|
September 25
|
|
Loren
gave
 
to:
Dead I Well May Be: A Novel (Mass Market Paperback)
by Adrian McKinty
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in September, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.com
Metaphors are heady things, and yet they often themselves up not to the most intelligent, but to those with the time to ponder them. Take a stream, for example. If you’ve stood for hours on its banks (perhaps clutching...more
From ISawLightningFall.com
Metaphors are heady things, and yet they often themselves up not to the most intelligent, but to those with the time to ponder them. Take a stream, for example. If you’ve stood for hours on its banks (perhaps clutching a fishing pole, as I used to do when living in Colorado), you gain something more than an intellectual understanding of its nature. You begin to grasp why people have used it to convey a sense of life’s transience. You also comprehend why it’s been linked with our thought processes and the particular literary technique meant to approximate them -- stream of consciousness.
It’s this particular stream that runs right through the center of Adrian McKinty’s Dead I Well May Be, a noir-ish tale about an Irish-expatriate who becomes an enforcer for an organized-crime family. His name is Michael Forsythe, and from the first chapter on McKinty plugs you into his head, into the stink and heat and blight of Harlem, into back-room tortures and the cordite reek of close-range gunfights, into the adrenaline rush and hallucinatory terrors of a desperate prison break. As Michael gets it, so do you.
Such an approach has obstacles. The style is difficult. McKinty occasionally adds some explanation, but usually you’re just along for the convoluted ride. Much like Cormac McCarthy, he drops punctuation, particularly quotation marks. All the interior monologuing makes it easy to miss important bits and causes the novel’s first half to drag. Also, Michael isn’t -- to quote an old Lit professor -- exactly the kind of person you’d want for a roommate. He’s profane, profligate and violent. At one point, he imagines New York itself accusing him, saying, “You’re a thief, you’re a bully. You hurt people. You’re nothing, a shadow. You’re a fool. A nasty wee piece of work.”
An impatient reader might be inclined to agree and put the book aside. He’d miss out, though, because the plot eventually coalesces, becoming something dark and lean, something possessing a peculiar grace of its own. While Michael never really turns into best-friend material, the horrors he encounters and the persistence with which he overcomes them make him more sympathetic. Then there’s the finale -- tense, charged, a worthy payoff. Not unlike a stream and the ideas built around it, Dead I Well May Be will reward you if you take the time....less
"
|
|
September 16
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
Don't Say a Word (Mass Market Paperback)
by Andrew Klavan
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in August, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.com
Having been made into a movie starring Michael Douglas, Don’t Say A Word could be called Andrew Klavan’s best-known work. It’s also a work that pinpoints every parent’s worst fear and gives it a good hammering. D...more
From ISawLightningFall.com
Having been made into a movie starring Michael Douglas, Don’t Say A Word could be called Andrew Klavan’s best-known work. It’s also a work that pinpoints every parent’s worst fear and gives it a good hammering. Dr. Nathan Conrad -- dubbed Psychologist of the Damned for his willingness to take on difficult cases -- awakes one morning to find that his daughter Jessica isn’t in her bed. Then comes the phone call. A stranger on the other end says that, yes, he has Jessica and he’ll give her back -- if Conrad can pry a number from the head of a violent schizophrenic. He has until 9 p.m. The clock, as they say, is ticking.
I don’t know what I was expecting from the book. Klavan is an interesting breed of writer, a Jewish Christian with staunchly conservative convictions. But none of that ideology turns up here. (To be fair, his religious and political viewpoints seem a recent development, and Don’t Say A Word was published in 1991). Neither do any particularly well-rounded characters. The novel’s inhabitants are flatter than microfiche, which is fine for fables but not for more-or-less realistic works. Also absent is a winning prose style. The proceedings are wordily narrated, with chunks of text italicized and repeated to convey emotional import, while a hearty sprinkling of profanity attempts to add punch.
The novel excels at one point, though, and I don’t mean that as a left-handed compliment. Fortunes have been built on a single excellence, and Klavan frames his novel on a solid foundation of suspense. Adhering to Hitchcock’s old dictum that “whenever possible the public must be informed,” he tells you everything. He tells you of Conrad’s frail physical and mental condition, of Jessica’s helpless terror, of the schizophrenic’s scrambled sense of reality, of a monstrous villain’s sick sadism. Most of all, as the story runs he tells you about time, which is always in short supply and ever-decreasing. The result is an almost unbearable climax that spikes your heart rate and nails you to your chair. Klavan might not do all things well, but when he succeeds he does so mightily. That’s enough to make stop at the “K” section of the bookshelf the next time I’m looking to while away a weekend....less
"
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
Rain, the (Mass Market Paperback)
by Keith Peterson
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in September, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.com
If someone put a gun to your head and said your life depended on your ability to define a mystery or thriller, you’d probably walk away without breaking a sweat. But if the same assailant said, “Okay, wiseguy, tell m...more
From ISawLightningFall.com
If someone put a gun to your head and said your life depended on your ability to define a mystery or thriller, you’d probably walk away without breaking a sweat. But if the same assailant said, “Okay, wiseguy, tell me about hardboiled,” you just might find a Niagara coursing down your neck. For every genre that pop culture canonizes, there are three left in the outer darkness, and hardboiled -- an unsentimental, rough-and-tumble cousin of noir -- falls into the latter category. That's a shame, because if it were more popular then perhaps Andrew Klavan’s Edgar-winning novel The Rain would be widely available. As it stands, I had to wait for a British version to make its way over to me. But if life imitates this particular piece of art, the search is just part of the package.
New York Star reporter John Wells is after a girl. No, no, not like that. You see, one of his less-seemly contacts offered him some snaps of a congressman Paul Abingdon caught in a -- shall we say -- comprising position, but Wells turned him down. Ensuring that the news doesn’t cater to the lowest common denominator is a matter of principal to Wells. And did I mention that the photos were taken in a bedroom? Well, before you know it Wells’ contact turns up drilled between the eyes with a .22, the rumor about the politician is out, and every reporter in town is on it like a rottweiler on raw hamburger. The Star’s brass isn’t happy that Wells lost the biggest story of a very slow, very hot August. He has a week to get a scoop or he’s out on his ear. Wells sees only two options -- find the pictures (which have mysteriously disappeared) or the girl in them.
Hardboiled is one of those rare genres where style is as important as substance, and Klavan (writing here under the pseudonym Keith Peterson) hits the proverbial nail on the head. The Rain’s prose is tight, punchy and vivid, the dialogue winningly witty. An example? Sure. When Wells questions an NYPD detective about whether he has any leads, the detective quips, “No naked Abingdon pictures. No naked lady pictures. No naked Abingdon with a naked lady. Right now, as far as the New York City police department is concerned, you’re a person who has sex fantasies about Senate candidates.” The novel’s no slouch in the thematic department either. Its ending serves as a piercing meditation on the nature of lust and personal corruption. The only place where it fizzles is in a portrayal of a misogynistic, Bible-thumping Pentecostal, a tired stereotype that ought to be permanently retired. Still, The Rain is refreshing -- even if you have to wait for it....less
"
|
|
August 21
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
The Prone Gunman (City Lights Noir)
by Jean-Patrick Manchette
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in August, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.com
THREE-AND-A-HALF STARS
It’s customary for Americans to mock the French, but honesty compels us to admit that our continental cousins do a lot of things well. Fine wine, for example, and gourmet cuisine and sixteenth...more
From ISawLightningFall.com
THREE-AND-A-HALF STARS
It’s customary for Americans to mock the French, but honesty compels us to admit that our continental cousins do a lot of things well. Fine wine, for example, and gourmet cuisine and sixteenth-century theological reformations. Let me add something else to the list -- slim volumes of literary-minded noir. Consider Jean-Patrick Manchette’s The Prone Gunman to be Exhibit A.
Noir could be summed up as desperate people doing criminally nasty things, and The Prone Gunman more than owns the label. Its protagonist, Martin Terrier, is a hired killer for an unnamed outfit dubbed The Company and he’s good at his job. Need a bare-handed, face-to-face hit or a long shot with a high-powered rifle? Neither are a problem for Terrier, but his heart really isn’t in killing. All he wants is to make his mint, marry his upper-crust childhood sweetheart and retire to a south sea island. But once you’re in The Company, it isn’t exactly easy to get out …
Manchette's spare style is both his greatest asset and liability. He writes like Hemmingway, penning short, observational sentences that preclude you for his characters’ thoughts. This makes for some disjointed jumps in point of view and a few confusing passages where one must decipher the emotional import of Terrier’s mannerisms. But instead of turning to overly expository dialogue to communicate feeling, he uses another technique -- repetition. Simple, off-hand observations -- the course of a cold winter wind, a recipe for a mixed drink, a description of abstract art hanging in a condo -- crop up again and again, gradually accreting significance. You see this best in the final chapter. Though it’s an almost word-for-word reiteration of the introduction, Manchette turns it just so, makes all the pieces come together and slams you in the chest with it like a sledgehammer.
It's an impressive feat, but also unsatisfying. Downbeat dénouements have their place, but the strong shot of fatalism Machette added to Terrier’s violent escapades spoils the mix for me. Of course, I am American and therefore essentially optimistic, a characteristic the French have never minded mocking. ...less
"
|
|
August 12
|
|
Loren
read and liked
Alex's
review of The Children of Men:
"I was disappointed by the film, finding myself unable to muster sympathy for the characters, but I was intrigued by the basic plot and so ventured out to explore the novel. PD James' original creation follows a plot significantly different compared t...more
I was disappointed by the film, finding myself unable to muster sympathy for the characters, but I was intrigued by the basic plot and so ventured out to explore the novel. PD James' original creation follows a plot significantly different compared to that of the movie, but I found it to be no less disappointing. The main character, Theo, was perhaps even less likable, due mostly to his lack of conviction about anything during the first half of the book. I was never able to develop an intense fear of or hatred for the government against which the main characters rebelled; the "Council of England" did seem to ignore a few issues of compromised civil-rights, but for the most part presented fairly logical arguments for their pragmatic approach to governance as the human race aged into its final days. Thus, when the inevitable revelation of human pregnancy was revealed and the protagonists embarked on a quest to evade the government until the baby was born, I was unable to share their feelings of fear and despair, and I cared little when characters died. The book moved quickly, especially the second half, which allowed me to follow its absurd plotline through to its disappointing completion - the story was mostly well-written, save for moments of impending excitement that would be introduced with the sentence, "And then it happened." I commend James for her imagination; the basic premise is indeed quite intriguing. I can't say her execution held my interest, though....less
"
|
|
August 11
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
The Children of Men (Paperback)
by P.D. James
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in July, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
TWO-AND-A-HALF STARS
P.D. James’ The Children of Men is built around a single question: What would happen if women couldn’t conceive? That’s exactly what’s on the minds of everyone on earth in ...more
From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
TWO-AND-A-HALF STARS
P.D. James’ The Children of Men is built around a single question: What would happen if women couldn’t conceive? That’s exactly what’s on the minds of everyone on earth in the year 2021, not least of Theodore Faron, historian and only surviving relative to the despotic Warden of England, Xan Lyppiatt. Sterility has held sway over the human race for 25 years, and outlying towns are falling into disrepair as the population shrinks. Bizarre cults and mass suicides are the order of the day. The youngest generation, dubbed Omegas, roams the countryside, delighting itself with vandalism and murder. Even the sleepy academic circles in which Theo moves are being shaken. One day he is approached by a woman named Julian who wants him to use his influence with the Warden to secure much-needed humanitarian reforms. But Theo learns there’s more to Julian than political ambitions -- she’s pregnant.
The setup is wonderful, a great idea. Unfortunately, "built around" is an accurate way of describing the story that accompanies it. Children was James’ first and only detour into SF, and the inexperience shows. She alternates between exposition and action by erratically switching first- and third-person perspectives. And "action" isn’t really an appropriate descriptor, since nothing much happens in the first half of the novel. Readers must content themselves with long passages about crumbling infrastructure, political maneuvering and new social trends (dolls and kittens become inadequate substitutes for babies). Liberal trimming would have helped the pace, but the characters are another matter. To wit, they’re a selfish and vapid bunch, quick with a sharp retort and slow to finish up mopey musings on religion and relationships, suicide and sex. (Indeed, I found it surprising that such subjects could be boring.) It’s not that they’re merely unlikable. They’re uninteresting, so that you’ve stopped caring by the time the novel finally snaps into genre mode near the end.
And yet, there are moments that make you want to forgive Children’s sins. There are meditative passages on the decline of science following the quiet disaster and the inverse relationship between pornography and lovemaking, poignant bits about laying down wine that will never be drunk and a cancer-stricken father whose tin-can-sliced index finger becomes symbolic of his terminal disease. You can see the great idea inside all the wordiness and meandering motivations and ceaseless talk of swilling claret before blowing one’s brains out. It’s a shame that Children didn’t have the strength to bring it forth....less
"
|
|
July 13
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
In the Woods (Hardcover)
by Tana French
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in June, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Three-and-a-half stars
Years ago, one of my father’s clients -- a man from the Emerald Isle named Cosgrove -- dropped by our place and, during the evening, got an insatiable hankering for the hard st...more
From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Three-and-a-half stars
Years ago, one of my father’s clients -- a man from the Emerald Isle named Cosgrove -- dropped by our place and, during the evening, got an insatiable hankering for the hard stuff. So my mother (who was essentially a teetotaler) found a bottle of small-batch scotch someone had given her as a gift and poured him four fingers’ worth. My father began to rib him about his prodigious thirst, but Cosgrove looked at him over his highball with deadly seriousness and said, “Lee, if you were Irish, you’d drink too.”
Detective Robert Ryan, the protagonist of Tana French’s In the Woods, has a few reasons to drink in addition to sharing Cosgrove’s nationality. He’s on the Irish police force’s murder squad, which means he’s hip-deep in grisly murders most of the time. A stabbed convenience store clerk. A homeless man beaten to a pulp. And now a pubescent girl named Katy Devlin found near the Knocknaree woods with her skull caved in. But not only is Ryan an investigator of crimes, he’s a victim of one. Twenty years ago, he and two friends disappeared into the very same forest. Only he came out, dazed and amnesiac, his shoes filled with blood. Has he found a key to his past, or will he crumble beneath the weight of hidden memories?
In the Woods is a first novel, and as such suffers from some flaws. French has a tendency to embed sentences within sentences, piling on em dashes and parentheses, colons and semicolons, until your head's spinning. But after you get a grip on the overgrown style, you have to deal with the genre, which wavers between literary and mystery, only firmly clicking into procedural mode in the book’s second half. And then there’s the problem of Ryan himself, who is more than a little unlikable. He falls into a myopic funk seemingly at every other thought of Knocknaree, ignores crucial clues, bullies witnesses, betrays his partner’s trust, downs stultifying amounts of grog and generally makes a mess of the case. “I am intensely aware, by the way,” he narrates in the closing pages, “that this story does not show me in a particularly flattering light.”
For all these niggles, though, French succeeds where more-experienced authors fail. Why? She keeps you reading. Indeed, she destroyed my sleep schedule for a week and had me pacing the hallway one Sunday afternoon, book in hand, until my wife began to fear for my mental wellbeing. In the Woods’ action is as tense as a tightrope, and for her skill in keeping me moving to the next chapter, I’ll buy French a pint if she ever shows up in my neck of the woods. Heck, let’s make it two. ...less
"
|
|
May 19
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
Viriconium: The Pastel City, A Storm of Wings, In Viriconium, and Viriconium Nights (Paperback)
by M. John Harrison
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in May, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Have you ever gotten something you yearned for -- an oft-delayed vacation, a new car or a fine, aged wine -- only to discover it doesn’t live up to your longing? If so, you may understand my response to M. Joh...more
From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Have you ever gotten something you yearned for -- an oft-delayed vacation, a new car or a fine, aged wine -- only to discover it doesn’t live up to your longing? If so, you may understand my response to M. John Harrison’s Viriconium. Consistently praised in the speculative-fiction community, it is a compendium spanning three novels and seven short stories, all of which center on a city of the same name. Sounds simple, yet describing what Viriconium is and what happens around, in and to it is challenging. That’s because Harrison reinvents his creation from piece to piece.
In the first novel, The Pastel City, Viriconium is a far-future metropolis threatened by civil strife. As one of its last defenders, the warrior/poet tegeus-Cromis must lead a ragtag group of soldiers through the poisonous Metal-Salt Marsh to the Great Brown Waste, where hidden wonders of the lost Afternoon Cultures lie beneath rusted scrap that slowly sifts to silt. There he and his band must face the rebel Canna Moidart and the ancient threat she has unearthed -- fearsome automatons called the geteit chemosit. It reads like a blending of The Lord of the Rings and Dune. There are ferocious battles in blasted landscapes, miraculous technologies and a piercing poignancy over a civilization that might be the earth’s last if things go wrong. It’s great fun.
A Storm of Wings, the next in the cycle, is anything but. It has the right ingredients -- the return of old friends, peril from beyond the stars, and several desperate and doomed sorties. Yet a combination of muddled plotting and fever-dream description manages to muck up the proceedings. The swarms of intergalactic insects menacing Viriconium do so not through superior weaponry or numbers, but through a kind of Gnostic telepathy that reworks reality itself. Ludicrous word choices doom it even further. Examples? There are plenty. A procession marches “in a lunar chiaroscuro of gamboge and blue.” During a mental crisis, a character watches “precarious flowers bloom in his secret heart.” A foundering fleet lost in treacherous waters “turned quietly turtle in the gelid sea.” Imagine one or more of these groaners per page. Now try to conjure up some excitement for what is the collection’s longest section.
While the purplest of this prose gets excised in the remaining material, a new wrinkle appears -- the transition of Viriconium from a city rooted in space and time to myth. Harrison tries to achieve this by reintroducing previous characters and then fundamentally altering some part of them. Virtues and vices, biographical details, professional achievements, even hairstyles -- all get freely mixed and matched. The effort proves about as intelligible as the plots, which range from adequate (“The Lamia & Lord Cromis”) to obscure (“The Dancer From the Dance”) to well-nigh impenetrable (“The Luck in the Head”). As for In Viriconium, the last of the novels, Neil Gaiman writes in the introduction that the protagonist “barely understands the nature of the story he finds himself in.” The same could likely be said for many who read it.
It is distasteful to so roundly criticize a work, especially one from as talented an author as Harrison. He is incredibly imaginative and interested in grand ideas. Those willing to commit multiple readings to Viriconium and struggle through the vexing vocabulary, screwy character switch-ups and bewildering shifts in action will likely be rewarded. If only Harrison hadn’t given the rest of us such good excuses not to....less
"
|
|
May 08
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
The October Country (Hardcover)
by Ray Bradbury
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in January, 1991
Loren said:
"Adapted from ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Autumn is the season that draws me back to my central-Kentucky childhood. Back then, the daytime temperature would hover just above freezing point, the sun a warm disc in the chill blue sky. Leaves would...more
Adapted from ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
Autumn is the season that draws me back to my central-Kentucky childhood. Back then, the daytime temperature would hover just above freezing point, the sun a warm disc in the chill blue sky. Leaves would slowly shift to orange and ochre and brown before cascading down in piles that reached your knees. The air smelled of cider, and you could always find pumpkins -- lined for purchase in fields, in stacks at the grocery, by every front door. Nights were different. The cold came down like a hammer. It stiffened the leaves into parchment and brittled the grass with frost. Wind would moan around the eaves like an afflicted spirit. As the season crawled near to winter, I’d wake to find the water in the horses’ paddocks frozen like a stone. Autumn was a thing of beauty and eeriness, as is Ray Bradbury’s short-story collection The October Country.
Nearly all of the material tilts toward horror, although it’s an older kind that’s unafraid to commingle sentiment and scares. Many of the stories are one-weird-idea tales, throwing an intentional kink in the order of things. In “The Scythe,” a migrant farmer inherits a field of grain from a stranger, along with a sickle on which is engraved “Who Wields Me -- Wields the World!” He discovers too late why the wheat ripens in patches, why there’s just enough for him to cut each day, and why it springs up again soon after he slices it down. “Skeleton” features a nervous hypochondriac whose bones might be rebelling against him or who may be in thrall to a sinister physician. Another doctor inadvertently aids “The Small Assassin” -- a newborn with the facilities of an adult and murder on his mind. A youngster dispatches a vampire residing in his grandmother’s boarding house (“The Man Upstairs”) and a newly married man reconnects with a long-lost love decades after her drowning (“The Lake”).
While the collection contains more than a few spooky tropes, many of the shorts avoid the supernatural, focusing instead on the dreams and darknesses within the human heart. There is “The Dwarf” who nightly ventures through a circus hall of mirrors to watch his reflection stretch and elongate. A lonely Louisiana bumpkin becomes the center of small-town life when brings home “The Jar,” in which floats a shrunken, pickled thing that might have once been human. Both light-hearted and gruesome, “The Watchful Poker Chip of H. Matisse” finds a boorish fellow becoming the cynosure of an avart-garde movement. When his admirers’ interest begins to slacken, he decides to make his body into a work of art. Two retired life-insurance salesmen try to save future murderees from self-destruction (“Touched With Fire”).
Not all of the stories work. There are plots that fail to gain traction (“The Next in Line”) and characters flatter than the paper they’re printed on (“The Cistern”). Interesting conceits get sidelined by swathes of expository dialogue (“The Wind”). The cheery tone and gushing prose of the final story, “The Wonderful Death of Dudley Stone,” clashes with the others. But these are minor quibbles. Over fifty years after its original publication, The October Country can still chill, whether it’s autumn or high summer....less
"
|
|
April 21
|
|
Loren
gave
to:
On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (The Wingfeather Saga)
by Andrew Peterson (Goodreads author!)
|
my rating:
Added to my books!
add my review
|
| |
read in March, 2008
Loren said:
"From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
I always feel a bit apprehensive when a musician decides to try his (or her) hand at writing. It’s one thing to pen short snippets of lyrical verse. It’s another to hold a reader’s attention over several h...more
From ISawLightningFall.blogspot.com
I always feel a bit apprehensive when a musician decides to try his (or her) hand at writing. It’s one thing to pen short snippets of lyrical verse. It’s another to hold a reader’s attention over several hundred pages. Fortunately, singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson’s On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness more than entertains, despite a few literary failings.
The Igiby family lives on the outskirts of the sleepy hamlet of Glipwood on the continent of Skree in the world of Aerwiar. The three Igiby children -- Janner, Tink and Leeli -- spend their days helping their widowed mother Nia with chores and their peg-legged, ex-pirate grandfather Podo keep the pests out of the garden. All is not well in Skree. Years ago, a Nameless Evil arose, sacked the high court of Anniera and conquered the entire Skreean continent. Now scaly terrors called Fangs occupy Glipwood, oppressing the populace and abducting children in the Black Carriage. The only things as terror-inspiring as the hordes of the Nameless Evil (which happens to be named Gnag the Nameless) are the toothy cows roaming the nearby forest. Well, completing the reams of paperwork required to procure a hoe from the local garrison is pretty terrifying, too. And we shouldn’t forget the ferocious warrior kings of Torrboro and their frightening affection for fluffy kittens …
If this sounds to you like a cross between The Lord of the Rings and Monty Python and the Holy Grail, you’ve hit the nail on its proverbial head. Dark Sea of Darkness revels in heroic high fantasy on one hand and wacky absurdism on the other. The pairing works well. Who didn’t want more comic relief while venturing through Middle Earth? Instead of Adam and Eve, or somesuch serious-sounding pair, being the first inhabitants of Aerwiar, we get Dwayne and Gladys. We meet Mayor Blaggus, who is as unctuous as his name suggests, and Peet the Sock Man, the town idiot who likes to insult the parentage of street signs and wears stockings over his hands. We are treated -- in the loosest use of the word -- to recipes for the Fang delicacies maggotloaf and booger gruel. Some of the best bits are footnotes Peterson uses to reveal backstory. A favorite from a section on the Igiby children’s studies, called T.H.A.G.S.: “Three Honored and Great Subjects: Word, Form, and Song. Some silly people believe that there’s a fourth Honored and Great Subject, but those mathematicians are woefully mistaken.”
Despite its inventiveness, Dark Sea of Darkness contains more than a few first-novel mistakes. The worst is unexpected shifts in point of view, which seriously disrupt the narrative flow. If this happened a time or two, it would be excusable. However, one three-page chapter features over a half-dozen changes in the viewpoint character, and a switch from Janner’s perspective to that of Tink’s spoils a climactic encounter with the Black Carriage. It’s amazing that an editor didn’t notice them. Other problems are less egregious, but still niggle. There’s a fair bit of overly expository dialogue and description, and the only purpose Leeli serves for much of the book is to be swiped by some baddie and then rescued.
Not that the novel’s intended audience (which is children) will particularly care. They’ll be too caught up in the adventure and humor to notice. Adults might be willing to forgive them, too, once they get to the ending. Let’s just say that when Peet’s socks come off, he goes from pitiful wretch to righteous avenger in an instant. Also, this is the first in a series. Let’s hope the second installment fixes the faults of Dark Sea of Darknesses. That would be a truly compelling read....less
"
|
