Warren Rochelle's Blog, page 28
August 1, 2011
“Other Voices, Other Worlds: A Review of The Called,
“Other Voices, Other Worlds: A Review of The Called, by Warren Rochelle.”
By F. Brett Cox
North Carolina Literary Review 20 (2011): 148-149.
One of the most compelling aspects of science fiction and fantasy literature is its ability to dramatize, indeed to make literal, the Other: the unfamiliar, the strange, the unsettling, the frightening. When confronted with genuine difference, how do we respond? Do we retreat, do we embrace, or – more likely – do we attack? And no matter how fascinating the portrayal of the Other, the ultimate power of such a scenario lies not in the creation of the aliens or the fairies or the vampires or the world that is not ours, but in what our responses to such Otherness tell us about ourselves.
Such an exploration is the heart of Warren Rochelle's new novel, The Called, and its predecessor, Harvest of Changelings (2007). In the earlier novel, Rochelle posits a fundamental change in our world in 1991 with the revelation of the existence of a land of Faerie, a reality parallel to our own. Travel between the two realities is possible and has been going on for centuries, including – inevitably – interbreeding between human and fey. The residents of Faerie organize themselves into "tetrads," intensely bonded units whose members each represent one of the four classic elements: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. But for those on Earth who are part fey – the "changelings" – finding and joining with one's natural tetrad is a daunting task. Harvest of Changelings details the journey of Malachi, born to a fairy mother and human father, as he learns his true origin and finds the other members of his tetrad: Hazel, a precocious orphan being raised by kind but emotionally distant grandparents; Russell, the rebellious and embittered product of a violent and intolerant human family; and Jeff, the survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of his father. In forming their tetrad, Malachi, Hazel, Russell, and Jeff discover their special mission to fight the Fomorii, monstrous residents of a land of empty darkness who are a threat to both Earth and Faerie.
In the Prologue to The Called, we learn that, having pushed back the Fomorii, Malachi and the rest of the tetrad cross over to Faerie, where they live happily while growing and learning their powers and natures. However, back on Earth, the "Change" has given rise to a severe backlash against "magicals," leading to Malachi and Hazel's returning to Earth to help other magicals deal with their own unique status as well as the increasingly violent bigotry of the mundanes. In the novel's first chapter, it is 2012, two decades after the Change, and Malachi, by now a famous public advocate for magical rights, is kidnapped by members of the Ordinary Union, the most violent of the anti-magical forces.
Sensing that a member of their tetrad is in danger, Jeff and Russell return to Earth to help Hazel find Malachi, only to find themselves embroiled in nothing less than a second American Civil War. Here Rochelle makes a very interesting choice: the revelation of the magicals in 1991 led to a different history than our own. George H. W. Bush was re-elected President in 1992; Dan Quayle followed, only to be assassinated early in his second term; in 2012, Al Gore is
completing his second term when a military coup forces him from office, However, the ultimate force behind the coup is not the Ordinary Union, but the Fomorii, who have returned, determined to overwhelm both Earth and Faerie. As in Rochelle's previous novel, North Carolina is Ground Zero for the passage between Earth and Faerie, and the leader of the Fomorii assumes human shape as Magon, the military leader of the state.
The Called is a novel of almost continuous action and conflict, as Hazel, Jeff, and Russell ally themselves with the forces of resistance to the Ordinary Union, forces concentrated in western North Carolina and calling on a different but related set of magical capabilities from the traditions of the Cherokee. Like Harvest of Changelings, The Called spends most of its time with the four members of the tetrad, although the primary focus shifts from Malachi (who spends most of the novel languishing in a cell in Gimghoul Castle in Chapel Hill) to Russell, whose childhood bitterness and distrust have never fully left him and who is on the verge of being overcome by doubts about their mission and fears for the safety of Jeff, his lover within the tetrad. However, Rochelle introduces a very large cast of supporting characters, all of whom are at one time or another represented from their own point of view, and all of whom have their roles to play in the nonstop sequence of kidnappings, skirmishes, betrayals, and, by the second half of the novel, apocalyptic violence. (Magon's strategies for subduing the
population include a massacre in "the Pit," the common area on the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill, and the firebombing of Winston-Salem.) Late in the game, a second tetrad crosses over from Faerie to assist Russell and company, and the inevitable final confrontation with the Fomorii yields triumph, tragedy, and the promise of even more radical change as the novel concludes on December 21, 2012: the "reconvergence" famously forecast by Mayan tradition.
In an era when both publishers and audiences seem to crave multi-volume fantasy sagas that never end, Rochelle has gone in the opposite direction, producing a novel that, despite its 366 pages, feels almost short. (The events of the Prologue alone could have formed the basis for a separate novel.) There is a lot going on here, and the less attentive reader may struggle to keep both characters and events straight in this narrative of continual incident embedded in an intricate mix of varying mythological traditions. However, despite the often frenetic level of action, Rochelle modulates the overwhelming events of the story through the emotional responses of the tetrad and a few of the many supporting characters: Ed, Jeff's abusive father, who has aligned himself with Magon and the forces of darkness; Father Jamey, a changeling priest who serves as mentor and guide to the tetrad; and, perhaps most memorably, the young human Reese, whose initial service to the tetrad is undercut by his own thwarted desires, forcing the tetrad, Russell in particular, to face the inescapable fact of human frailty, and the equally inescapable need for forgiveness. The elaborate interweaving of Native American and European mythological traditions is worked out in careful, intriguing detail. Rochelle vividly and concretely renders the diverse landscapes of his native state: although most of the action takes place in the mountains and piedmont, the final battle to close off from the Fomorii the main gateway to Faerie takes place on Roanoke Island. (And yes, we are given an explanation for the Lost Colony.)
But beyond issues of narrative strategy or mythological exploration, The Called, like all seriously intended works of the fantastic, is relative to our own time and place, leading back to the fundamental problem of the Other. It is surely no accident that several of the main characters in this story are gay, just as it is surely no accident that the bigoted rhetoric of the Ordinary Union is disturbingly familiar to anyone living in early twenty-first century America. Rochelle watches and reads the same news as the rest of us, news that often seems to record nothing
but a continual abandonment of common sense and common decency. The Called tells us that difference is not a threat, that difference can safely be embraced, that things can, indeed, be different – concepts that are never easy to convey or accept. We should be grateful to Warren Rochelle, and to any author, who insists on telling such a story, and who gets us to listen.
Please see the North Carolina Literary Review for more reviews, stories, and poems: http://www.nclr.ecu.edu/
By F. Brett Cox
North Carolina Literary Review 20 (2011): 148-149.
One of the most compelling aspects of science fiction and fantasy literature is its ability to dramatize, indeed to make literal, the Other: the unfamiliar, the strange, the unsettling, the frightening. When confronted with genuine difference, how do we respond? Do we retreat, do we embrace, or – more likely – do we attack? And no matter how fascinating the portrayal of the Other, the ultimate power of such a scenario lies not in the creation of the aliens or the fairies or the vampires or the world that is not ours, but in what our responses to such Otherness tell us about ourselves.
Such an exploration is the heart of Warren Rochelle's new novel, The Called, and its predecessor, Harvest of Changelings (2007). In the earlier novel, Rochelle posits a fundamental change in our world in 1991 with the revelation of the existence of a land of Faerie, a reality parallel to our own. Travel between the two realities is possible and has been going on for centuries, including – inevitably – interbreeding between human and fey. The residents of Faerie organize themselves into "tetrads," intensely bonded units whose members each represent one of the four classic elements: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. But for those on Earth who are part fey – the "changelings" – finding and joining with one's natural tetrad is a daunting task. Harvest of Changelings details the journey of Malachi, born to a fairy mother and human father, as he learns his true origin and finds the other members of his tetrad: Hazel, a precocious orphan being raised by kind but emotionally distant grandparents; Russell, the rebellious and embittered product of a violent and intolerant human family; and Jeff, the survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of his father. In forming their tetrad, Malachi, Hazel, Russell, and Jeff discover their special mission to fight the Fomorii, monstrous residents of a land of empty darkness who are a threat to both Earth and Faerie.
In the Prologue to The Called, we learn that, having pushed back the Fomorii, Malachi and the rest of the tetrad cross over to Faerie, where they live happily while growing and learning their powers and natures. However, back on Earth, the "Change" has given rise to a severe backlash against "magicals," leading to Malachi and Hazel's returning to Earth to help other magicals deal with their own unique status as well as the increasingly violent bigotry of the mundanes. In the novel's first chapter, it is 2012, two decades after the Change, and Malachi, by now a famous public advocate for magical rights, is kidnapped by members of the Ordinary Union, the most violent of the anti-magical forces.
Sensing that a member of their tetrad is in danger, Jeff and Russell return to Earth to help Hazel find Malachi, only to find themselves embroiled in nothing less than a second American Civil War. Here Rochelle makes a very interesting choice: the revelation of the magicals in 1991 led to a different history than our own. George H. W. Bush was re-elected President in 1992; Dan Quayle followed, only to be assassinated early in his second term; in 2012, Al Gore is
completing his second term when a military coup forces him from office, However, the ultimate force behind the coup is not the Ordinary Union, but the Fomorii, who have returned, determined to overwhelm both Earth and Faerie. As in Rochelle's previous novel, North Carolina is Ground Zero for the passage between Earth and Faerie, and the leader of the Fomorii assumes human shape as Magon, the military leader of the state.
The Called is a novel of almost continuous action and conflict, as Hazel, Jeff, and Russell ally themselves with the forces of resistance to the Ordinary Union, forces concentrated in western North Carolina and calling on a different but related set of magical capabilities from the traditions of the Cherokee. Like Harvest of Changelings, The Called spends most of its time with the four members of the tetrad, although the primary focus shifts from Malachi (who spends most of the novel languishing in a cell in Gimghoul Castle in Chapel Hill) to Russell, whose childhood bitterness and distrust have never fully left him and who is on the verge of being overcome by doubts about their mission and fears for the safety of Jeff, his lover within the tetrad. However, Rochelle introduces a very large cast of supporting characters, all of whom are at one time or another represented from their own point of view, and all of whom have their roles to play in the nonstop sequence of kidnappings, skirmishes, betrayals, and, by the second half of the novel, apocalyptic violence. (Magon's strategies for subduing the
population include a massacre in "the Pit," the common area on the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill, and the firebombing of Winston-Salem.) Late in the game, a second tetrad crosses over from Faerie to assist Russell and company, and the inevitable final confrontation with the Fomorii yields triumph, tragedy, and the promise of even more radical change as the novel concludes on December 21, 2012: the "reconvergence" famously forecast by Mayan tradition.
In an era when both publishers and audiences seem to crave multi-volume fantasy sagas that never end, Rochelle has gone in the opposite direction, producing a novel that, despite its 366 pages, feels almost short. (The events of the Prologue alone could have formed the basis for a separate novel.) There is a lot going on here, and the less attentive reader may struggle to keep both characters and events straight in this narrative of continual incident embedded in an intricate mix of varying mythological traditions. However, despite the often frenetic level of action, Rochelle modulates the overwhelming events of the story through the emotional responses of the tetrad and a few of the many supporting characters: Ed, Jeff's abusive father, who has aligned himself with Magon and the forces of darkness; Father Jamey, a changeling priest who serves as mentor and guide to the tetrad; and, perhaps most memorably, the young human Reese, whose initial service to the tetrad is undercut by his own thwarted desires, forcing the tetrad, Russell in particular, to face the inescapable fact of human frailty, and the equally inescapable need for forgiveness. The elaborate interweaving of Native American and European mythological traditions is worked out in careful, intriguing detail. Rochelle vividly and concretely renders the diverse landscapes of his native state: although most of the action takes place in the mountains and piedmont, the final battle to close off from the Fomorii the main gateway to Faerie takes place on Roanoke Island. (And yes, we are given an explanation for the Lost Colony.)
But beyond issues of narrative strategy or mythological exploration, The Called, like all seriously intended works of the fantastic, is relative to our own time and place, leading back to the fundamental problem of the Other. It is surely no accident that several of the main characters in this story are gay, just as it is surely no accident that the bigoted rhetoric of the Ordinary Union is disturbingly familiar to anyone living in early twenty-first century America. Rochelle watches and reads the same news as the rest of us, news that often seems to record nothing
but a continual abandonment of common sense and common decency. The Called tells us that difference is not a threat, that difference can safely be embraced, that things can, indeed, be different – concepts that are never easy to convey or accept. We should be grateful to Warren Rochelle, and to any author, who insists on telling such a story, and who gets us to listen.
Please see the North Carolina Literary Review for more reviews, stories, and poems: http://www.nclr.ecu.edu/
July 8, 2011
Review of Wolf Moon, by Charles de Lint
Wolf Moon by Charles de LintMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
I'm a Charles de Lint fan, but I have mostly read his novels set in Newford, his imagined Canadian city where the magical and the mundane intersect, where "ancient myths and magic spill into the modern world." Ghosts wander its streets, and the Gentry, who followed the Irish emigrants from the old country to the new, still cause trouble, and sometimes come into conflict with the magical beings already here, those associated with Native Americans. Music and art are often a part of this magic.
And this summer, as part of my research for my current novel-in-progress, The Werewolf and His Boy (the working title), I am reading a fair bit of fiction about werewolves of one kind or another. Which brings me to Wolf Moon, by Charles de Lint, a tale not set in Newford or in Canada, but rather in a kingdom far away, and once upon a time. There is music, a harper, and a magical being, little people, and a werewolf, a innkeeper's niece, and there is a love story, and a community--all vintage de Lint--and vintage fairytale--and ballad.
But--this is early de Lint, published in 1988, and there is the promise of the lyrical tales that come later. The "once upon a time" language is not as smooth as I am used to with de Lint's fiction. But the premise is sound. As he describes it:
"I remember thinking ... how so many high fantasy novels were BIG stories involving nations, worlds, races of men, and magical beings. I wanted to read a smaller story about more ordinary people--people whose destiny wasn't to save the world, but rather to make some sense out of their own small lives (which for each of us is the big story.
I also thought it would be fun to read a novel in which the noble, magical harper turned out to be a cad, while the fearsome, monstrous werewolf was actually a pretty nice guy. I suppose it was the beginning of my interest in writing about marginalized people--outsiders, if you will . . ."
So, we have the story of Kern, a werewolf, a shapechanger, scorned and cast out by his parents, his beloved--their love too easily transformed into hate--and on the road for a long time. He falls afould of Tuiloch, a harper who can call up monsters with his music, and is something of a monster himself. He has killed more than once. Kern escapes Tuiloch's monster-hunter and finds himself, after almost drowning, at the Inn of the Yellow Tinker and Ainsley and for the firs time since Kern was a child, a family, a home, and people who loved him and whom he loved.
Kern and Ainsley, the innkeeper's niece (and half-owner of the inn) fall in love. So, can he keep his true nature hidden? Should he? Kern begins to feel safe--then, the harper, who is still looking for Kern, comes to the valley.
I enjoyed reading Wolf Moon--and I added to my knowledge of werewolf lore. De Lint's later novels, like Forests of the Heart, The Ivory and the Horn, and Moonlight and Vines, are much stronger and more beautiful. But this isn't bad.
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July 3, 2011
Review of Tales from The Midnight Shift, by Mark Allan Gunnells
Tales from the Midnight Shift Vol. 1 by Mark Allan GunnellsMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
From Mark Allan Gunnells, author of A LAYMON KIND OF NIGHT and ASYLUM, comes 15 tales of terror. A traffic jam, a travelling circus, a small-town high school…horror can lurk in the most seemingly innocent places.
That's the brief summary provided by Goodreads and on the book cover and is accurate,just not too detailed. I wish the cool cover that my copy has could be shown--a crazed night watchman, a creature lurking in the shadows--Mark has some creeeepy stories here. I am not usually a big horror fan, but a good story is a good story.
What lurks within this volume beyond the brief description provided? Here is a sampling:
"God Doesn't Follow You Into the Bathroom":
A crazed minister believes just that and inside the bathroom is horror.
"Jam":
Here, Mark ventures into the surreal, the nightmare of the ordinary. Elliott is late for work. He gets stuck in traffic. All lanes are stopped. Cell phones don't work. And nothing, nothing, is moving. For hours, for days, and those stranded are slipping, falling into dark madness. Those who for help are never seen again. The mad descend into various hell.
Is that where Elliott and the others are stuck? In purgatory? Is there a way out?
"Acts 19:19 Party":
Book-burnings, a preferred activity of those who are convinced that they know what is best for everybody else and that the burnings will save imperiled souls.
Suppose the books take revenge?
"The Room Where No One Died":
Cole and Shaw, partners, have a new house, but one room seems to be haunted. The ghost is fairly benign, almost playful: there's laughter and balls appearing and disappearing, childish drawings of stick figures come and go, alogn with games of Tic-Tac-Toe. A voice whispers: "Tag, you're it."
They hire Hudson, a ghost hunter of a sorts, who comes to investigate. The answer lies with the former owner, an abused child, who was locked in the room and had only an imaginary playmate to keep him sane... Bittersweet to say the least.
Mark is a storyteller--and his stories are dark--no question of that. Dark and haunted stories, inhabited by monsters, human and other kinds, insane, possessed, often murderous--but compelling. That there is a gay sensibility at work here makes the stories all the more compelling.
If you are a horror fan, here is a good addition to your collection, by a relatively new writer.
Recommended.
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Review of Naamah's Blessing, by Jacqueline Carey
Naamah's Blessing by Jacqueline CareyMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Okay.
I am a big Jacqueline Carey fan and I have been waiting for Naamah's Blessing since Naamah's Curse was out in 2010. I don't think other Carey fans will be disappointed as this d'Angeline trilogy and the adventures of Moirin mac Fainche, she of Alban ancestry and of the people of the Bear-Goddess, the Maghuin Dhonn and the daughter of a d'Angeline priest come full circle, a circle that almost goes around the Earth: Alba, Terre D'Ange, central Asia, Ch'in (China) and to the New World, to the land of the Nuhuatl Empire and that of Tawantinsuyo.
For those not versed in Carey's alternate Earth of magic and living gods:
Alba occupies the country we call Britain;
Terre D'Ange, France
Ch'in, obviously China
and the Nuhuatl Empire, the Aztecs, the Tawantinsuyo, the Incas.
She does, very thoughtfully include maps with familiar geography recognized by readers and the place names of her universe. They are all mostly kin to the names we know. For example, Aragonia in this universe, and Aragon, is one of the original kingdoms now making up Spain.
But enough of that.
Moirin walks two worlds, hears two gods, and has her own magic. She can call the twilight and wear it as a cloak of invisibility. She has met the Maghuin Dhonn herself. From both her Alban mother, a descendant of a d'Angeline princess, Alais (those who know Carey's universe will recognize her from the previous trilogy) and from her priest father, she hears and sees Naamah, the bright lady, who honors the arts of love, and Anael, the Good Steward, the gardener, both Companions of Elua. From Anael, Moirin can make a plant grow from seed, make a blossom bear fruit.
She has returned from Ch'in and Vralia (Russia) with her Chinese husband, to the City of Elua, to the court of the King of Terre D'Ange, a troubled man, bereft of his queen and second wife, who Moirin also loved. His son and heir has not returned from Terra Nova, the New World. His daughter looks so much like her mother that it causes the King pain to be with her. Moirin wants to cross the Straits to see her mother--and then a ship from the New World returns. The Prince is missing, most likely dead. The King, out of grief, takes his life. The new regent distrusts and dislikes Moirin whom the King has sworn to be his daughter's protector.
Then, the dead queen comes to Moirin, as she has before: the Prince is not dead. Go bring him home.
So beings Moirin's last quest, across the Atlantic, to the exotic and dangerous empire of the Nuhuatl who believe in human sacrifice. And she knows that traveling with the Prince was Rapahel de Mereliot, her former lover. "Years ago, Raphael forced [Moirin] to help him summon fallen angels in the hopes of acquiring mystical gifts and knowledge. It was a disastrous effort that nearly killed them both and unleashed a grave danger on the world." And, it seems, some one back home has paid a fellow shipmate to sabotage the voyage.
This may sound too complicated, but in the hands of Carey, a very skillful storyteller who has done her homework in the sources of her alternate Aztecs and the like, it works. I kept reading.
This is a love story (as are all of the D'Angeline books--remember Elua, who is the son of Yeshua (Jesus) and Mary Magdalene, has as his basic teaching: love as thou wilt. This is an adventure story, with intrigue, secret plots and betrayals and backstabbings and blood and murder and monsters and magic. It is about both "sacrifice and salvation."
I hope there are more D'Angeline stories.
Recommended.
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July 1, 2011
Review of One for the Money, by Janet Evanovich
One for the Money by Janet EvanovichMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
My friend, Suzanne Sumner, another avid reader (amazing how many avid reader friends I have, come to think of it) gave me a stack of Stephanie Plum mysteries. They are quick reads and clever and light and Stephanie Plum is not your typical heroine. In One for the Money, the first in a now-long and very successful series, the reader first meets Stephanie in Trenton, NJ, when she loses her job and is behind on her rent and other bills. She has a big attitude and is a smartass.
She does get a new job: a bounty hunter--more or less--working for her sleazy cousin, Vinnie, who runs a bail bonding company. Stephanie has no experience, but that doesn't stop her. Her first bail jumper, or FTA (Failure to Appear) is local vice cop, Joe Morelli, a guy with whom she has a thing and who gets her in to trouble and is a hot guy. If she can nab Morelli, she gets ten grand. But then, there is the psycho prizefighter with whom she gets in trouble and she actually sort of likes Morelli ....
You get the idea. This is a good beach book, as are the three other ones I read: plenty of murder, mayhem, romance, and slapstick humor, including exploding cars. It's worth noting that in Plum Spooky, she meets Diesel who brings a touch of the supernatural into the mix as Diesel, besides trying to get into bed with Stephanie, he hunts down Unmentionables, people with special abilities, who are abusing them--sort of X-Files-esque. Plus the murder and mayhem and romance and slapstick humor.
Like I said, good beach books.
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June 14, 2011
Review of The Sixth Man, by David Baldacci
The Sixth Man by David BaldacciMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
I am a Baldacci fan: he tells good stories, fast-paced--real page turners--with bad villains doing really bad things, yet still human, and flawed human good guys. He does his homework for what I call his technothrillers: in The Sixth Man I found his description of Cutter's Rock, "a secure, fortress-like Federal Supermax facility" for the criminally insane in Maine and its defenses and security provisions well-detailed and believable. True, they are something akin to fairy tales, as the good guys do win--although there are losses along the way, not every good guy makes it. There are other familiar tropes, such as the evil Government--or rather the Government is so big that little empires can be built with a lot of rule-bending along the way. Morality is often compromised in the name of duty and honor and truth, justice, and the American way--as his heroes are quite pragmatic. Power corrupts all too easily. Public officials like power and will betray the little guys to get it. Baldacci's stories are fun.
I don't think Cutter's Rock is real. Sigh.I googled it: not there--but there is a Federal Supermax prison in Florence, Colorado, and it is described as being the only one in the US.
Anyway, The Sixth Man is the fifth installment of the Sean King/Michelle Maxwell saga. Baldacci describes them this way on his website:
"Sean King is a former Secret Service agent who allowed his attention to wander for a split second, an error that resulted in the death of the presidential candidate he had been protecting. Michelle Maxwell is a former Secret Service agent who "lost" the politician she was supposed to protect when the politician vanished behind closed doors while comforting a grieving widow. Their destinies converge when Michelle becomes obsessed with Sean's case, and when Sean needs the help of a new friend to solve crimes that implicate him as the culprit. Professional pride, romantic tension, and common causes bring together King and Maxwell as a crime-solving dynamic duo."
Yes, there is romantic tension and by #5 in the series, they have become very occasional lovers.
In The Sixth Man, Edgar Roy, a genius with eidectic memory, is locked up in Cutter's Rock accused of being a serial killer. Ted Bergin, an old friend and professor of Sean's calls him and Michelle to help work the case up in Maine. On the way up the interstate enroute they find Bergin's body. Now our intrepid duo must ask some tough questions in the face of growing resistance. Is Roy a killer? Who murdered Bergin? Sean and Michelle start digging and this resistance gets lethal with "obstacles, half-truths, dead-ends, false friends and escalating threats" from every location. Their tenacity puts them into confrontations with some major players in the US government who still stop at nothing to protect themselves and/or get their way. A lot of people get killed on the way. Sean and Michelle are not perfect heroes; they make mistakes; they get in trouble; and they still haven't sorted out what they mean to each other, although it is obvious they love each other.
Lots of good plot twists, tough fights, and back stabbing on the way and be careful who you trust: people don't always turn out to be what you think they are.
If you are a Baldacci fan, you will not be disappointed.
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A Short Review of The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, by Chris Van Allsburg
The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van AllsburgMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I read this years ago, when I was a school librarian and I use it now in my creative writing classes. What an amazing book--both illustrations and text. I am a big Van Allsburg fan.
The blurb that goes with this book--
"Fourteen black-and-white drawings, each accompanied by a title and a caption, entice readers to make up his or her own story"--
does not do it justice. The title and caption are in effect one line stories that are dark, funny, mysterious, and fantastic.
Highly recommended.
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Review of Betrayer, by C.J. Cherryh
Betrayer by C.J. CherryhMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Betrayer is the latest installment in Cherryh's Foreigner universe, the third book in the fourth trilogy (12 titles in all so far--and another is forthcoming) with which I have faithfully kept up. It picks up right where the last one in the series, Deceiver left off.
For those not familiar with this universe, about 200 years ago, a human starship, the Phoenix, got hopelessly lost, with no way to find their way back to Earth or anywhere in human space. They wound up in orbit around the planet of the atevi. After some years, the colonists decide to go down to the planet, the starship leaves, and after several missteps, wind up in the War of the Landing with the atevi. The end result: the humans settle on an offshore island, Mospheira. In exchange, they agree to gradually release to the atevi their advanced technology. To prevent any future wars, the two societies agree to the paidhi (interpreter), one human diplomat to live among the atevi and to represent humans to the atevi and to interpret both cultures to each other. Otherwise, the two groups are kept separate. 200 years later, Bren Cameron has the job of the paidhi.
Several adventures later, including assassinations, a civil war, the return of the starship, contact with another alien species, political machinations of the byzantine variety, personal family drama, and so on, we wind up here at Book 12. Bren, paidhi, the human diplomat, allied with Tabini-aji, the leader of the Western Association (the biggest atevi "nation"), has left the capital and has taken refuge on his country estate, Najida, But Najida is not the sanctuary he wanted. Even though the usurper who forced Tabini out of power has been killed, and the legitimate government restored, rebel groups persist and their "center of power", the Marid (a district), is next door to Bren's country estate.
Bren is trapped there, surrounded by enemies, along with Ilsidi, Tabini's powerful grandmother, and Cajeiri, Tabini's son and heir. Ilsidi old and conniving and not "inclined to be passive," tries something both shocking and dangerous. She sends Bren and his bodyguards to the enemy, to Machigi, the lord of Marid, a district "virtually at war with the Western Association." Bren's mission: get Machigi who has never seen a human, to cease hostilities. Bren presents Machigi with a bold trade offer. But Machigi is suspicious of Ilsidi and invokes an ancient law. The white ribbon that represents the paidhi used to represent a negotiator who represented both sides in a dispute with equal loyalty. These mediators often got killed in the process.
So, can Bren survive? Can he stay alive? Can he represent both sides? The adventures continue.
Cherryh's strengths in this series has been her keen attention to cultural details and the sustained presentation of a truly alien culture, the atevi, and at the same time to tell a human story of a man who spends his life between humans and atevi, a life spent on eggshells as it were. She has succeeded. Cherryh's fans won't be disappointed with Betrayer.
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June 9, 2011
Review of Hellebore & Rue, edited by Joselle Vanderhooft and Catherine Lundoff
Hellebore & Rue: Tales of Queer Women and Magic by JoSelle VanderhooftMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Hellebore—black hellebore (the most appropriate for a witch’s garden)—according to some sources, was used in the flying ointment. Other uses include the healing of mental and emotional illness and in exorcisms, and to increase intelligence, for protection, and for invisibility. It is a baneful herb, and should never be eaten and is highly toxic. “Wear gloves when handling it.”
Leaves of rue relieve headaches and when worn around the neck, aids in recuperating from illness and acts as a ward against future ill health. Fresh rue, sniffed, clears the head in matters of love and can help you think better. Toss some in your bath to break all hexes and curses. Rub fresh leaves on your floorboards and ill spells will be sent back; hang rue at the door for protection.
And combined together, as in the collection, Hellebore & Rue: Tales of Queer Women and Magic, edited by Joselle Vanderhooft and Catherine Lundoff, (Lethe Press, 2011) some powerful magic is made by powerful women, powerful witches, and yet, quite human, with all the contradictions and ambiguities that means. Magic can heal and protect; it can destroy and harm, and is both feared and desired, and so can and is human love and human desire. In these stories, these queer women who make and use magic must also navigate the complications and mysteries of the human heart, and as result, this is a collection will appeal the reader of fantasy and the reader who appreciates excellent stories of human relationships.
In this collection, the reader will find such tales as:
“Personal Demons,” Jean Marie Ward:
Tantric sorcery, an exorcism, a young girl possessed by a powerful demon—yes, this could exacerbate the already rising tension between the sorceress, or tantrika, and her psychologist partner who outed her as a user of magic in Psychology Today. Can love survive dark power and its use, its link to sex?
“The Windskimmer,” Connie Wilkins:
One last flight, one last mission, against the enemy for a greenmage, reuniting with her former partner—what will Menka find, will she be up to the task brought to her by Aviel? And what about their hearts?
“Witches Have Cats,” Juliet Kemp:
And this one has a dog, and doesn’t know she is a witch. But when Laura Verrall’s ex develops a sudden case of the boils and a woman at a coffee shop knows this, and offers to help her with her newly-manifesting powers, Laura’s life—and that of her dog, Jasper, suddenly get complicated. Then, her friend, Alicia, calls from a party. She wants to go home, but she can’t find the door—literally, and the corridors go “round and round in circles,” and she’s trapped—can Laura help? And people at the party recognize Laura’s power—Laura is for some changes.
“D is for Demons,” Steve Berman:
Ms. Grackle is another unsuspecting witch, a retiring school nurse, who learns not only that she is a witch, and there is power waiting for her to use, but that a dietary change can help—think Hansel and Gretel.
“State of Panic,” Rachel Green:
A London police officer, who has transferred to Laverstone, far from the city, Sergeant Anna Wilde confronts more than a little prejudice against women, and finds her magical skills come in handy—even as she has to keep them hidden: they burned her grandmother. Then a murder case turns out to involve Pan and Summer, that Other Place ….
These and other stories—a dozen altogether—with other authors, such as C.B. Calsing, Ruth Sorrell, Lisa Nohlealani Morton, Quinn Smythwood, Kelly Harmon, Rrain Prior, and Sunny Moraine, do indeed, as the back cover suggests, “promise the reader many wonders,” and this collection keeps that promise.
Catherine Lundoff and Joselle Vanderhooft have worked the powerful magic of story and word and wonder, dark and light, myth and magic, in this collection of tales of queer women, queer magic. You don’t have to wear gloves, but a little rue by the door and some leaves scattered on the floor wouldn’t hurt as you venture out and into this magical collection. Guaranteed to sharpen those mental process, both seen and unseen—and as for matters of love, well … some fresh rue might help.
Highly recommended.
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May 5, 2011
Review of The Lighthouse, by P.D. James
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The Lighthouse by P.D. James
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Okay, I am a big Anglophile. And a P.D. James fan, and I like Adam Dalgliesh, the Commander with the New Scotland Yard in London--the poet detective, who is agonizing over his relationship with Emma Lavenham, the woman he loves. I love James's rich (I keep thinking Plum Cake) descriptions of London, a city she clearly loves and of the English countryside--in this novel, she has created a fictional island off the coast of Cornwall for the scene of the crimes. I find fascinating the equally rich back stories of those involved she always sets up in the beginning, stories which always set up motives for the potential suspects. That the reader knows about Dalgliesh's deep worry over his future with Emma and the emotional problems of his two assistants, Detective Inspector Kate Miskin and Sergeant Francis Benton-Smith, makes for all the richer a story, as do all the secrets of the heart and of the past that are gradually revealed.
Combe Island has a bloodstained past, including piracy. Owned for centuries by one family--of whom only one survives--Combe is now "a place where over-stressed men and women in positions of authority can come to find serenity in conditions of guaranteed security." Then, one of those distinguished visitors, a novelist in the waning days of his career, is found hanging from the lighthouse. Things aren't so serene after that. Enter the Commander and his team, with troubles of their own. As they began to discover the motives of the various suspects--apparently, the victim was not well liked, and more than one person wouldn't object to his passing--there is another brutal killing. Add to this, a quarantine when one of the island guests develops SARS.
The game is definitely a-foot.
I didn't guess the killer. Sigh. I never do. I did like that she had one of the island's staff be a gay man who was anything but a steretype, a rough and ready guy who manages the boats for the island. That he is gay is only an issue of any kind when a young woman working on the island is gently told by the cook that he is not the sort for romantic adventures with a woman. Understated, casual, part of the world of this novel, as much as any other character's habits, job, sexual predilections, and likes and dislikes are.
Fans of P.D. James will like The Lighthouse.
View all my reviews
The Lighthouse by P.D. JamesMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Okay, I am a big Anglophile. And a P.D. James fan, and I like Adam Dalgliesh, the Commander with the New Scotland Yard in London--the poet detective, who is agonizing over his relationship with Emma Lavenham, the woman he loves. I love James's rich (I keep thinking Plum Cake) descriptions of London, a city she clearly loves and of the English countryside--in this novel, she has created a fictional island off the coast of Cornwall for the scene of the crimes. I find fascinating the equally rich back stories of those involved she always sets up in the beginning, stories which always set up motives for the potential suspects. That the reader knows about Dalgliesh's deep worry over his future with Emma and the emotional problems of his two assistants, Detective Inspector Kate Miskin and Sergeant Francis Benton-Smith, makes for all the richer a story, as do all the secrets of the heart and of the past that are gradually revealed.
Combe Island has a bloodstained past, including piracy. Owned for centuries by one family--of whom only one survives--Combe is now "a place where over-stressed men and women in positions of authority can come to find serenity in conditions of guaranteed security." Then, one of those distinguished visitors, a novelist in the waning days of his career, is found hanging from the lighthouse. Things aren't so serene after that. Enter the Commander and his team, with troubles of their own. As they began to discover the motives of the various suspects--apparently, the victim was not well liked, and more than one person wouldn't object to his passing--there is another brutal killing. Add to this, a quarantine when one of the island guests develops SARS.
The game is definitely a-foot.
I didn't guess the killer. Sigh. I never do. I did like that she had one of the island's staff be a gay man who was anything but a steretype, a rough and ready guy who manages the boats for the island. That he is gay is only an issue of any kind when a young woman working on the island is gently told by the cook that he is not the sort for romantic adventures with a woman. Understated, casual, part of the world of this novel, as much as any other character's habits, job, sexual predilections, and likes and dislikes are.
Fans of P.D. James will like The Lighthouse.
View all my reviews
