Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 44

On My Shelves: Ghostbusters

The year was 1984, Orwell's year, the year that the Apple Mac first burst onto the scene, also the year I finished graduating from Hudson Valley Community College and moved on to SUNYA to study psychology. It was also the year of the Terminator, of the Karate Kid, and the original Nightmare on Elm Street.

 

And it was the year that Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, Dan Akroyd, and Sigourney Weaver told us who we're gonna call.

 

Ghostbusters begins with a brilliantly atmospheric stage setting, with the New York City Library experiencing a terrifying manifestation of the supernatural. We then are introduced to our main characters, three scientists studying the paranormal at Columbia University: enthusiastic and overly-innocent Ray Stantz, obsessive Egon Spengler with his encyclopedic knowledge of the supernatural, and Peter Venkman, the charismatic but wisecracking and cynical front man who seems to take his "research" little more seriously than the rest of the world does.

 

These three are called in to investigate the events at the Library – and sure enough, encounter a librarian's ghost. An ill-considered attempt to capture the ghost (Ray's plan: "GET HER!") results in the spirit transforming to a horrific apparition that sends the three running in utter terror from the building.

 

Bad fortune piles atop this humiliation, however; they return to Columbia to find they are no longer employed, their grants cut off, and in need of something else to support themselves – a most daunting prospect, as Ray puts it: "Personally, I liked the university. They gave us money and facilities, we didn't have to produce anything! You've never been out of college! You don't know what it's like out there! I've *worked* in the private sector. They expect *results*."

 

Forced into action, the three decide that since they now know that ghosts are real, they use their knowledge of the supernatural to become the world's first paranormal investigators and ghost exterminators – the Ghostbusters. Their first professional call results in… severe collateral damage, but is nonetheless a professional success, as they manage to actually capture the ghost and be paid for their work, despite the hotel manager's initial reluctance:

 

Hotel Manager: Five thousand dollars? I had no idea it would be so much. I won't pay it.

: Well, that's all right, we can just put it right back in there.

: We certainly can, Dr. Venkman.

[turning back to ballroom]

: No, no, no, no! All right! I'll pay anything!

: Thanks so much.

 

Following this, paranormal activity begins to rise spectacularly, and the three eventually become four – hiring an office manager, Janine Melnitz – and then five, hiring Winston Zeddemore to become an additional field man. The Ghostbusters become noted, if peculiar, celebrities, and have multiple cases. But the most important begins when Dana Barrett (played by Sigourney Weaver) opens her refrigerator to find that it's become a portal to Hell…

 

Ghostbusters is that rarity among movies, a comedy that I actually found funny, and still find funny today. I'm pretty picky about my comedy, and many things others find sidesplittingly funny leave me blinking "and… so?"

 

As with one of the other rare examples of this – Galaxy Quest (which, oddly, also features Sigourney Weaver!) – Ghostbusters succeeds in this, at least in part, by taking itself seriously within the story-world. Yes, there's plenty of stuff the audience finds funny, and, sometimes, even the characters do, but it all makes sense within the world they live in, and the stakes they are playing for are all very, very real.

 

Thus, we can laugh while Rick Moranis, as Louis Tully (possessed by Vinz Clortho, the Gatekeeper) reels off a litany of ridiculous-sounding manifestations of Gozer ("many shubs and zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day, I can tell you!"), but then feel the tension and terror of walking into a haunted building after nearly being swallowed by the earth… and then chuckle again as the team realizes they have to take the STAIRS to the top of a skyscraper.

 

Like any great comedy, Ghostbusters is a symphony of perfect timing – even the jump-scare moments are timed to be in service to the next tension-releasing laugh. And, like The Incredibles, Ghostbusters has a vast number of bon mots, lines that are almost endlessly quotable. Perhaps the most famous is "When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes!", but there are dozens of others ("Right, that's bad. Important safety tip, thanks Egon"; Venkman: "Ray's gone bye-bye, Egon; what've you got left?" Egon (in a completely calm, deadpan voice): "Sorry, Venkman; I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought."). Like a few others, this a movie that recalls itself to you and your friends through a few words that replay the entirety of its tension and amusement compressed into instants.

 

It's also clearly written by someone who understood the supernatural investigation world and the literature of the supernatural that preceded it. The jargon parodies the more serious supernatural thrillers, the technological approaches both echo and mock those depicted in other stories, and the plotline is appropriately apocalyptic as any true supernatural disaster movie should be… just twisted around a few degrees to make it ridiculous.

 

Yet not too ridiculous, because we still have to take its threats seriously. The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man seems like a completely silly idea, a concept that should break the suspense and tension permanently… yet it doesn't, because the gigantic thing manages to somehow look threatening, with the expressions of destructive amusement in some ways being more creepy for being put on the face of a parody of the Pillsbury Doughboy crossed with the Michelin Man.

 

This was one of the favorite movies of my youth, and it still holds up well today. Very, VERY highly recommended!

 

 

On My Shelves: Running With the Demon

The spine of the copy of Running With the Demon that I have just says "Fiction"; associations with the author's name invoke a general "fantasy" expectation. Running With the Demon could be considered "urban fantasy", but to me, it's clearly in another genre: modern supernatural horror.

 

This is Terry Brooks playing directly in Stephen King's bailiwick. I found myself thinking a LOT of King's work while reading Running With the Demon, and King suffers badly in the comparison. In this book, Brooks gets to show off a somewhat different style of writing, and demonstrate his skills depicting "regular people". The Shannara books take place in an entirely different world (albeit with the conceit that they are actually this world, after a sort of mystical apocalypse), and the Magic Kingdom books have a comedy slant which drives much of the character action.

 

Here Terry is writing a serious "Novel of Good and Evil", and his characters have to ring true. They have to be people we can imagine living in this world, even if underneath the world we know there is Something Else. And those who are connected to the Something Else we have to at least believe as residents of this world, as capable of hiding their presence from the mundanes.

 

Running With the Demon presents us with a world like our own, but one that is, unbeknownst to most people, under seige; a battleground between Good and Evil, or perhaps between Growth and Creation and Decay and Destruction. The Creator-power, God if you will, is the Word, and the destructive is the Void. Agents for each are selected, or select themselves through their choices.

 

The "demon" of the title is a man who has become a demon, something inhuman, through his own choices. His general approach is to manipulate others to perform destructive acts. His main adversary, a Knight of the Word named John Ross, was chosen for this duty by a sort of manifestation of the Word called the Lady (with connections to imagery from Welsh history/myth and, at least in general imagery, seems related to the Arthurian cycle as well). The two will collide in a small, apparently peaceful town which hides a dark mystical secret, and their clash will also involve one resident of the town with a secret of her own...

 

In a sense Running With the Demon seems to be almost a combination of two King novels, or rather two King novels as they might have been written by a better writer – or, to be fair, written by Stephen King taking the stories more seriously, because King has demonstrated, in stories such as "Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption", that he is a top-notch writer.

 

This is The Stand meets Needful Things, because we have both an apocalyptic threat, a confrontation which may lead to the end of the world, and a story of small-town events, of the ways in which evil can use our own fears and desires against us -- possibly with a soupcon of The Dead Zone, because John Ross can see visions of possible futures -- terrible futures, usually, which it is his job to prevent, but for which he has only the most cryptic of clues as to HOW to prevent them.

 

But Running With the Demon is BETTER than these books. The Stand, in the end, had to use a literal Deus Ex Machina, or possibly Machina ex Dei, the Hand of God, to finish off everything -- and in doing so made virtually all the efforts of the people useless except as symbolic acts (i.e., choosing good over evil). Needful Things allowed the main hero to survive, but at the expense of not merely a few other people but an entire town.

 

Running With the Demon is at least as well written as anything King's done -- and as I said earlier, that is high praise indeed -- but more importantly for me, it's a more optimistic book. The choices of humans -- even ordinary, non-powered, non-Chosen humans -- MATTER. Yes, evil is dangerous, and in any fight against it there will be costs, there will be sacrifices, but there can also be victory, and not just Pyrrhic victory, either.

 

There are indeed losses on the side of Good, and several of them are painful, but none of them are without value. This is a book that brought a tear to my eyes at a few points, and at one ultimate moment a triumphant and appreciative "YES!" for the cleverness of one part of the final resolution.

 

Thank you, Terry. That was a damn good read.

 

On My Shelves: Tom Derringer and the Aluminum Airship

Lawrence Watt-Evans is one of my favorite authors, and he nails this one perfectly.

 

The initial, spoiler-free review: _Tom Derringer and the Aluminum Airship_ is a nigh-perfect recapturing of the spirit of pulp and, really, pre-pulp adventure fiction. Not really steampunk, but close to it, this is more an Edisonade or a Vernian homage in a sense. The language and setting evoke those of the older works, while avoiding the overly-intrusive narration which sometimes will mar older works for new readers.

 

Tom himself is an engaging, straightforward protagonist and his companion Betsy Vanderhart, while not getting quite as much screen-time (it's a purely first-person story from Tom's point of view) is also intelligent, engaging, and capable. This is clearly suited for younger audiences, from about 12 up I would say, and definitely worth even much older readers' time.

 

Somewhat spoilery full review:

 

This is what Jules Verne might have written if he'd grown up in America, and then had the opportunity to come forward in time and write now. There is much of Verne in the setting and language, and indeed the very setup is reminiscent of many similar events in Verne's various works.

 

At the same time, Lawrence Watt-Evans avoids the pitfalls of Verne from the modern view -- the too-tedious detailing of every item and scientific fact, the too-common diversions in the narrator's thoughts, which reduce the impact of events at times for a modern reader unused to these older habits of literary fiction.

 

Tom Derringer is a young man living in an alternate past in which "adventurer" is a recognized avocation of both respect and concern. These are adventurers of the true pulp tradition -- delving into forbidden territories, discovering lost cities and stopping mad scientists, explorers and treasure-hunters and heroes all in one. When he discovers his father's old journals and finds that his father was, in fact, one of the most celebrated adventurers of his time, Tom cannot help but be drawn by the fascination of his father's many adventures, and soon decides that he, too, wants to become an adventurer.

 

The first surprise, for those accustomed to the older stories of this sort, is to see that his mother, while worried, will not stop him -- but instead will help him gain the training he needs to become an adventurer who might survive, rather than die in a blaze of ill-considered glory; trained he is, for years, until at the age of 16, he sets out upon his first adventure -- tracking down a mysterious flying object which is an airship made of the impossibly rare and expensive metal aluminum.

 

Tom is just a joy to follow along with as a reader. His training and background have combined to make him simultaneously more mature than his years, and more innocent than almost everyone he encounters. The combination turns out to be a formidable weapon; he often can use his guileless approach to disarm others' suspicions or, at the least, confuse them into taking different actions than they might have otherwise taken. He has the typical teenager's blithe acceptance of his own invulnerability, which leads him to sometimes forget that fear is a useful warning. But overall he is skilled enough and determined enough to make it through challenges that would daunt, or even defeat, far older men.

 

His companion on most of the adventure, Miss Vanderhart, is similarly self-possessed and skillful; she is Tom's superior in technological areas, able to kitbash up a primitive aqualung in the middle of a jungle with nothing but a few pieces of wreckage and her belt of tools. While there are gentle hints of romance, the story does not focus on this and in fact it is more hinted at through avoidance than anything else.

 

I *love* this kind of stuff. In a way, this reminded me of another recent pulp-novel entry, Harry Connolly's King Khan. I can, somewhat, imagine the latter occurring in the moderate future of Tom Derringer, although it appears that the pulp science is even more extreme in King Khan than in the world of Tom Derringer; still, Tom explicitly mentions things like lizard-men, Shangri-La, mystic temples, and so on, so perhaps not.

 

Tom's world isn't ours; it's clearly an alternate American history, where the world is a stranger, wilder place, a place that needs trouble-shooters -- and that is what the adventurers are for. At the same time, Lawrence Watt-Evans is clearly aware of the real forces of history that would exist, and that can be applied to this novel; the consequences of the European invasion and manifest-destiny conquest of the Americas play a considerable part in the plot.

 

Mostly, though, this is a true-blue adventure novel with our heroes going from one peril to the next and solving them with a combination of luck, skill, and quick wits – a fine and enjoyable ride through a world that is brighter, stranger, and more adventurous than any that really was.

 

The novel ends with an obvious lead-in for another novel, and I very much look forward to seeing any sequels!

 

On My Shelves: JAWS

 

A long time ago – forty years ago, to be exact – summer was considered the "dead time" for movies. It was assumed that most people wouldn't go to movie theaters in the summer, preferring to pursue other activities. But in 1975, that changed, and the "summer blockbuster" was born, with the release of one of Stephen Spielberg's true masterpieces: Amazon instant Video link for Jaws.

Jaws was also the very first movie I ever saw by myself in the theater. No one else in my family was interested in it, so I went to see it on my own… and I'm glad I did.

Sheriff Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) is a New York cop transplanted to Amity Island (a fictionalized version of Martha's Vineyard). Amity seems an idyllic location compared to the streets of New York – although Brody himself has a fear of water and refuses to swim or even go on a boat if he can avoid it.

But then a swimmer is killed by something in the waters off Amity Island, and Brody finds himself plunged into the welter of vacation-island politics and the terror of an invisible killer.

The autopsy of Chrissy, the swimmer, reveals that she was killed by a shark – a very large shark. Brody begins the natural process of closing the beaches in preparation for determining whether this is an isolated incident or not, but he is swiftly stopped by the Mayor, Larry Vaughn (Murray Hamilton), who points out just how much the community depends on "summer dollars" (in another scene, a townsperson says that even twenty-four hours is equal to three weeks at other times of the year), and that it's better to say this was a boating accident. "You yell 'barracuda', and people say 'huh?'. You yell 'shark'… and you've got a panic on your hands on the Fourth of July."

Brody has little choice at that point but to aquiesce, but with the beaches still open, he tries to watch them, to see if there is indeed something there. Unfortunately, there is little that can be done to stop a shark if you aren't literally right on top of it, and a little boy is attacked right in front of a crowd of beachgoers.

This triggers a frenzy of reaction; the natives of Amity know that they must do something to eliminate this killer, to convince people that the beaches are safe, or they lose their livelihood for at least a year. A reward of three thousand dollars is posted for the shark's carcass (about $13,000 in today's money), and a mob of weekend warriors descends upon Amity.

In the midst of the chaos appears a bearded, inoffensive-looking young man, Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfus), oceanographer and shark researcher. Hooper confirms that it was indeed a very large shark that killed Chrissy. When a large tiger shark is caught, it temporarily seems that the horror is over. But Hooper, examining the shark, finds that its mouth simply isn't large enough to have caused the wounds. A late-night autopsy of the shark's stomach proves this; there are no traces of either victim present. Hooper deduces that they are dealing with a rogue shark that has staked out a territory near Amity, and practically drags Brody onto Hooper's research boat to see if they can locate the shark and prove their case to the still-skeptical Mayor.

What they find is the battered, sinking wreck of a fisherman's boat. Diving beneath, Hooper finds a huge tooth ("the size of a shot glass") embedded in the wreckage … and then drops it in shock as the corpse of the fisherman drops into view from within the boat.

Without the tooth or other hard evidence, Vaughn still refuses to close the beaches, and instead advertises that the shark responsible was caught and killed.

During the afternoon, a pair of children causes a panic with a fake shark fin – but at the same time, the real shark enters the "pond", a sheltered saltwater area, and kills another boater in front of Brody's own children.

With this, Brody can finally force a shattered Vaughn to let him do the one thing that might help: hire shark-hunter Quint (Robert Shaw) to track down and kill the shark – something he has said he will do, not for three thousand, but for ten. "For that you get the head… the tail… the whole damn thing."

Quint accepts the contract, and his ship the Orca sets out – with Quint, Matt Hooper, and – facing his own demons – Sheriff Brody as crew.

But they have no idea what they are about to face…

Jaws remains one of the most powerful, perfectly made movies I have ever seen. I was fortunate enough to be able to see it in first release, and – just recently – in the theater for a Fortieth Anniversary celebration. It holds up well today. Yes, there are aspects that are dated (most importantly, the entire "rogue shark" hypothesis has been long busted), but overall it still works in a way that few movies ever do, even when first released.

Even the mechanical shark, while more obviously fake for modern audiences, remains an impressive and creditable effort. We could do better today, yes, but it was a hell of a piece of work and can pass well enough even now.

Jaws is also pretty much the canonical example of "movie was better than the book". The original novel is a slow-moving, murky bit of work, whose main plot is obscured by rather clumsy and unnecessary character interactions (including Matt Hooper having an affair with Brody's wife; this version of Matt Hooper also ends up very dead). Spielberg stripped the book to its key essentials, and the result is a vastly superior story – something that Peter Benchley himself agreed with.

While the shark's presence and actions drive the plot, in the end what makes Jaws work is the interaction of the three main characters: Brody, Hooper, and Quint. At first adversarial in nature – especially between Quint, the ex-military man of the sea, and Hooper, the college-educated ivory-tower researcher – the three men develop a closer bond as they travel in search of the shark, and as they come to grips with the fact that this is no ordinary animal but something almost elemental in its power and extraordinarily cunning.

The pacing of Jaws is absolutely perfect. We are given just enough quiet moments, and occasional comedic moments, to allow us to recover from each shock, each moment of horror, meaning that we can feel the next one fully, immerse ourselves in the moment and become the invisible fourth participants in the hunt for the mightiest predator on Earth.

The film is also filled with bon mots, great and quotable lines. Perhaps the most famous is one which was actually ad-libbed by Roy Scheider and – like many other examples – was recognized by Spielberg as the right line for the moment: "You're gonna need a bigger boat."

Similarly, the scene in which the three men compare scars was, apparently, done when they actually were drunk, and the chilling recounting of the Indianapolis disaster by Quint was improvised entirely by Robert Shaw.

One minor element of that scene, however, hints at something which was eliminated from the movie. During the scar-comparison, Brody pulls up his shirt, looking down. He doesn't say anything, but his face shows he is recalling something traumatic. I have a vague memory of reading something that indicated that when Brody was very young, he had encountered a shark in the water, and that was why he had a fear of water; other entries say he had a near-drowning experience, but then why would he be looking down as though there was a scar?

Jaws changed the face of cinema. It is regarded as the first summer blockbuster, the first movie to go beyond one hundred million dollars in first release (equivalent to about 450 million today), and the top earner of all time until two years later, when Star Wars transformed the world. Jaws, however, was the movie that made Star Wars and all the summer movies possible, proving that not only would people go to the movies in the summer, they'd go in droves.

Another element of the movie that undoubtedly contributed heavily to its success was its hammering, implacable theme, written by John Williams. Williams has several classic themes to his credit, and this is considered one of his very best. The "Jaws theme" is instantly recognizable and as chilling as the sight of a Great White Shark cutting through the water towards you.

I'm not sure, honestly, how many times I've seen Jaws, in whole and in part. It is one of the most rewatchable movies ever, due to the characters, the lines, the visuals all working together in a seamless whole. All that I know for sure is that I found it nearly as thrilling to watch today, forty years later, as I did in 1975, sitting alone in an almost-empty theater. I didn't jump quite as much at the key points – I knew they were coming, this time – but even then, I felt the tension, the shock, the suspense, even now, after all these years.

If you've never seen Jaws, you should. If you have… it's still worth seeing again.

 

 

 

On My Shelves: Big Hero 6

 

Hiro (yes, our Hero is named Hiro) Hamada is a teen genius – 14 and already graduated from high school. Raised by his aunt Cass and his considerably older brother Tadashi, Hiro has yet to find direction for his genius and when we meet him is making money by hustling in "bot fights" – robot combat duels with significant money riding on them. His cockiness almost gets him in serious trouble, since he doesn't recognize that tricking people involved in illegal operations doesn't just get you a stern talking-to. Fortunately big brother Tadashi shows up in time to keep Hiro from losing a few teeth or worse.

Tadashi is about as bright as Hiro, fortunately, and realizes he needs to get through to his brother, and does so by getting him to go to the laboratory where Tadashi works, ostensibly just as a side trip but in reality to show off the incredible work being done by students at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology.

The ploy works; Hiro's absolutely stunned by the group of brilliant students and their work, ranging from a plasma cutting matrix made by Wasabi to the magnetic levitation wheels by Go-Go and the chemical wizardry of Honey Lemon (all the names are in-house nicknames) as well as Tadashi's own project, the healthcare robot named Baymax, and his reaction is that he has to go to this school.

Admission to the school depends on demonstrating that you have what it takes, and Hiro racks his brain for something that will prove, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he's good enough to run with the best. Finally, one of his old battle-bots gives him an idea, and he runs with it, creating what he calls "microbots" – very small robots which can function in directed masses to perform virtually any task that the wearer of the appropriate controller helmet can imagine. These are somewhat similar to the nanotechnological "liquid metal" of the T-1000 from the Terminator series, though much more discrete (each one is about half an inch long and maybe an eighth of an inch thick) and individually having a fair amount of power storage.

His demonstration wins the crowd, and the attention of Dr. Robert Callaghan (in charge of admissions to the Institute) as well as entrepreneur Alistair Krei; an exchange between the two indicates that there's bad blood between them, but the overall tone is positive from both men as to Hiro's invention.

But the night that should be a celebration is shattered when the exhibit hall bursts into flames. Tadashi, knowing Callaghan is still inside, sprints in to save him – and the entire building explodes. Not only is Tadashi killed, and presumably anyone else inside; Hiro's microbot project is destroyed, the only remains being a single microbot.

Hiro is broken by the loss; even the other students, who've come to see Hiro as their little brother as well, can't get him out of it. Even the discovery that Tadashi's robot Baymax is still active barely gets much out of Hiro.

And then the single microbot begins to respond to signals that shouldn't exist…

Big Hero 6 is a grand salute to comics, manga/anime, sentai, and all of modern pop hero culture; it takes all the tropes and uses them, plays with them, and occasionally switches things around, and does so with energy, abandon, and wide-eyed wonder that makes this one of the movies fully worthy of the hype that surrounded it.

Hiro is an excellent shonen protagonist, with enough flaws to challenge him to surpass them, and become the hero he really wants to be. His teammates cover the expected traits – the Big Nice Guy, the Tough Girl, the Chick, the Clown – but do so with panache and their own unique traits that make each one stand out beyond merely their costumes. They're well enough done that I can't really decide which one I like best.

Baymax – the marshmallow-like healthcare robot who becomes the Big Bruiser of the team – is especially well-developed. It is never stated that Baymax has emotions, or that he doesn't; but as time goes on his behavior grows more complex and nuanced. This is partly Hiro's doing; in order to get Baymax to help him accomplish his goal – find the guy who stole his microbots and (presumably) was responsible for the death of Tadashi – he has to frame the requirements in a way that makes Baymax accept this as part of Hiro's healthcare. Baymax does have psychological treatment data, and so this does work… to an extent. But it also means that Baymax comes to understand Hiro, and through him people, far better than Hiro realizes… making Baymax more than the automaton he was when we first meet him.

The major villain, who has stolen Hiro's microbots and is using them for nefarious purposes, is actually quite terrifyingly vicious; he makes it clear that he's willing to kill young people who happen across his secrets, and damn near succeeds twice. Yet even he has a past, and one that may not excuse, but explains, his actions.

It is interesting that, ultimately, even though the group become a superhero team, Hiro himself has no special powers – no blades, super speed, etc. Unlike the typical shonen hero, he's not the frontline man, nor the one who will be battling the Big Bad hand-to-hand in the end. He has armored himself for protection, and given himself communications, because his power is his mind. He's not a warrior – he's a strategist, and as he gets beyond his personal problems and starts to really think, this becomes brilliantly clear. The others are also extremely bright, but Hiro's at least a step above them, and they all realize it – and have no problem being his weapons in the fight against evil.

Oh, and like many movies of today… wait until after the end credits for a final and most amusing scene…

This is one of the most fun movies I've seen in a long time, and I recommend it as highly as possible!

 

On My Shelves: The Atrocity Archives

The idea that thoughts, concepts, mathematics, logic themselves can affect reality is hardly unique. I've previously reviewed The Incompleat Enchanter by Fletcher Pratt and L. Sprague deCamp, in which Harold Shea and Reed Chalmers work out the Mathematics of Magic which allow the users to cross to other worlds, Doctor Who has frequently used the concept (Castrovalva, the Shakespeare Code, etc.) and numerous other authors have taken their turns with it.

The Atrocity Archives is Charlie Stross' take on the concept, done in a more modern and hard-edged manner than most. Bob Howard (not his actual name – I don't think we ever learn it, at least not in this book, and I would guess almost certainly taken from Robert E. Howard of Conan fame, but with middle initials to give him also the initials BOFH, Bastard Operator From Hell, in keeping with his impressive computer-related skills) is an operative for the ultra-top-secret unit of the UK government called "The Laundry". As The Atrocity Archives begins, he is on his first actual field assignment, something he requested as he finds being just their systems operator person somewhat boring.

This quick mission – basically to enter a building, locate some kind of file that a particular person has been working on, and get out with the info – illustrates the operations of the Laundry, the type of person Bob is, and the reason for the Laundry's existence. Yes, magic exists. Yes, it's basically a particular set of applications of mathematics; perform the calculation, you're investing it with energy – information. Unfortunately, that data can resonate with the underlying structure of reality, effectively unlocking doors or signaling to those on the other side that you are present and accessible. Even more unfortunately, many of the Things that are on the "other side" – which is really an infinite number of "other sides", realms of infinite probabilities – are best described as "Lovecraftian" in the worst interpretation of the term.

Thus, the Laundry – and other organizations around the world – watch very closely anyone who seems to be in a field of study that might lead them to discover one of the basic principles or methods that allow the use of this sort of magic. There are many reasons someone might do this, ranging from pure mathematical research without the faintest clue that there's anything more to it, up to someone recognizing just how much power is potentially available and being willing to risk a literal apocalypse to get it.

However, the Laundry is still run by human beings… and it's still part of a bureaucracy. So while the external affairs of the Laundry, and agents like Bob, may be focused on saving the world (or sometimes merely individuals) in whatever way necessary, back inside there are proper reports to fill out, schedules to keep to, internal training courses to attend, and those running the schedules live for such things.

I've seen The Atrocity Archives and its related Laundry novels described as a sort of cross between Dilbert, James Bond, and H. P. Lovecraft. In a way, that's a fair description, but in another it's not. Dilbert's world is driven, to a large degree, by the fact that competence is the enemy of the organization he works in; the Pointy-Haired Boss neither understands the technical issues, nor cares much, as long as the long-term outcome is good for the PHB. The Laundry has extremely competent people in most of its key positions; if it did not, disasters of epic proportions would be the least of the results. The Atrocity Archives is a story of a hard-boiled hacker detective stuck in a Shadowrun universe, forced to work for a terribly pragmatic group of defenders of reality. High-tech combines with ancient sorcery, with Bob being a self-deprecating wiseass hero-by-necessity as our guide.

Bob's real break for fieldwork comes shortly after his simple mission, when what should have been a simple demonstration of summoning goes horribly wrong. Bob is present when the containment of the summoning is violated and makes the correct split-second decision to take down the possessed person instantly.

This is, of course, the key element one looks for in a field agent. It's not the 99% that is, effectively, routine that matters; it's the agent's reaction in that horrific 1% of the time where everything's coming apart that determines just how good he or she can be at the job. Most people panic; some overthink; others take the wrong actions. Having the right instincts, the right preparations, and the ability to make use of both quickly and efficiently is a very, very rare skill, and it's the skill that makes a field agent who they are.

Bob is given an assignment to contact and retrieve a scientist who is currently on American soil who wishes to return to the UK. It turns out that the scientist, Dominique O'Brien, nicknamed "Mo", is one of those who has found a branch of mathematical analysis of interest to the Laundry – and to the equivalent U.S. agencies. This is bad enough; while technically the countries are "friendly", such very valuable, rare, and powerful assets aren't ones either wishes to just let go.

Unfortunately, someone else is also very, very interested in Mo…

Stross' world often rides the edge of my dark tolerance. While Bob's wry delivery and low-key descriptions can sometimes minimize the impact, a lot of the time his very calm and cynical descriptions convey horror far more clearly than Lovecraft's overwrought prose or a more graphic depiction by more modern writers. Bob's slow realization, at one point, of just what kind of truly cosmic horror is about to gain entrance to our universe, and how his own people have made a mistake that may actually throw that door wide, is one of the most chilling sequences (pun intended, if you read it) I have ever read.

To make this work is no mean feat, and there's good reason that Charlie's won a lot of awards, because he pulls it off. The sometimes oppressive mundanity of part of Bob's life serves to both contrast with the dark-majestic horror of the universe, and to give us a breather from apocalypse. We get pulled into the insistently normal as a shield from the mind-destroying monstrosities that surround our reality in the world of the Laundry. Bob has human concerns and fears that are completely normal and ordinary – dating, sleeping, simple comfort – and these help anchor us to him when suddenly his concerns become whether he can manage to prevent something from an alien and hostile universe from entering our own. The humor of his delivery both takes the sting from, and points up in ironic detail, the terror that makes The Atrocity Archives work on a dramatic level.

I enjoyed this book quite a bit – both the main story The Atrocity Archive and The Concrete Jungle, a shorter story in the same universe. They're darker than my normal fare, but I intend to move on a bit and see how it goes. There are plenty of implications that this world could end up way too dark for my preference; this is a world where the government is planning for "Case Nightmare Green", which is in effect "The Stars Are Right and the Great Old Ones Have Returned", with weapons that amount to wirelessly networked technological Gorgons. (I do like Stross' twists on mythological and fictional creatures made Lovecraftian). But it's also possible it will not do so; Bob has so far survived and kept the world alive, maybe he will do so even when CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN comes to pass.

In any event, a highly recommended supernatural modern novel!

Under the Influence: Glinda of Oz

 

The final volume of the fourteen Oz books written by L. Frank Baum sees Ozma and Dorothy on a visit to Glinda, when Dorothy, idly paging through the Great Book of Records, discovers a cryptic notation that the Flatheads and Skeezers – previously unknown inhabitants of Oz – have begun a war. Ozma is determined not to permit war within her borders, and decides to set out directly for these people in the far north of the Gillikin country and convince them to make peace.

 

Glinda tries to convince her, several times, not to get involved, especially by herself. Ozma refuses, saying that now that she is aware of the problem she can no longer ignore it. This is a fairly powerful section of the book, and one of the more thoughtful pieces in the entire series, as we see a considerable debate on the nature of responsibility, caution, and proper ways of addressing conflict within a realm that one is responsible for. Glinda is also concerned by Dorothy's insistence on going, and finally provides her with a ring that can be used to trigger an alarm in Glinda's palace, in case anything truly goes wrong. Dorothy also brings the Nome King's Belt, so she is physically protected.

 

After a journey with a few impediments such as hostile giant spiders and a valley crossed only with the help of fairy Mist Maidens, Ozma and Dorothy reach the first goal, a great flat-topped mountain atop which live the Flatheads. The girls manage to find a way inside the mountain, past an invisible wall placed around the mountain, and climb to the top. There they find the Flatheads – people with literally flat heads, as though cut off just above the brows – who are lead by the Supreme Dictator, or Su-Dic for short, a powerful sorcerer who has taken advantage of the fact that his people carry their brains in external containers (not having, after all, a top to their skulls to hold brains) to capture additional brains for himself.

 

The Su-Dic is an arrogant but clever man who is partially responsible for the war; his people were poaching fish from the lake of the Skeezers, who tried to prevent this; in retaliation, the Su-Dic's wife, who was a magician herself, sought to poison the lake, but was herself transformed into a Golden Pig by the magic of Queen Coo-ee-oh of the Skeezers.

 

The Su-Dic knows who Ozma is, but has no intention of obeying her commands, and tries to imprison the two; fortunately, Ozma is able to render herself and Dorothy temporarily invisible and escape.

 

Having had a taste of the unreasonableness of the Flatheads, Ozma decides to see if Queen Coo-ee-oh can be more reasonable. The Skeezers live in an impressive glass-dome covered city in the middle of a lake, and when Ozma signals from the shore, a magical bridge is extended from the city to the shore to allow them inside.

 

Unfortunately, Queen Coo-ee-oh is vain, arrogant, and refuses even to entertain the idea that her little kingdom is only part of another; she claims to be a vastly more powerful magician, a "Krumbic Witch", and that she will keep Ozma and Dorothy as her subjects after she deals with the Flatheads the next morning.

 

When the attacking force of Flatheads arrives, Coo-ee-oh demonstrates that she was not merely bragging. She first protects her city by causing it to sink beneath the water, leaving the Flatheads no way to reach or harm it, and then goes out to battle the Flatheads themselves using a marvelous submarine boat.

 

Unfortunately, the Su-Dic is able to strike her first with a potion that transforms Coo-ee-oh into a Diamond Swan.

 

Without Coo-ee-oh, no one can raise the island, extend the bridge, or control the submarine boats. Not only are Ozma and Dorothy trapped, but so are all of the Skeezers. Doroth

 

Glinda of Oz is one of the strongest Oz novels. It is purely plot-driven, with scarcely any of the travelogue that was one of Baum's standard techniques. Instead, we are given a tight, multi-threaded plotline that follows first Dorothy and Ozma, then Glinda and an Ozian rescue party, with a third thread – that of a young Skeezer man named Ervic – tying the two finally together.

 

Ervic is another of the rare male characters in Oz who is allowed to do something – although his true effectiveness lies mostly in following directions well and cleverly, despite being frightened by magical events that are far beyond him.

 

Coo-ee-oh learned her magic from three Adepts at Magic, and when she felt she had learned as much as she needed, betrayed and transformed the Adepts to fishes in the lake. The Three Fishes find Ervic – stranded outside his city because he was one of those on board Coo-ee-oh's boat – and have him enact a cunning plan to regain their forms from a nearby magician, a Yookoohoo named Reera the Red, who normally interacts with no one, and helps no one. Ervic's adventure in Reera's domain is one of the creepiest and most atmospheric sections of any of the Oz books, and by itself would make Glinda of Oz stand out.

 

The solution for the submerged city is also cleverly done, and in two parts, with a fair mystery provided for the readers and characters to solve. The resolution is suitably dramatic, even if the wrap-up is fairly quick afterwards.

 

Glinda of Oz is often called "darker" than the other Oz books, though I would not call it any darker than, say, The Scarecrow of Oz; certainly some of the sequences in the latter book match or even exceed in darkness those of Glinda. However, it is a more serious book, more focused on the possible realities of Oz as a country and the consequences of Ozma's rules and the ways in which she chooses to enforce them.

 

Ozma is, put bluntly, a bit too much of a risk-taker. She puts herself in personal danger when she might well have chosen to have some of her friends and allies take point, and this is shown to have been unwise. Her insistence on dealing with the problem personally is shown to have created its own problems, and I have to wonder if Baum might have explored that more had he been able to continue the series further.

 

For purposes of Polychrome, I was certainly influenced by this serious and more nuanced approach to the land of Oz in my development of my own understanding of my version of Oz. Additionally, I decided that both the Su-Dic and Coo-ee-oh would make good choices for Viceroys, and they are mentioned by Ugu during his rant at poor Mombi. Little else specific was used, though I consider Glinda of Oz one of the more … spiritually inspirational of the books for purposes of writing Polychrome.

 

Glinda of Oz is a fine ending piece to the series; if Baum had to finish the series, at least it is ended on a high note, a book well worth reading.

 

 

On My Shelves: The Magic of Oz

With The Magic of Oz we approach the end of the original series, as this is the thirteenth and penultimate book in the novels by Baum himself.

Young Kiki Aru, a boy of the Hyup people who live atop Mount Munch, is a bored and indolent sort of boy, the kind who seems always unwilling to be part of the community around him. One day, however, he discovers the only magical secret his father, Bini Aru, had preserved from the days that Bini Aru was a great Sorcerer: the magical word "Pyrzqxgl", complete with instructions on how to pronounce this peculiar word, which can transform anything into anything else.

This seems an excellent opportunity to relieve his boredom, and so – after very carefully memorizing the pronunciation of the word – he transforms himself into a bird and flies across the Deadly Desert to tour some of the distant lands he has only heard of in tales. When he discovers that in these lands one needs money to, for example, spend a night at an inn, Kiki Aru demonstrates that he has even less conscience than he does social skill, transforming into a bird so he can steal the money he needs and fly away with it.

Another bird witnesses this feat, but Kiki Aru laughs at the bird and, told that he was being wicked, says he's glad.

At this, another voice speaks up, approving of Kiki's attitude – the voice of none other than Ruggedo, the former Nome King.

Once more, Baum decides to ignore his prior continuity in favor of getting to a story he finds interesting; the last time we saw Ruggedo, he had apparently reformed, his experiences at the hands of the motley crew in Tik-Tok of Oz having given him a new perspective in life. Here, Baum has retconned that, deciding to take events from the point that Ruggedo was kicked out and then had a many-pocketed garment made but to stop before his reformation. This version of Ruggedo has been wandering for years, dreaming of revenge, living as well as he might through pocketsfull of brilliant gems but still a wanderer and exile.

In Kiki Aru, Ruggedo sees a perfect opportunity to achieve his true goals of revenge upon those of Oz and to regain his kingdom. While Kiki Aru is far too clever to allow Ruggedo to simply take the secret of the magic word, he is in no way a match for a devious villain like Ruggedo, who knows that Kiki Aru's "wickedness" is really mere childish spite and contrariness than anything else.

Between the two of them, they devise a quite clever plan to travel to Oz – using only forms of birds and beasts, so that Glinda's book will not record their actions – and raise an army from the beasts of Oz by convincing the beasts that they are in fact the secondary and oppressed people of Oz. After the revolution, Kiki Aru will be able to transform the beasts into people (to occupy and make use of the human cities) and transform the former people into beasts and exile them to the wilds. This isn't at all a bad plan in outline, especially for a children's book, and the two proceed to carry it out.

In the meantime, we find that Ozma's birthday is fast approaching. As with The Road to Oz, it is expected that her birthday will be quite a celebration, and all of her close friends are trying to devise some gift or performance that they can provide the Fairy Ruler with that she couldn't get herself. Dorothy, having a hard time figuring out what to do, asks her friends, getting various apropos answers – the Tin Woodman's making her a girdle of tin nuggets set with emeralds, the Scarecrow some woven straw slippers set with gems, and so on – but it is ultimately Glinda that gives her the idea of making a special cake. Between her and the Wizard, they decide on a cake which will, in the center, house a number of miniature monkeys; the monkeys will emerge upon the cake being cut, perform, then serve the cake.

Of course, this means that they'll need to find some monkeys and convince them to go along with the plan…

In basic structure, The Magic of Oz is rather similar to The Emerald City of Oz; there is a powerful and unsuspected force preparing to destabilize or destroy Oz – led in both cases by the Nome Ruggedo – while at the same time a much more innocuous set of adventures happen which are ostensibly not connected to the main plot.

However, The Magic of Oz improves significantly on this plot by both connecting the Wizard and Dorothy's journey with that of the conspirators Kiki Aru and Ruggedo (by the fact that the forest of beasts the conspirators chooses turns out to be the same forest in which Dorothy and the Wizard go to find the monkeys they need), and by making one of the secondary missions, the search for a particular Magic Flower for Ozma by Trot and Cap'n Bill, much more than a mere travelogue but instead a venture with considerable difficulty and peril that results in the two being trapped on an isolated island in desperate need of the Wizard's assistance.

Baum's characterization is also more carefully thought out. The failure of the conspirators' plans comes from Kiki Aru's perfectly understandable panic when he sees the Wizard and party arrive, fearing that the newcomers will discover the plot and turn the beasts against him and Ruggedo. He therefore attempts a very ill-advised pre-emptive strike, transforming the entire party from the Emerald City and then even transforming Ruggedo when the latter tries to stop him.

The resolution of this main plot turns out to be less of a deus ex machina than some others, as well, since it relies on the Wizard of Oz discovering the secret of the magic word (although there is a considerable bit of author-arranged luck involved).

Very little of The Magic of Oz was used in my development of Polychrome; about the only relevant piece was the explicit statement that only humans and humanoids were tracked by the Book of Records. This point was vital for the plans of Ugu and Mrs. Yoop/Amanita.

Overall, The Magic of Oz is a good second-tier Oz novel – not quite at the level of the best, but clever, with a tighter plot than many and with some excellent and even tense sequences in which our friends appear to actually be in some real peril.

 

 

On My Shelves: The Tin Woodman of Oz

 

Woot the Wanderer is, as his name says, a wanderer of Oz, originally from the Gillikin country, who arrives in his travels at the Palace of the Tin Woodman. That worthy, always interested in newcomers, has Woot brought in and asks him to tell of himself and his travels. But after this, as Woot is enjoying a dinner (which, naturally, neither the Tin Woodman nor his current companion, the Scarecrow, partake of), Woot asks how the Woodman came to be made of tin.

 

The Woodman recounts the story – how he came to love a Munchkin girl named Nimmie Amee, how the Witch for whom she worked learned of this and, when Nick Chopper (the Woodman's true name) refused to give up his suit for Nimmie Amee's hand, enchanted his axe to cut Nick instead of the wood, and how as he successively lost pieces of himself, a tinsmith that he was acquainted with replaced the pieces with functional and bright tin limbs. But as he reaches the end of the tale, the Tin Woodman realizes – with prompting by Woot – that he has made a dreadful error of action.

 

In the end, he had left Nimmie Amee not because she ceased to love him – for she actually preferred him as tin – but because, having lost his heart, he could no longer love her, so he set out on a quest to find a heart. Then, caught in a rainstorm, he rusted and stood for an unknown time until Dorothy rescued him, and by the time he actually gained a heart, Nimmie Amee had been nearly forgotten.

 

(There are some inconsistencies in this story compared to the original in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz – for example, Nimmie Amee's mistress was not the Witch herself, and it was also implied that rather than being caught in some random forest, the Woodman had been standing rusted not far from his own cabin (thus the convenient oilcan in the cabin). For purposes of this novel, we take this new set of events as canon.)

 

This error of action the Woodman immediately resolves to attempt to remedy; he will find Nimmie Amee, and, if she still loves him, will bring her back with him to be Empress of the Winkies, even though his heart, alas, is merely a kind and not a loving heart, and so he will be fond of her, but not in love with her.

 

Woot and the Scarecrow accompany him on this quest. They elect to avoid the Emerald City by going slightly north through part of the Gillikin country, and are temporarily captured by the Loons, a race of balloon-people who dislike trespassers. They manage to escape without much difficulty, however, and continue on until they find themselves in a valley with a single structure, an immense purple stone castle which is in reality more like a rectangular house with two enormous doors and two small windows.

 

Approaching, they find that there is a nameplate on the castle: "YOOP CASTLE". The Scarecrow remembers that Mr. Yoop, the Giant, is imprisoned in a cage far, far away, and the travelers decide this means that it is deserted and they can use it for shelter.

 

They are wrong. Living within the castle, alone and perfectly contented to do so, is Mrs. Yoop, the giantess, and a Yookoohoo – a magician whose power is to transform one thing into another, without apparent limit.

 

And Mrs. Yoop, while of a calm and unruffled demeanor, does not like trespassers… and does like to amuse herself.

 

Here we meet the second of the primary villains of Polychrome, and a frightening woman she is, allowing for Baum's target audience. Mrs. Yoop has already captured and transformed into a canary none other than Polychrome, Daughter of the Rainbow, despite all of Polychrome's own inherent power. She imprisons the group within her castle, shows no fear of even Ozma's retribution, and carefully and calmly decides what amusing shapes to transform the adventurers into. Even more frightening is the fact that she can actually include mental attitudes as part of a transformation; when Woot is changed into a green monkey, he is furious… until she says that he's perfectly happy and contented, and then he is.

 

Woot and the others realize that they are in terrible danger. Intellectually Woot still wants his own form, but he knows that with her powers it would not take very long for Mrs. Yoop to make him accept and eventually enjoy his new shape and role in life. Fortunately, with Polychrome's help they are able to discover one of the keys to Mrs. Yoop's power, the lace apron she wears, and steal it. They escape, leaving the castle locked behind them so she cannot pursue (at least, until she makes another apron or similar device). Unfortunately they cannot use the apron's power to undo the enchantment; Mrs. Yoop had warned them that she could not UNdo her transformations, and this appears to be the case.

 

But they are free, and after a few adventures including a hungry Jaguar and several Dragons, the group head south, hoping to eventually reach Glinda the Good. But Ozma and Dorothy have seen Mrs. Yoop's deeds in the Magic Picture, and so by following their travels manage to meet our friends at the ranch of none other than our old friend Jinjur, former leader of the Army of Revolt.

 

Ozma manages to break the transformations of Polychrome, the Scarecrow, and Tin Woodman, but Woot's is not so easily done; it seems that the Green Monkey form must always exist, and while it can be transferred, the one to whom it was transferred would then be stuck forever as the Green Monkey. This seems a conundrum, since it would be unfair to ask someone else to bear that burden, until Polychrome points out the obvious symmetry; transfer the shape of the Green Monkey to Mrs. Yoop – which not only permits Woot to regain his old shape, but removes Mrs. Yoop's ability to use her Yookoohoo magic, a suitable punishment for her crimes.

 

With their forms restored, the little group can then resume their quest…

 

The Tin Woodman of Oz is one of the most uneven of the Oz books, and probably the one I least like overall, even though it has some very nice elements within it.

 

The overall quest and its resolution – discovering first that the Tin Woodman was not the only Tin Man in the world, that said Tin Soldier (named Captain Fyter) had fallen in love with the same girl in the years that Nick Chopper had stood rusted in the forest, and finally that Ku-Klip, the tinsmith, had made a combined man from their remains, a man called Chopfyt… who ended up marrying Nimmie Amee – is simultaneously a letdown, and a rather low-comedy letdown at that. It does not paint Nimmie Amee in a good light, either – and indeed none of the primaries in this love quadrangle come out of it looking terribly good. In this sequence I think I see something of Baum's stage ideas leaking into the story without being hammered into a shape more suited for a novel.

 

Despite being quest-guided, this book also has more of the "travelogue" feel, and a lot of the little events along the way seem to serve little more purpose than to add a bit of whimsy – and page count – to the novel. In all honesty, I think The Tin Woodman of Oz hits its peak in the encounter with Mrs. Yoop and its resolution.

 

This novel did, however, provide me with the character of Mrs. Yoop, the second and perhaps more powerful of the two main villains of Polychrome. Allowing for what a children's author would put into a book, and judging by her sociopathic behavior, once I was older I deduced that Mr. Yoop had probably done far worse to Mrs. Yoop than "kick me in the shin", and done it for a long time. No wonder she was utterly unconcerned with his disappearance, and indeed happy he was gone. Her power, her intelligence, her ability to plan and her cold calculation hidden behind beauty and control, made her a perfect candidate for a villain. And the anger, fear, and hatred engendered by being forced to endure, for countless years, the near-powerless form of the Green Monkey would take those elements and transform her, in turn, into something far worse.

 

Still, this is definitely one of the weakest Oz novels, and if you were going to skip one… well, I'd say read this one up to the point that the Green Monkey is transferred, and then move on.

 

 

Under the Influence: The Lost Princess of Oz

 

Eleventh in the series, The Lost Princess of Oz follows up on Rinkitink in Oz with another excellent tale, one of the best in the canon, and one of those most deeply influential in my writing of Polychrome.

Dorothy Gale, going to Ozma's rooms to ask if she and her friends Betsy and Trot could take the Saw-Horse and royal carriage to visit the Munchkin country, discovers that Ozma has disappeared; even more disturbing, her Magic Picture is gone, so they cannot use it to discover where Ozma is. Shortly, they learn that Glinda's entire arsenal of magical materials, including the Great Book of Records, has also vanished, as have all of the Wizard of Oz' magical tools and implements. Some agency has, in the space of a few hours of a single night, removed all of the magical possessions and records of the three most powerful people in all Oz – and kidnapped one of them, Ozma herself, in the bargain!

At the same time, a seemingly less important, but no less perplexing, theft has occurred in the Munchkin country, in the country of the Yips atop Mount Munch: Cayke the Cookie-Cook's diamond-studded gold dishpan has vanished. Not only is this event shocking in and of itself – no theft has ever been recorded in the history of the Yips – but also the thief appears to have been someone not native to the country at all.

Desperate to recover her heirloom, Cayke appeals to the being known as the Frogman, a huge, dandified frog who is considered the most intelligent and capable being in that country, to assist her. After a short time, the Frogman agrees and the two set out.

Once away from the other Yips, Cayke admits that she has more than sentimental reasons for retrieving her dishpan; apparently the pan is magical, and is responsible for her being able to make perfect cookies over and over, without fail, as well as be a generally good cook for anything else as well. Her very first failure to cook anything happened the morning the dishpan disappeared.

The Frogman, for his part, is something of a humbug; while he is quite intelligent and thoughtful, he has spent years pretending to be smarter and wiser than he actually is, and to some extent has come to believe his own publicity. Nonetheless, despite his pomposity and, at first, self-aggrandizing behavior, the Frogman is a good sort, and really does feel badly for Cayke.

Unfortunately for the Frogman – or perhaps very fortunately – after a day or two of travel, he comes across the Truth Pond (which we may recall from The Road to Oz) and bathes in it, unaware of its nature until afterwards. This forces him to be completely truthful with himself and others. While this turns out to be a bit of a shock to Cayke, who has to accept that her companion is far less capable than she thought, it has a very salutary effect on the Frogman himself; such self-awareness and honesty swiftly eliminates his false pride and allows him to address later problems directly and honestly.

Dorothy and the others quickly organize search parties to look for Ozma; Dorothy's includes many of our favorite characters including Dorothy, the Wizard, Button-Bright, the Woozy, the Patchwork Girl, and the Cowardly Lion, among others. On their journey, they encounter several obstacles and interesting people, including the Merry-Go-Round Mountains – large hills which spin at high speed and can only be crossed by a risky and clever method devised by the Patchwork Girl; the thistle-eating people called the Thists; and the fragile-looking yet incredibly strong Herkus.

In the city of the Herkus, they finally discover a lead – the existence of a former Herkus named Ugu the Shoemaker, who became a powerful wizard recently and withdrew to an indestructible wicker castle which he constructed in a single day.

Cayke and the Frogman also discover Ugu's involvement with the help of the Lavender Bear, King of Bear Center – a small civilization of stuffed bears – and his most precious possession (or possibly subject), the Pink Bear, who is a powerful clairvoyant able to speak of what he sees in any location howsoever distant, as long as the crank in his side is turned.

The two parties encounter each other, and join forces to confront the mysterious sorcerer Ugu, who has captured all the known magic of Oz…

Unlike some of the earlier books, this is not a travelogue, but an adventure with a clear beginning and goal, far more powerful and coordinated than many other books. Baum also maintains the mood of the adventure, not disrupting it with unneeded comedy, and presents us with various clues and secondary mysteries which the reader could solve, if they were clever enough, before they are revealed.

Allowing for the target audience, Ugu is one of the most formidable adversaries ever seen in the Oz novels. Unlike the petulant Ruggedo, he is a man of action, one quite willing and able to directly address whatever impediments may lie between him and his goals – and in addition to his powerful magical talents, he has vast physical strength as do all of the Herkus. As the descendant of the most powerful magician ever to live (stated in the book), he can master any form of magic swiftly and surely, and thus not only has deprived his enemies of their powers through his thefts, but has significantly augmented his own.

His defeat comes not from any true error on his part – other than arrogance – but through, as Burt Gummer of Tremors might say, being "denied critical, need-to-know information!". Specifically, his information sources did not include knowledge of the Nome King's Magic Belt being captured in the relatively recent past by Dorothy, and thus even Dorothy's minimal control over the Belt's vast powers are sufficient to turn the tables. (Baum skips over the fact that with Glinda's Book of Records he could have easily discovered this, but I don't mind; as I mentioned before in my discussion of the Book, the amazing thing is that ANYONE ever finds anything useful in it)

This is one of the most important Oz books for the purposes of Polychrome. One of two major adversaries, Ugu, comes from this book, and many other elements of this novel contributed to the design and plot of my own – not the least being the decision to not have Ugu do one of the classic blunders of many villains.

Said blunder, of course, being to have carried off an extremely well-thought out plan which is disrupted by unforeseen circumstances, and then, given another chance, ignoring the fact that they HAVE a well-thought-out plan that DID succeed and could be PERMANENTLY successful if they just make a few changes. Ugu, in Polychrome, re-enacts his prior plan, but this time with additional measures to make sure no one has the chance to undo what he has done.

I recommend The Lost Princess of Oz as highly as I did Rinkitink in Oz and The Scarecrow of Oz, and they make a fine triplet to read together!