Kevin Wright's Blog: SaberPunk

Review of 'Taran Wanderer' by Lloyd Alexander

This is my fourth installment as I reread and review Lloyd Alexander’s ‘Prydain Chronicles,’ a series of five high fantasy novels written in the 1960’s.

‘Taran Wanderer’ is the fourth book of the series and while there is an overarching storyline thoughout, the third and fourth books are a little off the path of the main arc. Where ‘Castle of Llyr’ is a sort of side-quest in the series, TW takes a look at the story through a microscope. That is, we really magnify and focus in on Taran the assistant pig-keeper as a character and more specifically as a young man.

One of the main themes of the Prydain Chronicles, in my opinion, is ‘what makes a good man?’ We see fully formed adult, good men in the form of Coll and Dalben and Gwydion, the three main influences in Taran’s life. Each of the three is intelligent, wise, and formidable. What we also see from the very start of the series, ‘The Book of Three,’ is an impatient, headstrong kid who does things based on what he thinks a storybook hero should do.

As we move through the books, we see glimpses of Taran making progress, getting wiser, humbler, more patient. Having more regard for what is truly important in life.
In TW, Taran, on the cusp of manhood, takes a final step forward.

He knows he loves Eilonwy. He knows he wants to marry her. He also knows that she is a princess and he is an assistant pig-keeper of unknown parentage. He hopes he is more.
And so he goes off in search of his parentage in the hopes that he will be proven worthy enough to marry his love. What follows is a series of short episodic adventures as Taran crosses the land of Prydain in search of the Mirror of Llunet, a magic mirror that a trio of witches claim will ‘show him something of interest’ with regards to his ancestry.

I won’t spoil what happens. I’ll only say that Taran’s adventures are as exciting as ever if a little shorter individually and with some, more internal. More personal. But the stakes are as high as ever. Lives are on the line. Kingdoms. Livelihoods. Self-fulfillment. Everything that makes a great story, and as always, Alexander writes clearly, concisely, beautifully. There aren’t many books that make your heart both pound and ache. The Chronicles of Prydain achieve these effects more often than any others I’ve read, and Taran Wanderer is no exception.

Read it.

Kevin Wright Author Page http://amzn.to/2noAXKj
Link to Taran Wanderer https://amzn.to/2VTbN5s

Review of 'The Castle of Llyr' by Lloyd Alexander

‘The Castle of Llyr’ is the third installment in Lloyd Alexander’s ‘Chronicles of Prydain’ series and, for me, it’s possibly the most memorable. I’ve said before that ‘The Black Cauldron’ is my favorite of the series, and that holds, but ‘The Castle of Llyr’ stands out for me because it has a different feel from the other novels.

‘The Book of Three’ and ‘The Black Cauldron’ always sort of run together in my mind for some reason. I always think the three witches are in ‘The Book of Three’ and they’re not. And the series finale, ‘The High King,’ is in the same mold as the first two. High epic fantasy. Big deeds. Dering do. Sacrifices are made. Things of consequence happen that affect the entire realm of Prydain. We see all of our favorite characters in each of these three tales.

Not so, in ‘The Castle of Llyr.” Doli is conspicuously missing, and Eilonwy is part of the story but not wholly there. Their absence is felt.

And while there are certainly things of consequence that happen in ‘The Castle of Llyr,’ they’re on a smaller, more personal scale. Not quite the personal scale of the fourth book, ‘Taran Wanderer,’ but well on its way.

Taran is growing into a young man and knows how he feels about Eilonwy even if he doesn’t quite understand the finer aspects. An old foe emerges from the mists and seeks to regain lost power at the cost of one of, and quite possibly, the rest of our heroes’ lives. It doesn’t seem as though the fate of Prydain is at stake here. Certainly, it may suffer consequences, but Arawn and the Horned King aren’t here. Nor are the Huntsmen of Annuvin or the dreaded Cauldron Born.

I like big, grand, epic stories.

But I also like the small ones, too. ‘Castle of Llyr’ is a smaller tale.

I’ve read ‘The Castle of Llyr’ a few times. Maybe twenty. Maybe thirty. Between fifth and eighth grade I went through a phase where I’d take these out of my middle school library and read one book of the series each week, multiple times, rotating through them. I loved them then, and I love them now. For me, my greatest fear, presently, with regards to each of them is that they would not stand the test of time.

Well, I’m three for three now in the series, and they’ve all stood up tall and proud. I’ve said it before, but rereading these is like seeing a friend I haven’t seen in thirty years and just picking up where we left off. It’s going back to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner. It’s going home after a long shift and curling up on the couch.

And I’m constantly amazed at how Alexander can convey so much with so little. His writing is so streamlined and spare and constantly beautiful. He says in five words what it would take me a paragraph to convey. And he does it better. Always.

So read “The Castle of Llyr.” You’ll love it.
Just make sure you start the series at the beginning.

- Kevin Wright
Author central page amazon.com/author/wrightkev
Link to 'Castle of Llyr' https://amzn.to/2EEGZjx

My SPFBO Experience

So, first things first, what the hell is the SPFBO?

Answer: the Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off.

So, what exactly does that mean?

Simple answer: it’s a contest run every year by Mark Lawrence, fantasy author extraordinaire, where 300 writers submit their standalone fantasy novel to one of ten judges who happen to be a blogger in the fantasy book blogging community.
It’s a pretty big deal to self-published writers.

What are the stakes?

Well, you don’t win money.

And you don’t win fame as there’s a writer’s union enforced limit of four to five famous living authors at any given time on the planet: currently J.K. Rowling, Diana Gabaldon, Stephen King, and, of course, Neil Gaiman(and Salmond Rushdie when people are actively trying to kill him).

What you do win, and it can be argued that everyone wins, is some publicity. It would also be accurate to state that the person who wins the entire thing, which lasts about a year, wins substantially more of this most precious of writerly commodities.

I’ll cut to the chase: I didn’t win. My entry ‘Lords of Asylum’ came in second in my division of thirty books to the winner, ‘The Gods of Men’ by the excellent Barbara Kloss.

The SPFBO has been something of an odyssey for me. I missed entering ‘Lords of Asylum’ into the 2016 SPFBO by about a week because I wasn’t yet aware of its existence. And I missed the 2017 iteration because of a giant rodent. A mouse, specifically.

More specifically, I had been assiduously following the contest, checking daily for the entry period to start, which lasts about an hour and a half, when I went to Disney World with the wife and kids. And I decided I would not be bringing my computer and doing any writing on vacation so as to not ignore my children(Note: a trip to Disney World is not, I repeat, not a vacation if you are a parent; it is quite, I repeat quite, the opposite).

When I returned home, I found that the entry period had begun and filled up days before I’d even returned. My bad.

Bottom line: Despite my disappointment at not moving on to the final round, it was a great experience from start to finish(my finish, as it’s still in progress).

First off, I was lucky to be in the Weatherwax Report’s group. The group worked tirelessly and in concert(And this was despite the head honcho having major surgery amid the process) from day one. Multiple reviews came out every week, everything was scheduled, and there always seemed to be something going on. I really felt engaged during the entire process(It began on August 1st and the first phase ends on December 31st). So, to the Weatherwax Report Group, I say thank you once more for the hard work, dedication and the great experience.

Next, I’ve made some contacts and cyber-friends, which along with the added visibility is the point of the whole thing.

And now cold-blooded mercenary time: I’ve had my career-best sales month after month from August to right now. So that’s good. I’m not talking new car money, but I can now afford new car-scented air fresheners and maybe some candy. And candy is good.

And being engaged in the process(I’ve shared and tweeted and read nearly every post on the SPFBO Facebook group) I’ve got a huge list of authors in my TBR queue, which is always a good thing.

So, would I recommend entering the contest?

The answer is obviously, yes.

My advice? Start following it now. Find some new authors. Some new books. Get a feel for the process. Check out Mark Lawrence’s blog at:
http://mark---lawrence.blogspot.com/2....

This is where all the announcements are. You have a month before the first phase ends and the second and final phase begins. Then, it’s another six months or so before the next SPFBO starts, assuming they do hold it again, which if they don’t you have my apologies for getting your hopes up.

So get your book in order. Make it awesome, and good luck.

Kevin Wright
-Author central page amazon.com/author/wrightkev

Review of 'The Black Cauldron' by Lloyd Alexander

I’ve said before in a previous post that ‘The Chronicles of Prydain’ is my favorite series. I hold to that. I’ve also said that my favorite book in that series is ‘The Black Cauldron.’ I hold to that, too. So it stands to reason that ‘The Black Cauldron’ is my favorite book. I’m trying to convince myself, you see, because picking my favorite book is impossible. But…there is a ‘but,’ there is not a book I like more than ‘The Black Cauldron.’ So, because I’m too chicken to name it my favorite, I’m going to go ahead and say it’s tied for first place amongst others.

Why? Is the question. Well, ‘because it’s awesome,’ is the simple answer.

The more nuanced answer? ‘Knowing sacrifice.’

What is ‘knowing sacrifice?’ I’m not sure as I just thought it up, but here’s what I mean.

A dragon is threatening your village, eating sheep, cows, people. Not a good situation. Someone has to slay it, so you grab a footman’s Dragonlance, like one from Krynn, and head on into his cave. Now, this is a risky venture. Dragons are badass. You’re a piddly little no-one. You know your chances of succeeding let alone surviving are slim. But you do it anyway, putting your life on the line to save your village. You walk in knowing there’s a chance you might die, but also a chance you might live. In short, you have hope.

Now, on the other hand, you have to slay the same dragon, so you grab your Dragonlance and go to your nearest oracle to get a read on how likely your quest is to be successful. The oracle tells you your quest will be successful, you village saved, but only if you die as a consequence. So…you head on into his cave anyway, bereft of hope, knowing you’re certain to die, but that as a result your village will be saved, right?

That’s the thing. The guts it takes to do either are tremendous. But the guts it takes to do the second are more tremendous.

Knowing sacrifice happens three times in ‘The Black Cauldron.” Twice, the price to be paid is a life. Once, the cost is the gaining of wisdom that would set a character up for the rest of his life, make him a hero, a lord, a whatever-the-hell-he-wants to be.

And, as usual, Lloyd Alexander writes these scenes so beautifully it makes me feel pathetic by comparison. The weight of each moment, simultaneously full of tragedy, beauty, and, lastly, redemption is just so great. Sorry, I should have a better word than ‘great.’ But that’s all I can come up with.

Read it and see if you agree.

The Black Cauldron: https://amzn.to/2ysOEg2
The Prydain Chronicles: https://amzn.to/2R7sUx1
Kevin Wright Author Page http://amzn.to/2noAXKj
Kevin Wright Email Signup: http://eepurl.com/dEn_z

Review of 'The Book of Three' by Lloyd Alexander

One question that gets thrown around occasionally to me and by me is an impossible question. “What’s your favorite book?”

Tough, right? Possibly impossible.

I have to break it down into genres to have any chance of even approaching answering it. Age-specific genres. Micro-age-specific genres, if that’s a thing.

Well, I’m not here to tell you that ‘The Book of Three’ is my favorite book. But, I am here to tell you that it is the first book in my favorite series of books. The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander is great. And while ‘The Book of Three’ is not the best book in the series, it sets the stage for the whole series (five books), is awesome in its own right, and I would argue, if someone really wanted to argue with me about this but it seems pointless and a waste of time, that it’s the only book in the series you could read as a standalone.

‘The Book of Three’ is a YA fantasy set in the mythical land of Prydain. Alexander borrows and uses Welsh mythology as a springboard for Prydain and many of his characters. It’s told in the third person and jumps viewpoints to a limited degree. Mainly, it’s told from the POV of Taran of Caer Dallben, an orphan/assistant pig-keeper who yearns for adventure.

I know, some tropes there. But I don’t have a problem with tropes if they’re done right. And these are. Not to mention that the book was written in 1964, so it probably wasn’t even a trope back then.

So, Taran yearns for adventure and honor and fame in his land of Prydain, but he never finds it and remains an assistant pig-keeper until he’s old and finally dies. Obviously, I’m kidding. Stuff does happen. A lot of stuff I’m not going to go into.

Suffice it to say, and like I said before, this book is awesome. I read it back to back to back with the other four books over and over all through middle school. Every week I went to the school library I’d take out the next one until I finished the ‘High King’ and then I’d start back over again with ‘The Book of Three’ (I’d occasionally shuffle in some ‘Chronicles of Narnia’ or ‘Hobbit’ for good measure).

So, I hadn’t read this book in about thirty years when I decided to buy them for my son and daughter. And one night, they were just sitting on the shelf, (my son is currently reading ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ and my daughter is reading ‘Ellie’s Story’) so I figured I’d give it another go. I did so with trepidation.

My main concern was ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’ effect. ‘The Dukes of Hazzard Effect’ is when something you loved and as a kid turns out to be terrible as an adult. I was concerned the ‘The Book of Three’ and thus the whole of the ‘Chronicles of Prydain’ wouldn’t hold up. Needless to say, it did hold up.

Rereading ‘The Book of Three’ was like going to a favorite old haunt from my childhood and meeting with a bunch of friends I’d not seen in decades and then picking up without a hitch. That’s the best way I can describe it. And as I read along, things I had forgotten, characters, places, events, emerged from the past. Simply, it was awesome.

So, read ‘The Book of Three’ and ‘The Chronicles of Prydain.’ Read them to your kids. Then make them read them on their own. They’ll thank you for it, and you’ll thank me. Or Lloyd Alexander, really, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Have a good one.

The Book of Three on Amazon - https://amzn.to/2oK9h2a

Kevin Wright Author Page http://amzn.to/2noAXKj
Kevin Wright Email Signup: http://eepurl.com/dEn_z

Review of 'Caliban's War' by James S.A. Corey

‘Caliban’s War’ is book two in ‘The Expanse Series’ which started off with ‘Leviathan Wakes.’ I think this series should win an award for the most awesome titles because they all seem to have some sort of cool mythic/biblical bend to them that seems to give them weight even before you crack the cover.

And onto cracking the cover.

‘Caliban’s War’ is told in the third person from the POV of James Holden, the golden boy of space (now noticeably a little darker in demeanor), and one of the two POV’s from ‘Leviathan Wakes.’ Along with Holden are three new POV characters.

Chrisjen Avasarala: a well-connected U.N. politician who’s adept at seeing through the bullshit in her job and in real life and getting to the meat of whatever situation happens to be arising. She also swears like the mother of all sailors.

Bobbie Draper: a powersuit-wearing Martian space marine right out of Warhammer 40K, stationed on Ganymede, the breadbasket of the outer planets.

Praxidike Meng: a botanist whose daughter goes missing during an attack on his station on Ganymede.

Ganymede, as I said, is the breadbasket of the outer planets which makes it the most important moon/place/thing in the solar system barring Earth or Mars. It feeds everyone, but neither Earth, Mars, nor the OPA outright owns Ganymede, so everyone has a presence there.

And everyone that has a presence also has a security apparatus in the form of Martian Space Marines for Mars. Earth Space Marines for Earth. And some sort of troll-like monstrosity capable of tearing power-suited marines of any nationality into pieces and bashing them around like the Hulk bashes Loki. (This is exactly what happens in chapter 1; I won’t spoil beyond). It’s unclear at first who or what the troll-monster represents other than chaos and multinational brutality.
End result? Dead marines on two sides. Political turmoil. Mars thinks Earth Marines have attacked them with a new weapon and the vice of versa is also true. The Ganymede stations are attacked and mass panic ensues. International relations slide into the ‘not so good’ category, and it’s up to Avasarala to step in and have the brains to suss it all out and the guts to act on it. She possesses both in spades.

I’ll leave it at that. I don’t want to spoil any more for you or drone out a book report to you.

I love the future setting and the three way-politics fracturing any hope of peace in the solar system. I love the corruption of political officials and amoral scientists and mega-rich sociopathic douche bags. I love the evolution of the alien protomolecule as it morphs and does who-the-hell-knows-what on Venus?

And I even love the space battles. You have to understand, for me, space battles are like car chases in movies. For the most part, they’re a big yawn for me. ‘Star Wars.’ Give me more Hoth, Jedis and Jabba. ‘Star Trek.’ Give me more Vulcan logics and Jean Luc Picard challenging Moriarty on the holodeck. ‘Babylon Five’ battles are a notch above, I’ll admit, but still not my favorite part of the excellent series. But ‘The Expanse’ makes them interesting. You get a feel that the battles are tactical. Ships run out of ammunition. You get a feel for the hardware. The ordinance. For other words I don’t understand but like the sound of.

So, I dug ‘Caliban’s War.’ It’s not my favorite series, and not even my favorite book in that series, but it’s enjoyable, with cool characters and interplay(See: Amos and Prax) and moves along at a rocket pace. The POV changes keep things fresh. I never feel stagnant and am looking forward to grabbing the next installment. It’s great to have series of eight or nine massive books to look forward to.

Amazon link:
https://amzn.to/2LF41FP

Goodreads link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...

The Grimdark Odyssey that is ‘My Antonia’ by Willa Cather

So, The Great American Read is going on as we speak, and I’ve decided to be inspired and check out a few classics that have fallen by the wayside for me. The first I read was ‘Catch 22’ a book I reread every five years or so. It’s a darkly funny antiwar novel. The next classic I read was ‘Their Eyes Were Watching God’ by Nora Zeal Hurston which I’ve never read. It’s the tale of an African-American woman’s life in the years following the Civil War. Both are great books. Both stories are suffused with a mix of darkness and despair and humor.

The third classic I read was ‘My Antonia’ by Willa Cather. I picked it up because I’d read ‘O Pioneers’ a long time ago and remembered enjoying it for some reason. So I figured I’d give ‘My Antonia’ a whirl. I won’t say that ‘My Antonia’ trumped the other two tales in terms of an overall sense of darkness and despair, but there was one scene in the book that was like a punch to the gut for a book I initially took to be a sort of YA coming-of-age story set in the 19th century.

‘My Antonia’ is indeed a coming-of-age story set in the 19th century. It’s told from the perspective of Jim Burden, a young boy growing up on the plains of Nebraska. He’s raised by his grandparents who are exceedingly stolid farming folk. They are strong and righteous and good and set a fine example for young Jim. Jim also has neighbors, the Shimerdas, who’ve recently moved nearby. They are somewhat less stolid, (the father’s a flake and the mother’s a jerk) with the exception of the titular Antonia, the eldest daughter of that clan. She is a wonderfully strong young woman whose vibrancy and lust for life leaves a lasting impression on Jim.

Life goes on. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Read the book, Willa Cather is a fantastic writer.
Amidst all this good and bad life stuff is the gut-punching story of Peter and Pavel. I remember stopping and rereading it. It was sort of like when Ned Stark got his head cut off. I wasn’t sure I read it properly.

Peter and Pavel are Russian immigrants who are Jim and Antonia’s neighbors. They are friends particularly with Antonia’s father, Mr. Shimerda, with whom they gather and tell tales of the old country. They seem like a pair of eccentric but essentially good-hearted bachelors. The Nebraskan plains folk like them. The kids like them. Everyone likes them.

The story moves on.

We learn Peter and Pavel left Russia under nebulous circumstances. It doesn’t really raise anyone’s eyebrow until one night when Pavel takes ill and becomes bedridden. He deteriorates quickly, both physically and mentally. In the throes of a consuming fever, with coyotes howling outside, Pavel is tormented by something. Someone. Phantoms. In his throes, he whispers a confession to Antonia’s father in Russian. Jim can only sit by and listen and watch without understanding.

Poor Antonia, however, sits there and listens with understanding.

Jim’s the lucky one.

‘“He’s scared of the wolves,” Antonia whispered to me.’(My Antonia p.28)
So begins a confession that slightly tarnishes the initial view that Peter and Pavel are a pair of good-hearted bachelors.

Cut to Antonia relating Pavel’s story to Jim.
Now, if you want to know the story without me spoiling it for you, stop reading this and go read ‘My Antonia.’ (Also, and unsurprisingly, Cather tells it much better them I.) I know, it’s maybe not your preferred genre. It’s generally not my preferred genre, but reading something a little different is good for you. Get out of your comfort zone. And it’s not long, only 175 pages. Every library in the world has it. And Willa Cather can write. You’ll blow right through it.
But if you’re lazy like me, and you want a synopsis of Pavel’s story, here goes.

Many years ago, Peter and Pavel were part of a wedding party in Russia. They were riding on a sledge with the bride and groom, leading a party of six sledges back to their home village from the nuptial celebration. It was winter, obviously. Snow blanketed the ground and I quote, “The wolves were bad that winter.”(Cather 30)

It was NOT, the WEATHER was bad. NOT, the SNOW was bad. NOT even the WIND was bad. No. The WOLVES were bad that winter.

Things deteriorate quickly from this point.
A pack of wolves starts following the party. There’s an accident and one sledge overturns, all of its riders spilling free. Carnage ensues. The spilled riders are set upon and slaughtered by the wolves. The good news is, those wolves have full bellies now and can barely run. The bad news? There are a lot more wolves, and they are a bloodthirsty bunch. The horses drawing the sledges go mad with panic.

The remaining sledges race through the moonlit snow toward the safety of a their home village.

Peter and Pavel and the newlyweds are in the lead sledge, and theirs holds only the four as opposed the other sledges which are overladen with revelers. Which makes them slower. And tastier. Also, they’re not reveling at this point.

Then, one by one, the wolves overtake the sledges behind and slaughter the riders.
In the home stretch for the safety of their village, Pavel notices that one of their horses is injured. He’s not going to make it. Under the strain, he’s going to fall and take the other horses with him. The wolves behind are gaining. What can they do?

Pavel, in a stroke of Mac Gyver-like brilliance, suggests to the groom that they lighten the load for the poor horse by throwing his new bride to the wolves. The groom is a good guy, however, and refuses. Pavel is not such a good guy, though, and knocks the groom out of the sledge. The wolves eat him. Then for good measure, he hurls the bride out after. Then they eat her. There ends the quickest marriage in Russian history.

The good news? With their load lightened, the injured horse and team triumphs and delivers our heroes to the safety of the village. Peter and Pavel survive! Sure, they’re ostracized by their village for murder, driven out, harangued out of their country and forced to move eventually to the wilds of Nebraska, the only place that will take them, but they survive.

And so we all learn a lesson from this dark tale: don’t invite Peter or Pavel to your wedding. They’ll murder you with wolves.

Kevin Wright
-Amazon Author Page http://amzn.to/2noAXKj
- Lords of Asylum http://amzn.to/242AqeO
-The Clarity of Cold Steel http://amzn.to/2jQChDK
-GrimNoir http://amzn.to/1KW1XlS
- Monster City https://amzn.to/2LpkByj

Review of 'Low Town' by Daniel Polansky

Review of Daniel Polansky’s ‘Low Town’
I’m continually amazed how books that were written specifically for me often slip beneath my notice. It happened with Glen Cook’s ‘Black Company’ series. The entire series. Which I rectified last year. And it happened again with Daniel Polansky’s ‘Low Town.’ With ‘Low Town’ it wasn’t so egregious an offense.

It was published in 2011. So, I only missed out on it for seven years as opposed to twenty-five for ‘The Black Company.’
Probably, there is some magnum opus of grimdark fantasy being written even as I type that I will discover in 2030. If I’m lucky. But I digress.

So, ‘Low Town’ by Daniel Polansky is awesome. It’s everything I love in a detective noir book. And this one just happens to be set in a fantasy realm as well, and for me, that’s just icing on the cake.
I compare every detective novel I read to my favorite of the genre, Dashiell Hammett’s ‘The Maltese Falcon.’ ‘Low Town’ compares favorably.

First off, the main character, the Warden, we don’t ever learn his name, is tough, smart, resourceful, and slashes off dialogue with a razor wit. Not unlike MF’s Sam Spade. The Warden is a hard man, a cruel man, a man who makes his living by hocking drugs to survive, but he also has a code. There are things he won’t sink to, and he protects his own. He reminds me of Mal from Firefly in this regard, as if someone is part of his crew, then they are family to him. His list crew members may be short, but it grounds the Warden. It makes him someone you want on your side. It makes him someone you root for.

The story? Good solid detective noir stuff. Someone is murdering children in the Warden’s section of town, Low Town, the dregs, basically, and he enlists to stop it. Why he does so is only hinted at. His story is that he’s an ex-cop and was relieved from duty for some nebulous reason. There also seems to be some loss in his life associated with a young girl that particularly hits home for him enough that he interrupts his usual business of pushing drugs.

Now, I figured out the identity of who the bad guy was before the end. I’m thinking about halfway or so, and I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but this didn’t detract at all from the pleasure of the story. I had the broad strokes in mind but learning the minutia at the reveal was fun, too.

So, should you read it? ‘Low Town’ is a thrilling odyssey through the dregs of a fantasy metropolis. The city is dark and dangerous and has opium dens and ‘heathens’ and gangsters. It has duel-fighting nobleman douchebags and wizards and labyrinths and canals to drown in. It has plague and monsters and sorcerers who summon them. So the answer is obviously ‘YES.’ You should read it.

I will say that it galls me to pay $11.99 for an eBook. Even an awesome one. I bought it simply because I didn’t want to wait two days for shipping. I was weak. I still am. The hard copy, on the other hand, is $16.95 which is reasonable. So, if you can wait, and it’s been seven years so what’s a few more days, I’d say buy the hard copy. Either way, I think if you’re a fan of detective, fantasy, grimdark, or any amalgam of the three, read ‘Low Town.’ Now. Go.

Low Town Amazon Link: https://amzn.to/2PT2GyP
Low Town Goodreads link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9...

Kevin Wright
-Amazon Author Page http://amzn.to/2noAXKj

Review of 'Leviathan Wakes' by James S.A. Corey

Review of ‘Leviathan Wakes’ Book One of the Expanse Series
By James S.A. Corey

I started watching the television show ‘The Expanse’ on Amazon Prime about six months ago, and I dug it. So I grabbed the first book in the series, ‘Leviathan Wakes.’ I dug it, too. Here’s why.

‘The Expanse’ as a series has been described by reviewers many times over as a ‘Game of Thrones’ in space. I can see why they say it. The two have much in common mechanically. Both have third person limited POVs. Both play out on an epic scale. Both have dramatic/awesome battle scenes, political intrigue, and major character demise.

As I said, ‘Leviathan Wakes’ has all those. Where it differs mostly from ‘Game of Thrones’ is in its limited number of POVs. Where GOT is told from the POV of about 80 characters, LW is told from just two: James Holden and Joe Miller.

James Holden is an ex-naval officer who’s now the XO of an ice mining ship that runs a regular route hauling ice from Saturn’s rings to an asteroid name Ceres Station. Holden’s a hero directly out of central casting. He’s handsome. Resourceful. Brave. He has the annoying habit of always telling the truth despite the dire consequences sure to follow in its wake.

Holden also becomes the de-facto leader of a ragtag group of technicians set adrift physically in space and metaphorically amidst a maelstrom of political intrigue. His story is very much the story of him and his crew and how they struggle to survive despite mounting odds.

Joe Miller’s story is a story of solitude. I liken it to ‘The Maltese Falcon’ in space. It’s a noirish foray into the underbelly of Ceres Station, an asteroid that’s populated and part of a confederation of asteroids collectively known as ‘The Belt.’ Miller’s story begins with him being assigned a missing persons case that no one wants any part of. In true noir fashion, Miller gets the hell beaten out of him, physically, mentally, and spiritually before ending up about a million miles from where he started. Maybe more. Probably more.

The world building is one of my favorite aspects of LW. It takes place in the future where mankind has colonized much of the solar system. There are three major power players in the system: Earth, Mars, and the Outer Planets. Along with the political intrigue that takes place in the background, and sometimes the foreground, LW addresses minutiae such as the elongated physiology of humans who grow up in low-gravity environments and the stunted psychology of people who grow up on asteroids or planets where everything they eat, drink, and breathe is either shipped in from an outer source or recycled but always taxed.

The science in LW was also enough for me to believe it without issue. I should note, however, that I am stupid. But whenever something is done, it’s given a reason. I don’t know that actual math lies behind it, but the authors did a great job of making everything plausible enough to be believable. It was enough that I could see mankind existing in a future similar to the one in LW.

My personal favorite sciencey aspect of the LW is how spaceships conduct warfare. There are essentially two methods of killing one another in space: warheads and railguns. If you get hit with a warhead, you explode and you die. However, railgun fights are different. The characters refer to shooting someone with a railgun as ‘poking holes’ because that’s exactly what they do. They punch a hole through the outside hull of a ship, straight through everything inside it, then out the far side. Knowing that there’s no way to patch so many holes in the middle of a firefight, one of the preparatory combat maneuvers a ship performs is to suck all of the air out of the ship and store it while all the crew members don space suits as the likelihood of the ship being punctured and losing its atmosphere is almost a certainty.

So if you like sci-fi space opera, I would certainly give ‘Leviathan Wakes’ a shot. There are currently 8 books in the series with another to come out in 2019, so if you like it, you’re set up for about a year or two of solid reading. The show is very good, too!

Rock on.
Kevin Wright
Author of:
Lords of Asylum
The Clarity of Cold Steel
Eldritch City
GrimNoir

Something Borrowed Something Spew - Chapter 5. - The Chronicles of Swamp Lords

Part 5. About Five Minutes Past…

THE HORROR IN THE CRYPT moaned.

Cornmelia hacked on the choking dust of decades.

The horror shifted, undulated, rising from the crypt—

“Huh?” Madam Spew scrubbed her eyes with bloody palms.

The horror erupted groaning from the dust and shadows, a jibbering, shivering two-headed nightmare of slick, pink, many-limbed flesh. Drool coursed from slack-jawed maws as googling eyes blinked in the swirling dark. The nightmare’s two heads fixed on Madam Spew and Cornmelia.

SLAM! Behind, the chamber door jumped.
Muffled voices cried from the main hall.
“Grimnir’s gonads…” Madam Spew averted her eyes from the horror of the crypt.
It was worse than she’d thought.

Worse than a dagger-legged slicerpede…

Worse than an undead Wrackolyte’s unslakened thirst…

Madam Spew made the unholy sign of Grimnir.

Screams and roars from the main hall—

Cornmelia covered her mouth, screaming.
The dust dispersed, unveiling the full horror the crypt, a limb-twisted love pretzel of Lusty Weggins and Stymie.

“Lusty!?” Cornmelia snapped from her stupor. “Stymie? I thought you and I … I thought we…” Cornmelia was at a loss for words, and a second later, a loss for lunch. She doubled over and retched, and retched, and…

“Ew…” Madam Spew gagged. “Isn’t he your brother, Lusty?”

“Her brother, too!” Stymie pointed at Cornmelia with one hand, covering his shame with the other.

Cornmelia continued retching.
Lusty Weggins guffawed and slapped his naked thigh in perverted glee, his own shame left dangling free.

“Move it, perverts!” Madam Spew thrust her head into the crypt, peering through the dust. “What’s down here? Get out.”

Lusty giggled and drooled and slapped his brother on the back … and then doubled over in a mute, heaving, frothing, guffaw until Madam Spew ended his consciousness with a smash from the business end of Cornmelia’s turnip bouquet.

“Is there a tunnel down there?” Madam Spew tossed the bouquet away. “A way out?”
Stymie’s head disappeared into the crypt for an instant then re-emerged. “Naw. Ain’t no tunnel, ma’am. Nothing but a dead old geezer.” He pointed to the decaying carcass of the old Wrackolyte.

“Why’re his robes off?” Madam Spew blinked dust from her huge eyes. “Whoa! Forget I asked.” The crypt lay bare save Lusty Weggins and the dead Wrackolyte. No escape tunnel. No labyrinth. No nothing. Just a shallow hole just big enough to—

“Screw!” Madam Spew cursed.

THOOM!

THOOM!

THOOM!

In the main hall, by the sound of it, someone was apparently bludgeoning a herd of cattle with a giant mallet.

“Where be yon Bride?” A voice of thunder trembled the very foundations of the church. Bricks rained down. “Where be yon Froggy Wrackolyte? Give them to ME! I will save thee, Maiden!”

Bride? Save thee? Lord Slaughterhand! Whoa — he wants to save Cornmelia? He must not have seen her—

“Eeeep!” Stymie ducked into the crypt.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Steel-shod footsteps shattered stone and brick and mortar as someone or something approached the Wrackolyte’s inner sanctum from without.

“What do we do?!” Stymie peeked out.

“Get the Wrackolyte’s robes!” Madam Spew hissed. “Hurry!”

Stymie snatched them up.

“Now get up here!” Madam Spew helped drag him out of the crypt. “Oof — now put them on.”

Stymie pulled them down over himself. They barely made it to his knees. “Too short—”

“Don’t worry.” Madam Spew whacked him in the back of the legs, knocking Stymie to his knees. “Now pull the hood down over your face. Yes!” Madam Spew snatched up Cornmelia’s broken peg leg and stuffed both pieces in her belt. “Cornmelia — on your feet — er, foot. You wearing garters?”

“Uh… Yeah?” Cornmelia struggled to her one foot, arms waving, trying to balance. “Whoa—”

Foot stomps clomped closer—

“What now?” Stymie cried, a puddle forming beneath him.

“Get in the middle of the room. There—” Madam Spew pointed. “You have to be the first thing he sees.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Slaughterhand.”

“Uh…?” Stymie knelt, eyebrow raised. “This seems…?”

“A little to the right.” Madam Spew commanded. Stymie scooched a bit. “Yes! Perfect.”

“Ummm, question.” Stymie raised a finger. “Is this—”

“Shut up. Crouch down low. Lower. Good.” Madam Spew waddled over to him. “When he comes in, you distract him. Just for a second.”

“How?” Stymie asked.

Madam Spew leaned in, whispering in his ear.

“I’m not sure this is…”

“Cornmelia — pull your veil down.” Madam Spew ignored him, hustling to the bride.
“How far?”

“To yer ankles if it’ll go.” Madam Spew drew her ceremonial knife. “And clamp your trap. No matter what — don’t talk.” Madam Spew grabbed Cornmelia’s dress and pulled it up to form a white cloth tunnel. She turned to Stymie and pointed with the knife. “You know your part?”

“Uh…”

“Good.” Madam Spew nodded.

“What are you doing!?” Cornmelia pawed at the hem of her gown.

“Hiding.” Madam Spew scooched under the dress. “Slap yer leg stump on my head. Ooof—” Madam Spew’s vertebrae creaked as Cornmelia settled her weight upon her head. In the sweltering dark she fished for Cornmelia’s garters — found them — and hooked them together under her chin. “Fat … Rrrrrg … stinking … Rrrrg … cow…”

“What?”

“Shut it!” Madam Spew screamed as she poked a peephole in the dress. Cornmelia wobbled above. Precariously. “Pretend you’re shy! I’ll talk. You just cover yer trap. He won’t be able to see good with a knight’s helm on. Don’t say a word.” She pulled open the peephole just in time to see Lusty Weggins’ toothless, bloody face appear guffawing up from the crypt hole.

A voice thundered outside the door, “Wrackolyte! Come to me, Wrackolyte!”

The door exploded inward, spinning off like a tusked-boomerang, cutting Lusty Weggins’ giggling melon head bouncing off.

“What, ho!” A massive mound of man-shaped spike and gleaming gold stood outside the doorway, blocking everything behind. Even the screams of the peasant folk behind were fairly screened out by the monstrosity of steel-encased-flesh. Steam poured like from a dragon’s maw from the ventails of the armored face as the giant ducked, squeezing through the doorway. Golden eyes from deep within the horned helm blazed upon the pathetic form of Stymie, wrapped in the Wrackolyte robes, kneeling, cringing, in a puddle on the floor.

“Uh… ribbit?” He glanced over at Cornmelia.

“Kill the Wrackolyte Frog Priest Bastard!” Madam Spew cried in her best inbred-Sloddergumpian accent. “He done kidnapped me from Veil Athmore! Ooooh, save me. Save me, big strong knight!”

Stymie looked up.

Then he closed his eyes as the spiked monstrosity pulled back in a growl that would have made a saber-toothed lion blanch and then smote forth with all of the fury that ever was or would be — “FOR JUSTICE!” — he roared and reality itself fractured like glass as the Great War Hammer smote Stymie in the chest, collapsing him inward and through, folding and then unravelling him into indigo-wrapped shards of bird bones and a crimson mist.

The armored giant fixed his glare once more upon Cornmelia, and he growled the low primal growl of an insatiated cave bear.