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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Review: The Death of Promises by David Dalglish

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

“To the abyss with it all. I just want to burn stuff.”

For anyone who’s been following this blog, it should be readily apparent that I hold the Half-Orc series by David Dalglish in the highest regard. I love the characters, the darkness, the action, and the passion his work portrays. I read them in quick bursts, usually finishing in less than three days, and this book, “Death of Promises”, the third in the series, was no different.

This novel is a bit of an oddity. We pick up the story shortly after the last one ended, with Qurrah Tun and his batty goddess-girlfriend, Tessanna, off in search of a mythical spellbook he hopes will be able to cure his lover’s fractured mind. He takes hold of the book, only to discover that it is not what it seems; it is not a tome of spells, you see, but the journal of Qurrah’s old master, Velixar. Just like everything else in this book, there are layers upon layers of manipulation and underhanded motives.

The reason I say “oddity” is because the author takes a huge risk here. For the first half of the novel he focuses not on the heroes of the story – the Eschaton, which includes Qurrah’s brother, Harruq – but instead on the antiheroes. He outlines Qurrah’s further descent into madness, reintroduces Velixar, who has risen from the grave yet again, and demonstrates how their combined powers of darkness sweep the land, bringing a vile sort of order to the chaos that surrounds the forgotten realms, where those cursed by the gods now live. It is risky, and also very brave, storytelling. Some might bristle at this development, but I appreciated it. Especially after the emotional end to the last book, it made sense to go in this direction. That one was Harruq’s chance to shine, to show us his depth of caring and forgiveness; this is Qurrah’s opportunity to radiate the darkness he clutches inside him. That juxtaposition is necessary. If this is indeed a redemption story, then we need to see how far down the rabbit hole the villains will go. And let me tell you, they go far.

Come the second half of the novel, all the old particulars are back in force. In fact, the last third of the text is dedicated to a single, huge battle – the invasion of Velderan by the forces gathered by Qurrah, Tessanna, and Velixar. It is an intricately written series of skirmishes and mass combat, and it comes off as both exciting and concise. In fact, in a lot of ways the final battle reminded me of the siege of Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers, if you took away the monotony and uselessness to the overall story arc. This fight means something. It’s harsh and brutal. It encapsulates everything that makes the brothers different, and shows us how much they’ve grown into their distinct personalities since The Weight of Blood opened this world to us all.

As with the rest of the books in the series, author Dalglish presents his themes of choices, both good and bad, love and obsession, and the nature-versus-nurture argument that rages between the brothers and their opposing views of the world. However, in this episode, he introduces another theme, one that I appreciate more than any other: the dangers of religious fanaticism.

Most every character in this book is a fanatic. From Lathaar and Jerico, the paladins of Ashhur, to Velixar and the dark paladins of Karak, there are divergent beliefs that clash with each other around every turn. This, when it all comes down to it, is the reason this war starts in the first place. Kind of a “My God is bigger than Your God” type of bloody argument. It rings true, not only to this fictional world, but to our own, as well. And when you look at the construction of the characters, you can see that the most balanced of them, the ones most comfortable in who they are, are the ones who hold their faith not as a be-all-end-all, but as a leaning post for the thoughts and situations that trouble them. Harruq and the Eschaton are this way – strong in their faith, but open to other viewpoints and understanding of their free will. Qurrah is also this way, though through his descent we can see the fanaticism start to trickle in, which makes him all the more dangerous. And at the end of the day, it is those who are able to harness their different faiths, to meld old and new ways into something positive, that saves the day and offers our heroes at least a glimmer of hope for the future.

Just as with the other books in this series, the writing is pretty much spot on. My only complaint is that one major character – Tessanna’s mirror opposite, the goddess-made-flesh named (appropriately) Mira, is a bit wooden. However, this is remedied by the confrontation between the two of them, where again the subject of faith is explored. It is a beautifully written scene, and makes a character that had been previously uninteresting shine. But what does this have to do with faith, you ask? It seems the goddess Celestia, who created these two, had a plan for them. Their combined power, while locked in conflict, would destroy the inter-dimensional portal Qurrah and Velixar opened, in the hopes of freeing their god Karak from exile. But Mira’s free will, and her unwillingness to die for the cause, changes things. At first glance, it seems as if Mira made a mistake. The portal is still open, and demons are spewing forth into their world. However, on a more philosophical level, it makes perfect sense and could one day lead to the salvation of all their people. The gods are locked in an eternal struggle, constantly using mortals (and immortals) for their own means. It’s a vicious cycle, one proven by the fact that Tessanna and Mira, these “daughters of balance”, are not the first of their kind. They’ve appeared before, whenever the scales tip in either Ashhur or Karak’s favor. It’s manipulative, locking those on the surface into constant discord between contrasting sides of the same coin. But now, that balance has been obliterated. Now, we see that it’s not up to the gods to decide the fate of the world, but the people, themselves. In a place where free will exists, this is the only acceptable way for the conflict to end, and I’m glad to see it’s been done this way.

Yes, folks, “Death of Promises” is a fantastic book. It doesn’t quite reach the heights of “Cost of Betrayal” in certain regards, but is its equal in others, which makes it great, something that should be read. It’s a wham-bang thrill ride that will make you think and feel. The emotional threads are still there, and they still grasp you with their tentacles and pull you in even further.

Just like Qurrah, take a dive in and see how far down the rabbit hole goes. You won’t be disappointed.

Plot - 9

Characters - 9

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

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Review: Flaming Dove by Daniel Arenson

Rating: 4 out of 5

This will be my first review that uses my new rating system. I am now judging a book by four criteria – plot, character development, writing style (punctuation, grammar, use of writing devices, etc), and how much the story affected me. These will all be best-of-twenty-five, and when those scores are added together, I come up with the overall rating.

There, that should explain it.

All of which brings me to my latest review – “Flaming Dove” by Daniel Arenson. Now, I read and reviewed Mr. Arenson’s first novel, “Firefly Island”, some time ago. I loved that book. It was everything I was searching for in my fiction. So when his latest book arrived in my Kindle, I thought, “oh yes, here we are, give me more.”

Flaming Dove is the story of Laila, a woman born half-demon, half-angel, during the outset of Armageddon. She is the quintessential loner, existing on the outskirts of what society is remaining after war between heaven and hell broke out on earth, with only her trusted wolf, Volkfair, for companionship. She is surly and a creature without a place to call home, a fact that the novel drives into your head early and often. She fights with modern weapons and kills angels and demons equally, reinforcing the point that she is a woman who belongs to no one. She is, to make a long story short, a wild card in this seemingly endless war.

It seems that heaven and hell have come to a stalemate, you see, and the opposing generals, Beelzebub (who has killed Lucifer to take hold the mantle of hell’s ruler) and the archangel Michael, his brother, are desperate to find an edge, or a loophole, that they can exploit. And both of them look to Laila as being that edge. From the beginning, the battle is on to lure her to one side or the other. Who should Laila choose, being that no matter who wins, she is pretty much screwed? This, to me, was the most interesting part of the novel. This is a creature that has no stake in the outcome, and yet that outcome means everything. It was quite entertaining to watch her flip and flop through her decisions, trying to come up with a satisfying answer to the hardest question of all: where do I belong?

There are huge battles and small, sincere moments that lure the reader in. Most superbly done are Laila’s attack on hell for the former and the struggles of Laila’s sister, the angelic Bat El, as she experiences love for the first time – with a demon, no less – and weighs the consequences of her ultimate decision.

Here it is. Decisions. Much as with Firefly Island, decisions made and not made once again compose the root of Arenson’s novel. Unlike that previous book, however, I found myself not as interested in the outcomes of these decisions. And the reason for this is simple.

Humans.

This is a story of angels and demons pitted against each other. In the whole length of the book, there were two humans introduced, and only one of which who was in any way important to the plot. This confused me. This is Armageddon we’re talking about here, the ultimate face-off to decide the fate of man. And yet, there are no people to be seen. This struck me as an odd way to approach things, for what we get are two opposing sides fighting for what is pretty much a useless, destroyed hunk of rock. Now, I understand that humans have fought for much the same thing over the history of our species, and I assume the point was to paint both sides as being no better than we are – flawed, deceitful, full of pride, and easily wounded. This is all well and good, and I applaud the effort, but the problem a tale such as this has is that you’re fighting the religious stereotypes that have been passed down for thousands of years. Angels reflect the good, demons the bad. Sure, there are biblical stories of angels being less than completely pious, but still there is the assumption that, come the end of the day, they are righteous. To paint them as otherwise is a slippery slope and difficult to pull off.

In certain ways, the author does succeed. I found myself caring about all the peripheral characters, Beelzebub and Bat El more than all. And this took skill. However, with both sides being flawed and hard to root for, not to mention almost indistinguishable from each other, the novel must rely on Laila to carry the word of the day.

For the most part, she is up to the challenge. She is presented, as I said earlier, as a jaded loner. Actually, in almost every way she is the picture of humanity, which makes the decision to cut out the human element of the plot all the more bothersome. Because at the end of the day, though she is much like us, she is still a powerful (and immortal) being with claws, wings, and a halo of fire. This makes her, even in her state of emotional unrest, somewhat difficult to relate to, which also makes the themes the author is trying to get across fall a bit flat.

As for those themes, I get it. There is no such thing as pure good and evil. However, I simply don’t feel like it was unveiled well enough to strike a poignant chord in me. Also, these themes, as well as other things, are repeated, time after time, which can get a bit tiresome. I understand that Laila has no home, that she feels as if she doesn’t belong anywhere. I understand that blades glint, scales shimmer, and both angels and demons have wings. To bring these points up time and again makes the writing stagnate, which doesn’t aid when trying to keep a reader entrenched in the writer’s world.

Now, I understand that this review sounds like I’m blasting the novel. I’m not trying to. I did enjoy it, only not as much as I thought I should have. You see, Arenson is a supremely talented writer. Even with what I see to be bad decisions in regards to the plot and execution of the story, it is imminently readable. The battle scenes are epic, the dialogue flows smoothly. The characters were fleshed out and believable. The emotional chords between a girl who’s never loved and a man who’s loved too much are heartbreaking. The ending shocked me with its power. (Though this book will forever end at chapter 21 for me, because the last chapter seemed like piling on, preaching, and trying to set up a possible sequel) But I wanted more. Especially after reading Firefly Island, I expected it.

At the end of the day, even with all my ranting, Flaming Dove is a good book. It will keep you turning the page and make you care for the people who inhabit it. My problem is that it’s not great.

But then again, that could be only me. You might think differently. So check it out, because even with its faults it is worth the price of admission.

Plot – 9

Characters – 7

Voice – 9

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 6

Overall - 40/50 (4.0/5)

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