Review: A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish

Rating: 5 out of 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 10

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 50/50 (5/5)

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Review: Tempest by Holly Hook

Rating: 4 out of 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plot - 9

Characters - 7

Voice - 7

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment – 9

Overall – 40/50 (4.0/5)

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BOOK RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT: A DANCE OF BLADES by David Dalglish

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

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

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



A DANCE OF BLADES

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

----

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

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

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

Review: The Ryel Saga by Carolyn Kephart

Rating: 4.9 out of 5

Verbosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plot - 10

Characters - 10

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 4.9/50 (4.9/5)

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Review: Lessons II by Michael Crane

Rating: 5 out of 5

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

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

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

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

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

Two great big severed thumbs up from me!

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Review: Die Already by Kipp Poe Speicher

Rating: 3 out of 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Available in Ebook format at Amazon.com

Review: The Usurper by Cliff Ball

Rating: 0.8 out of 5

Wow.

Okay, I feel like I need to start out this review with a pair of declarations. #1) As I’ve said many times before, I do not enjoy giving out bad reviews. My aim with starting this blog was to promote independent authors, to dig through and find those little pieces of brilliance that might have gone unnoticed, not sell myself by being trite and cruel. Please keep that in mind. #2) I almost didn’t write the following review. After reading this book, I seriously considered contacting the author and saying, “Sorry, but I can’t.” However, I was sent a copy to provide a thoughtful, honest analysis of the story, and I feel like I owe it to everyone – myself, the author, and the readers – to follow through on this.

The Usurper by Cliff Ball is one of the strangest books I’ve ever read. It’s billed as a political thriller, but it’s actually a mash-up of current and past events, altered ever so slightly to tell an extremely convoluted and not at all coherent story. To say I was conflicted about this whole experience is an understatement. To give you a picture of some the reasons, let’s first take a look at the plot.

The story of The Usurper begins in Mexico, where this hippie named Ann decides (for reasons beyond my understanding) to offer her services to the Russians in order to help “take down” the United States. She’s brought in and meets her KGB handlers, then gets shipped around the world. Long story short, she’s given the “mission” of fathering a child that will destroy the US from within.

She has a son with a Black Russian (joke intended), and he’s trained in all things communist. He eventually moves to the States from the Middle East, attends school, is a miserable and not likeable person. As if things weren’t confounding before, this is where they devolve into farce. Mister Jackson, he who’s an agent for communism, is sent to Chicago after graduation, where he becomes a community organizer, marries a woman (another Russian agent) who possesses “a scowl on her face that would scare off most of the male population”, attends a church run by an anti-American preacher (and yet another Russian agent), and then becomes Senator before making his move on the White House and eventually brings to an end the American way of life.

Hm. I wonder who that’s supposed to be. To me, this tool – tweaking the lives of real people to fit your own storyline and agenda – is dangerous. My own personal feelings on the matter are thus – if you want to write a fictional historical thriller, keep it to the past…or at least make it different enough so that the particulars aren’t readily apparent. It’s disrespectful to the parties involved to so obviously paint them as “evil incarnate” just to satisfy the author’s need to get his or her point across. I feel the same way about the litany of “ripped from the headlines” television shows. How about we show folks a modicum of respect?

Anyway, that whole tangent is somewhat beside the point, because even with this, if the book had been written well, I probably would’ve liked it. But it’s not. There are problems aplenty, whether in regards to style, grammar, characterization, or plot. There is very little that makes sense. It’s all a bit maddening.

First of all, the structure of the story itself is tortuous. There are numerous sections dedicated to recounting history – everything from the Cuban Missile Crisis to the Oklahoma City bombing to 9/11. These sections are meant to drive forward the plot, to demonstrate how the KGB has infiltrated almost every aspect of the world, but all they did for me was make me want to turn the page faster.

In style, this book reads like a bunch of drunken right-wing conspiracy theorists sitting around a campfire playing top this. “Some useful idiot hippy goes over to communism.” “Two hours later she meets Khrushchev.” “Yeah, well three hours later she runs into Gorbachev on a plane.” “Okay, but a year after that Putin becomes her liaison.” “Eighteen years later her kid goes to Harvard, where every professor is a KGB operative spouting socialist propaganda.” See what I mean?

If these were the only problems, that’d be one thing. But they’re not. Not even close.

The sentence structure is spotty. There are run-ons galore. Comma usage is inconsistent at best, deficient at worst. Every usage of the word “but” is surrounded by them. For example: I wanted to enjoy this book, but, found it difficult to do so. After a while, I just decided to ignore it.

With all this said, though, the characterization in The Usurper is the absolute worst aspect of the book, perhaps the worst I’ve ever read. In fact, to call them characters at all would be an insult to even the most poorly constructed characters in the history of literature. They’re nothing but bits of clay spouting rhetoric (in ultra-stilted dialogue), whose opinions change only on the whim of where the author wants the story to go next.

“How can you say that?” you might ask. Well, to illustrate my point, let me give you a passage direct from the book. (The setup: Ann, the hippie at the beginning, is brought to the airport to meet the man who will father her child. This is what happens when she sees him.)

She didn’t think she was a racist, but, she realized that she might still hold some of that attitude and those unfortunate viewpoints. The realization of it all really horrified her. She let out a sigh, and meekly said, “I didn’t know he was going to be black.”

“Is that a problem?”

“For me, yes, yes it is. I would prefer his kind not touch me.”

Oh…my…God…

Also, as another just-as-glaring example, there is a soldier who comes home from war and joins the new Civil Defense – basically an army policing the American people. He doesn’t question it when Jackson orders a nuke dropped in Kansas. He doesn’t question when the former president and his family (who somehow survived the nuke falling on top of their concrete bunker) are pulled out and unceremoniously executed. But he sees a church burned down, and that’s what makes him realize something’s wrong? This is beyond silly. In fact, it’s almost insulting.

And did I say the dialogue was stilted? Here’s an interaction between Gary, now in high school, and Tim, yet another Russian agent his own age, to help illustrate my point.

“Putin was right when he said they had everything covered. Are you supposed to help me take down the United States?”

“Me? My dad would like me to, but, I prefer causing terror by placing bombs in front of post offices and other federal buildings. If we stick together, we could rule this school.”

I just about lost my lunch laughing when I read these lines. Heck, this happened so many times during the course of reading this book that it became one long guffaw-fest. In fact, as I was reading I was struck by the thought that maybe this book was supposed to be funny. Was it satire? So I went back and looked at the descriptions on the internet, and no, no mention of satire or comedy. This was a book presented as a serious political thriller, when it’s everything but. In the spirit of full disclosure, had that been the case it would’ve received a much higher rating (though still low because the writing is so off)…but alas, it’s not. And to me, that’s faulty advertising.

I could go on and on like this. The “my clippings” feature on my Kindle is chock-full of entertaining quotes. However, I won’t because it just seems like piling on in a way. Just know that this novel really makes little sense. It’s entertaining in the same way that Plan Nine From Outer Space is – because it’s completely inept.

I know this might sound cruel, but it’s my honest opinion. A lot of reviewers are speaking in hyperbole when they state that so-and-so might be the worst book they’ve ever read, but in this case I can say that’s the truth. There were many times that I couldn’t decide if I was glad or offended that this book is out there. I ended up deciding on the former. This is a book every author who is considering self-publishing should read. It’s a living instructional booklet on how not to go about constructing a novel. From the horrible characters to a philosophy as balanced as a Michael Moore documentary to the atrocious and tacked-on (and not at all foreshadowed) “twist” ending, there’s a lot here to take in. Let it be a lesson to all. It might entertain you like it did me, but there’s a big difference between laughing at a book as opposed to laughing with it.

At least that’s how I feel. You might see it differently. Who knows?

Plot - 1

Characters - 0

Voice - 1

Execution - 1

Personal Enjoyment – 5

Overall – 8/50 (0.8/5)

Purchase The Usurper in the following formats:

Paperback

Ebook