an affair and gives into her impulse to follow him. The opening sequence completely gives away the twist at the end. If only that had been cut, it would’ve been a much more enjoyable experience.

Chuck the Magic Man Says I Can by Michael Arruda: This was a really fun and idiosyncratic little tale of two sisters staying at their parents’ friends house while they’re away on vacation, friends who just may hold a secret that only the precocious younger daughter can handle. I really enjoyed it.

Burial Board by T.T. Zuma: Very moody period piece about a man and a burial board that does some rather…strange things. Well written, but for some reason it didn’t feel complete to me.

Windblown Shutter by John Grover: A kid sees his mother murdered and is haunted by the memory and the fact he never saw the killer’s face. I found this to be a fabulous study of the cyclical and never-ending effects of grief and guilt, even if the murder mystery fell a little flat.

Cheryl Takes a Trip by Stephen Dorato: Even though it wasn’t my overall favorite, this story, to me, was perhaps the most inventive of any in this collection. When a woman’s spirit is cast from her body after her mysterious death, she decided to go and do the one thing she’d always wanted to do but had never done—take a trip to Bermuda. It’s really a self-exploration piece, focusing on the way fear can rule our lives, and maybe even our deaths. I thought it was great.

Legend of the Wormley Farms by Philip Roberts: A haunted farm draws a trio of brothers into its sticky, legendary web. It lagged a little in the middle, but in the end I was actually quite shocked. I also thoroughly enjoyed how the author delved into the ways familial pressures and support (or lack thereof) can damage young minds.

The Church of Thunder and Lightning by Peter N. Dudar: An interesting choice to end the anthology, about a reporter and her cameraman on a mission to document the odd rituals of a Jim Jones-type cult. The cost of ambition without regard for human decency was certainly on display, and the function of the cult itself was a truly original creation.

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And that’s it! Maybe the longest review I’ve ever written, too.

Overall, I have to say I loved this collection. While every story didn’t ring true to me, the vast majority of them did, and most of those that didn’t were still expertly crafted. There are a variety of unique voices, and in a lot of them you can certainly sense the slightly Puritanical undertones that most people who grew up in New England are saddled with. It’s an anthology well worth your time and money, and the authors are worth keeping an eye on.

You can buy the paperback of Epitaphs here:










And the E-book:

Review: The Old Ways (Paladins III) by David Dalglish

Rating: 5 out of 5

No one’s perfect, but sometimes everything comes together, especially in literature. It’s fascinating to watch an author grow and grow, slowly improving over time, fixing faults in their writing, finding new ways to explore tired old plot devices, coming to grips with their weaknesses and making them strengths. It’s not all that rare in the world of books, but it’s still special.

And this brings us to The Old Ways: Paladins Book III by David Dalglish.

I, for one, am a huge fan of the author’s work. (Surprised? Look through my archived reviews and you won’t be.) I’ve read every book Dalglish has come out with, and either loved or really liked every one. But this one is something special. Gone is his penchant for rushing, for occasionally taking the easy way out and brushing aside important internal conflict. Instead, what the author has given us in this book is a pace that moves slowly, fluidly, that gradually builds the tension and grows the characters until they explode off the page in the last act.

The Old Ways continues with the struggles of Jericho, paladin of Ashhur, and Darius, former paladin of Karak. The story picks up where we left off in Clash of Faiths, with Darius being converted to the side of light in his trial-by-fire (and unnecessarily rushed) clash with his old friend. He’s a man isolated even when he’s surrounded by people. He’s haunted by his past deeds, both inwardly and outwardly, and the fact that many of those past deeds hurt a great many people does nothing but make life much more difficult for our poor antihero.

But he’s learning, changing, determined to become a better man, even if it kills him.

On the other side of the coin we have Jericho, the sometimes too-good-to-be-true goodie-goodie. While I loved his character when he first appeared in Half-Orcs, truth be told he can be a bit one-note with how honorable and loyal he is. But then again, his purpose in this story is to act as foil for Darius, for Darius is the true star of the show, the character that grows and experiences pain and redemption and acts like a living, breathing human being. He is the backbone of this novel—the backbone of the series, really—and in this book he really shines.

Along with Darius’s redemption, Dalglish also pushes the envelope with his new cadre of villains. We have Valessa, the Grey Sister who died in Faiths, only to be reborn as something dark and complex, a being of shadow that cannot rest until her mission (killing Darius) is accomplished. The scenes involving her were brilliantly done, full of contradiction, self-loathing, and doubt. If there’s one character that I hope future books explore deeper, it’s her.

Then we have Luther and Cyric, priests of Karak who start up the journey toward changing the world to fit their god’s image. The complexity of each character is fantastic. They’re literary interpretations of different ways of obtaining political power—subterfuge cunning, and force and tradition. Both are effective in their own ways, and to watch their respective plans unfold on the page was awe-inspiring. Especially with Luther, who offers a surprise at the end that literally left me speechless.

So yes, I can say that David Dalglish has done it again. He’s written a book full of trepidation and turmoil, full of violence and self-discovery, a book that I fully ingested with aplomb. I may not be someone you really want to listen to in regards to my opinion on this book, since I’m a little more than biased toward him, but in my humble opinion he has created a work that goes far beyond simply being a third book in a series.

And that’s because The Old Ways, while not perfect, is just about as close as any writer can get to that unreachable ideal.

Purchase The Old Ways in Ebook format:

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

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.

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

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.

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

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)

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Review: Clash of Faiths by David Dalglish

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)

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