Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 43

The Great (House) Hunt

I can���t truly call this a vacation, despite spending a couple of afternoons splashing about with the HA in the hotel swimming pool. No, this trip has a rather more serious purpose. I spent the last couple of days driving about with MBW and the HA, meeting the real estate agent at this house or that. That���s right: the dreaded house hunt.

It is a compelling sport, full of drama, hope, and pathos. One experiences, for example, instant dislike. Why did we think we wanted to see this one? (Pictures can lie.) There is giddy anticipation. This would be fantastic. That is often followed by sinking disappointment as all the problems and issues become apparent: too many repairs required; impractically far from the HA���s school or MBW���s office. (We realized our mental map-to-reality conversion algorithm was off kilter and subsequently narrowed our search range.)

The critical factors are the two Ps: price and pool. Swimming pool, that is. With a low enough price we can afford to have a pool installed. And we can agree to a higher price so long as the place already has a pool. I���ve already lost count of how many houses we saw. I think the first one was an absurdly far drive from anywhere we needed to be. The second had all the amenities I���d want: pool with slide and water feature, poolside bar and grilling area, outdoor shower, game room. But the house itself was in a sad state of repair. The next couple we saw were contenders. MBW liked them. The asking prices were low enough we could budget for pool installation. But thirty + minute driving time to school would add up to more than a couple hours on the road each day.

Then there was the quasi-Victorian, built in 1980, and located in a beautiful neighborhood. The sort of neighborhood you see in movies and wish you could live there. And there was an octagonal tower room I could use for my library. But note the year it was built. To me 1980 doesn���t seem that long ago. However a substantial amount of wear and tear occurs in a house over forty years. (Forty two years, to be precise. How did that happen?) MBW did not share my enthusiasm. And yes, there was a smell. And electrical issues. And, and, and.

We found an option in a gated community. The price pushed hard against the limit, considering we���d need to factor in the cost of pool installation. Still, we all liked it.

And then we found The One. Angel chorus time, light shining on us from the heavens. Happiness. Followed by anxiety. Because locating the quarry meant we���d need to make the kill: and that starts with putting in an offer. An offer. A blind bid against several other people who must necessarily have heard this house���s siren call. After consultation, we went in aggressively. So aggressively that my skinflint, cheapskate spirit cried out in agony and began seriously considering leaving my body for a more convivial host.

It���s like firing a bullet and then having to wait twenty-four hours for it to strike the target ��� or miss altogether.

Or, as the wait goes on, perhaps more than twenty-four hours. As I write this sentence, late in the afternoon, I still don���t know if the offer has been accepted or not. If not, then we���ll make an offer on some other house.

Either way, I���ll have to pay. Have I mentioned I write books that are available for sale?

Because I care, here is a picture of baby ducks.

The Dragon Lord: Arthur As Backdrop

In previous posts I���ve praised David Drake���s Vettius and Dama stories. It was clear to me he had a gift for melding historical accuracy with Sword-and-Sorcery. So I wasn���t surprised to find that his first novel pulled off the same trick.

The Dragon Lord is set in post-Roman Britain with Drake supplying us yet another imaginary, yet historically plausible King Arthurs. I���ve written recently about Arthurian myths. (Sadly, I���ve yet to completely recover the 400+ posts of my web log. The posts do remain available on Goodreads, if you are interested enough navigate to my author page on that site. Unfortunately, I doubt it is searchable.) But in this book Drake is not particularly interested in exploring the myths or what Arthur means. King Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot, Gawain, and Kay (Cei) serve mostly as background, with the exception that Arthur���s instructions to Merlin serve as the catalyst for the plot. For the most part Arthur et. al. are off the stage allowing us to enjoy the heroics of Mael of Ireland and his Danish comrade-in-arms, Starkad.

The two make for a terrific S&S duo. Starkad is a massive, ax-wielding berserker, immensely strong and tough. Yet even he thinks Mael is the more dangerous of the twain. Mael is several inches shorter, though still big, a product of the Ard Ri���s guard and thus well-educated by the standards of the early Dark Ages. Drake has clearly done his research and shows his work, painting a picture of a barbaric Saxon invasion of a Britain that still retains its memory of Rome, as well as providing us a glimpse of an early-Christian Ireland. Drake also gives us with lake monsters, demi-goddesses, the restless dead (c.f. The Tale oif Hauk) witches, wizards, and wyverns. And it all works seamlessly. This one really hit the spot.

Will you see any historical S&S from me? The jury is still out. But you could sample some contemporary S&S (Semi-Autos and Sorcery) here. Or perhaps you���re in the mood for a SF homage to ERB���s Barsoom. In which case, try Under Strange Suns.

 

The State of the Web Log. Plus A Trip To Nashville

The state of the web log is…unfortunate. I tried to post last week only to discover that my entire website had gone missing. With the assistance of a helpful freelance IT specialist from Bangladesh I was able to recover enough that at least the place is functional, though poorly furnished. Of over 400 posts, only a few remain.

Still, no use crying over ephemera, right? So, below is what I���d prepared for you last week.

 

Sleep? Who needs sleep? It���s a convention.

It turns out I could use a bit now and then. I wish to thank the cup of coffee beside me for its good offices.

I took a red eye flight out of PDX. With a window seat I was able to get a few minutes here and there of what might charitably be termed ���sleep.��� The transfer in Chicago was delayed for a couple of hours. But by late in the morning (not that late for someone coming from a couple of time zones over) I got to Nashville. I had a bit of time before I needed to be in Lebanon, the location of ConFinement III, and decided to take a look at the sights and grab a bite to eat.

I wandered a bit, then found my way to Yee-Haw Brewing for a taco and a few beer samples. $15 for a flight of four is steep. But the place is in the heart of the Nashville convention zone, so naturally the prices must be adjusted accordingly. How was the beer, you ask?

Dunkel. Simple, malty. Could be a bit breadier and less sweet, but fine.

Vanilla Porter. Vanilla comes on late but strong. Same overly sweet body as the Dunkel. Had better examples of the style.

Peanut Butter Stout. Come on, I had to. Smells like a freshly opened jar. And that isn���t misleading. Surprisingly, I liked it as a stunt/desert beer. Wouldn���t buy a sixer, though.

IPA. Nice, piney zing. A great palate cleanser after the PBS.

Twenty minutes after lunch I was at the con, confirming which panels I was signed up for. It has been over two years since I attended a con. This one is geared primarily as a writer���s con. The atmosphere of a fantasy/sf con, however, remains the same, whether it is a general fandom con or one more focused on craft.��

I met some people in person that I���ve only been acquainted with via social media. I sold a few books, sat on a couple of panels and then switched from participant to audience member for a couple of others. And then there was the Hospitality Suite, wherein libations flowed as did the conversation. Cards Against Humanity came out at some point (Hi, Dave.) and I took the Friday night crown.

Naturally I���d signed up for a Saturday morning panel. But I���m a professional. And coffee is a magical elixir.

I went into the picturesque downtown of Lebanon for lunch. The spiced Belgian and the Double IPA were muddy. But that Thai sour, though looking like curdled milk, was fantastic. And the Ransack the Universe IPA was solid. Downtown Lebanon also has a used bookstore. I���m trying to go home with fewer books than I arrived with, but it is almost physically painful for me to walk by a used bookstore without going in.

Saturday followed roughly the same pattern as Friday. Which brings me back to the nearly empty cup of coffee. The sacrifice of the beans is duly appreciated.

My flight home is late tomorrow afternoon. I hope to explore a bit more of Nashville before then.

If you would like to explore my books, browse through these options.

 

The day after completing the above post I was able to wander through Nashville���s equivalent of Bourbon Street. It doesn���t look the same as New Orleans��� famous street in the French Quarter. Nor does it sound the same. Instead of passing by competing blues, jazz, zydeco, or rock as you cross each entryway, you pass by competing country & western. None of the bar fronts advertised two for one or three for one drinks. But the general atmosphere is similar. And there is a river nearby. I���d go back.

 

A Trip to The Dalles

Only a fence and the Columbia River separate me from the State of Washington

I took MBW and the HA for an excursion yesterday. We needed to shake the rust off and see new horizons. So, skirting south of Mt. Hood, then along its eastern flanks for a while, until we cut due east through a national forest, winding along a narrow road, then north to the Columbia River at The Dalles.

We put in an hour and a half at the��Columbia Gorge Discovery Center & Museum. The HA was engaged, wanting desperately to show us everything that she was looking at, and involved in finding all the items pictured on the list she was given. We had the place mostly to ourselves. The establishment is partly a Natural History Museum and partly a traditional Historical Museum. I always like to pick up more bits and pieces of the past. One of my favorite exhibits was simply a list of all the saloons extant in Wasco County at a certain period. There���s some illustrative detail for you.

Among other things, I learned that during the Oregon gold rush days, the US intended to build a Mint in the Dalles. But the US Civil War put an end to the project.

After the museum, it was time for lunch. At a brewpub, naturally. Walking into��Freebridge Brewing, I noticed a plaque indicating that the building was originally intended as a US Mint. How about that? The beer was solid, though ��� most unusually for me ��� I recommend the lager.

Proof positive that masks don���t work.I recommend the lager.

After lunch, we drove out to visit the dam and fish ladders. Closed. Sigh. At least we got to enjoy the east-of-the-Cascades sun, as well as the justly famous Gorge wind. Somehow I did not lose my hat.

A (Un)Real American Hero

Who is the most American of fantasy heroes? I ignited enough fireworks yesterday in the course of Independence Day festivities to get me feeling good and patriotic. And as a patriotic writer of fabulism, it should come as little surprise that the opening question occurred to me.

The British Isles have produced abundant fantasy heroes, but this is a search for the red-blooded American hero. So no Aragorns. No haughty Elrics. Who have we got in the running?

Conan is not himself an American, of course. But he displays the individualistic rebelliousness that marks the character of the true American. He���s been a frontiersman, a soldier. He���s turned his hand to unsavory work from time to time, as have any number of America���s early heroes. But then, there���s that whole kingship business. That might put him out of the running.

John Carter is a candidate. A Virginian gentleman, a prospector, a soldier. The narrowness of his geographic and class background might not make him an excellent fit as a nationwide exemplar, however. And he seems more than content to leave his old country, not to mention planet, behind. Call him a maybe.

Turning the clock back about a half-century, we���ve got Hank Morgan, from Mark Twain���s��A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur���s Court.��He���s got that Yankee ingenuity, work ethic, entrepreneurial spirit, and holds fast to American values even while working for a monarchy. Unfortunately, Hank Morgan may not be that well known. After all, he only got one book.

I���d like to offer up Karl Thorson, from my��Karl Thorson and the Jade Dagger. But, if Hank Morgan is unknown, at this point Karl Thorson is a nonentity. He needs to get more eyeballs on the page before he can throw his hat in the ring. Besides, at this point there remains only one book. So, let���s move along.

Karl Cullinane from the��Guardians of the Flame��series is a candidate. But that is more of an ensemble work, and I don���t like to remember what Joel Rosenberg did to Karl. Moving along, then.

Garrett, from Glen Cook���s��Garrett Files��is a possibility. He is, after all, somewhat of a portmanteau character, combining aspects of many of the greats of America���s hardboiled detectives. A strong contender.

But I think, after due consideration, that the most American of fantasy heroes has to be Harry Dresden, Jim Butcher���s wizard and detective. He���s an entrepreneur, running his own detective business. (There���s that detective angle again. Very American and distinct from the British variety.) He consumes Coca-cola and fast food. He���s got a rebellious streak as wide as the Mississippi. He���s quite comfortable deploying a shotgun or bigass hand cannon when the situation requires it. He exhibits that characteristic American egalitarianism when confronting those who feel themselves to be superior by right of birth. And he is, after all, an American.

I think we have a winner. But what do you think?

Belly Up to the Bar

What are the best taverns in fantasy? Where do you imagine yourself sipping a pint in rather unusual company? The genre is full of these joints, though most, sadly, go nameless. Of course, some of these you���d probably just as soon avoid, like a den of merriment in��Arenun���s Maul, in Zamora.

Some spring immediately to mind:��Gavagans��and��Callahan���s, for example. Why limit ourselves to secondary worlds? What���s wrong with our own, shifted a degree or two in some unfathomable dimension? I wouldn���t mind stopping by��McAnally���s pub��for a glass or two.

Perhaps the popular choice (and for good reason) is the��Prancing Pony,��Barliman Butterbur, Prop. This is a place you���d be likely to hang out simply because it is pleasant and welcoming. I imagine it would take at least one visit to get used to the hobbits, constantly having to remind yourself that they are all, in fact, old enough to drink.

The Vulgar Unicorn��is likely another popular choice, but I believe that���s mostly due to name recognition. Would you really want to drink there? Some of the patrons seem all right, but others, including the bartender missing a digit, are as likely to slit your throat as sit down and swap stories.

The Silver Eel��might be a better bet, though I���d recommend sitting close to an exit, prepared to leave if events show sign of getting too interesting. But if danger doesn���t threaten, you might be in for an entertaining evening.

Morley Dote���s Joy House��(or whatever name it���s doing business as at the moment) is another possibility. The neighborhood might be a bit iffy at times, but inside you���re relatively safe. You might want to eat first, however, unless you���re content with vegetarian cuisine.

The list goes on. Giacomo���s Wine Shop is one of my contributions, playing a role in the��Cesar the Bravo��stories (and novel in progress.) Not that I���d want to go there. The place is a dingy dive. The point is, fictional taverns could make up a sizable town of their own. (Wouldn���t that be a sight?) What���s your favorite fantasy watering hole?

The Quintessence of S&S

If I were to distill the elements of Swords-and-Sorcery to their essence, what story would I find pooled at the bottom of the alembic?

To answer such a question, I���d first have to gather the elements. It requires a confident man or an arrogant fool to think he knows what those elements are. Let���s take a collective leap and pretend I���m not a fool. Moving forward, let���s see if we can glean the fundamental components of S&S.

One is scale. The stakes cannot be too high. If, within the fiction, the matter to be resolved by the protagonist is consequential to vast numbers, even world-shaking, then it is by definition epic. Epic Fantasy may be kin to S&S, but it is another creature. What the S&S hero hopes to accomplish should be personal, or at least the effects on the page must be largely limited to the hero, without dwelling on the outcome for those suffering any collateral impact.

Two is immediacy. The hero is directly involved in the action. Not merely a guiding hand. He may be a cat���s paw, but the results of the events will depend on his sword, his choices, his activity. If an S&S hero is a general, he���ll at some point lead from the front.

Three is horror. That ingredient might cause a raised eyebrow among some of you. But I believe horror is always an element in S&S, even if it is only subtle or inferential. Consider it baked into the very name given the genre. ���Sorcery.��� There is something elementary horrific within the supernatural. The unknown, the uncontrolled, the unnatural. A horripilation at the back of the neck that you may barely notice. This is distinct from ���magical.��� A narrow distinction, perhaps, but real.

Four is excitement. S&S is an action genre. Cozy Swords-and-Sorcery is a contradiction in terms. The reader expects fights, suspense, daring. Obvious enough, given the word ���Swords��� right there on the label.

Five is magic. There must be some element of the unreal, something to distinguish the tale from historical fiction, from the rousing tales of Dumas or Sabatini. It can be as simple as the McGuffin of the story, or be embodied in the antagonist.

Five is a good number. We���ll stop there, with Five elements of S&S. Set these over the fire and distill them down to a potent essence, what do we get?

The Tower of the Elephant��gleams at us from the alembic, dangerous, fiery, and intoxicating, direct from Robert E. Howard���s alchemical Underwood.

Prove it? Well, I���ll try.

The scale remains small. This is a story that commences almost as a bar bet, though involving Conan, it is a bit more violent than that, and also concerns the clash of the ���civilized��� and the barbarian. If a story begins in a tavern, or drinking and feasting, that���s a clue you might be reading S&S. (Baldor, son of Brego swearing a drunken oath to take the Dimholt road, is the commencement of an S&S story we never got to read.) The point is, at its simplest,��Elephant��is the story of a burglary, undertaken by a man goaded into the act by pride and ego. There is nothing epic about that. But it is more than enough to get the wheels turning.

Conan is the instigator of all that follows. He is immediately involved in all that occurs. He decides to scale the wall, to link up with Taurus of Nemedia, to climb the tower. He chooses to accede to the request of Yara.

Yara is himself both a figure of pity and of horror. Not only of horror, but of horror harkening to the Lovecraftian branch of horror. A cosmic being from the depths of space, inhuman. Though Howard offers a creature we can comprehend, bringing a touch of humanity that Lovecraft might have disdained.

The story up to the introduction of Yara is a feast of action, one moment of suspense, combat, and daring-do after another, starting with a tavern fight, then going to include a lion-attack, scaling a jeweled tower, and fighting a giant, poisonous arachnid.

The culmination of the story employs the McGuffin directly, the Elephant���s Heart, providing a memorable and satisfying magical conclusion.

There. I���ve laid forth my proof. Is��The Tower of the Elephant��the quintessence of Swords-and-Sorcery? What say you?

If you enjoy two-fisted fabulism, check out my work. You can find much of it��here, as well as from other vendors.

A Snippet

I thought I���d offer a change of pace this week. Something different from my usual blathering. I���m offering a snippet from my novel��Thick As Thieves. I hope you get a kick out of it.

If you���re intrigued enough to want to read the rest,��Thick As Thieves��is available in print and digital formats��here��and��here, and I suppose pretty much any other online store from which you chose to purchase your books. So, enough with the sales pitch. Here you go.

The guildsmen charged. The muleskinners fell back, but only to take up defensive positions alongside the wagons or between yoked mule teams. It soon became apparent that the red tunic coalition did not have a monopoly on weapons. Trader Vawn���s men produced cudgels of their own along with staves, whips, and knives. Brick wasn���t surprised. A caravan didn���t cross the vast, half-civilized expanses between settled areas of the Confederacy with unarmed teamsters. Not even a guarded caravan like this one. At least, no successful caravan did.

Brick heard a piercing whistle from Dahlia���s pursed lips: three short bursts and one long trill. It sounded like a signal. Sure enough, a moment later the mounted caravan guards urged their steeds into formation, forming a line at the rear of the wagons. So, not riding into the fight to support the teamsters. What then? Dahlia stood, blades at the ready, by the tavern entrance. Trader Vawn���s well-being assured. That left the other priority���the cargo of imports���in need of looking after. The guards wouldn���t involve themselves in the brawl unless it threatened to damage the shipment. Interfering in labor disputes did not appear to be on their list of responsibilities.

Neatly contained violence, an evening���s entertainment for the Highmark Street locals���at least until the Kalapo Horse Guard could be roused from their barracks on Ash Way, just south of Leyvan Town, and ride to quell the disturbance.

It didn���t look neat or contained to Brick. Maybe none of the combatants wore armor, and he saw no long blades catching the last light of the westering sun, but the two sides went at it in earnest. The rutted, hard-packed surface of the street was gouged and turned by hard-soled boots pushing and straining for grip. Blood began to moisten the churned dirt, as if part of some primitive plowing ceremony, a sacrifice to ensure the following year���s yield.

Then a flung cudgel���about a two-foot length of stout oak���whipped past Brick���s ear and shattered the slats of one of the tavern���s shutters. He heard someone yell ���the fucking Shark is in the tavern.��� And a group of red tunics detached from the scrum and came his way.

���Brick,��� said Shib, peeking out from the ruins of the shutter, ���take care of this, please.���

Right. From his relaxed position Brick pushed himself off the wall and straightened up. He���d often found that simply breathing deeply, expanding to his full dimensions, and stretching a bit could curtail violence before it began. It required a brave man to tackle someone his size. A brave man or a drunk man.

Or, as in this case, simply a whole bunch of men. There had to be a half-dozen of them, all in red tunics. Well, a range from maroon to crimson, Brick noted as they drew nearer.

He wondered if there was any compelling reason to side with the guildsmen instead of the trader���s teamsters, but couldn���t see it. He���d spent too much time looking for work after the army dismissed him to have much sympathy for a group of men who���d begrudge other men a job simply because they didn���t wear spiffy red tunics. The Clackmat Drayage and Cartage Guild hadn���t offered Brick work when he���d been desperately searching. So fuck ���em. He had his own job to do now.

Brick took a step forward to meet them, placing himself before the door, and feeling a certain comfort knowing that the Leyvan woman stood at his back with her sharpened steel. He didn���t care for the twinge in his leg, but he figured it wouldn���t give out right away, and once he got warmed up it shouldn���t trouble him.

���That���s far enough, boys,��� he said, stretching out both arms as if blocking the way and���once again���swelling up, flexing his arms and the muscles of his back. He could hear the leather of his stupid black vest squeaking in protest. He recognized the posturing as a simple exercise in intimidation, but it worked sometimes and maybe in the waning light they hadn���t caught a good look at him the first time. If he could keep anyone from getting hurt then he considered that worth the risk of someone scoffing at his display.

It still didn���t work.

���Get the fuck out of the way, freak.��� The leading red tunic reached out and prodded Brick���rather scornfully, Brick thought���in the midsection with the tip of his cudgel.

���Don���t,��� said Brick. He felt the advance hints of the Fury, a faint haze of red specks at the edge of his vision. The jab with the club was insulting. And the tavern, and the safety of the people within was his responsibility. His job. He tried to keep anger at bay, though not in great earnest. He recognized the dangers of surrendering to rage, but he liked the Fury. It is what had made him a good soldier. It is what had allowed him to ignore fear���not dismiss it, not conquer it, but ignore it. It is what let him tear gaps in enemy positions, be the tip of a human wedge driving into a shield wall. He recognized the disadvantages in civilian life. Slipping the leash from impulse control could be a problem outside a war zone. So, he kept the Fury tightly reined in. But he missed it. And if this punk ass guildsman jabbed him again .��.��.

The punk ass guildsman jabbed him again.

Flashing Swords #3. Pack Your Bags.

I have a number of well-worn anthologies on my shelves. It has been said that shorter fiction is the proper length for Swords-and-Sorcery. Maybe so. At least in an anthology the reader has access to multiple imagined worlds in a single volume instead of the single world of a novel. I thought I���d investigate this somewhat, revisiting these collections. And what better volume to start with than��Flashing Swords #3?

The title of this volume is��Warriors and Wizards, but I think a more accurate descriptor would be��Fantastic Travelogues. Not a one of the authors herein limits the story to a single location. There are five authors herein, each providing a novella, apparently commissioned just for this collection. And it is a solid line up: L. Sprague de Camp, Fritz Leiber, Andre NOrton, Avram Davidson, and the editor himself, Lin Carter.

De Cap��is first, and he sets the trend with a story that sees the protagonist crossing leagues, counties, duchies, and principalities in quest of the titular��Two Yards of Dragon. Two yards of dragon hide, that is. It is de Camp, so you know what you���re getting. That may displease some. Not me. I���ve always enjoyed his style, like a droll professor sharing a beer with a favorite student, waxing loquacious upon a familiar topic. The topic may be important, but the professor���s first goal is to be an agreeable drinking companion. He���s never entirely serious. Even when de Camp is describing a harrowing action sequence, you know his tongue is stabbed deeply into his cheek. The travelogue style works well for de Camp, as he gets to establish and mock customs and laws of the various locales the protagonist and his Sancho Panza travel through. The protagonist is a knight, but this being de Camp, we don���t get a Quixote. Instead he is de Camp���s standard cynical, observant, wry, intelligent, and calculating hero. I, for one, was amused.

Fritz Leiber��is next, with��The Frost Monstreme. With this story, Leiber commences the coda to the Fafhrd and Gray Mouser tales. The two are on the verge of middle age, beginning to consider ��� or argue about ��� settling down. Becoming husbands, land owners, responsible citizens, etc. Now, there may be good S&S tales to be told about ��� well, about the life I���m leading now. But it may be that the subject matter is partly responsible for the fact that I find the Fafhrd and Gray Mouser stories from here on to be rather a let down. Not that this one is too bad. Again we have travel, but in truth, while many miles and sea-leagues are crossed, a description of�� cold, icy seas is less than fantastic, though it does provide a good setting for the two heroes in their separate ships to clash, mislead by an old enemy and attacked by a new one. The new enemy, the ancient wizard/demi-god/alien, Khahkht, provides us with more capsule travelogue than do Fafhrd and Mouser. He travels about in a globe, within which sphere is a sort of inverted map of Nehwon. With this device, Leiber is able to remind us of the layout and cosmography of his world, in his glorious, arch style. It is a good story, but for me, it marks the end of an era, so re-reading it was somewhat bittersweet.

Andre Norton is next with a Witch World story.��As I���ve written previously, I have little love for Witch World. This story does nothing to change that. I found it a chore, slogging through this rather dull tale of a hysterical blindness, weaving, and vague psychic power.��Spider Silk��sees travel from a boring fishing village to a relatively nearby forbidden island. Nothing is clearly described, since our POV character is blind. And nothing much happens. There isn���t much point in offering a spoiler warning, since there really is nothing to spoil, nothing a reader won���t figure out early on, perhaps from the title alone.��Spider Silk��is the dud of the bunch.

Next,��Lin Carter��adds a story to his own anthology. And with��The Curious Custom of the Turjan Seraad��we���re back traveling. That���s pretty much all we���re doing, flying down to an oasis, then joining a nomad caravan passing through the desert to pasture lands. This is little more than a shaggy dog story. Nothing really happens. But that isn���t the point of this story. The point is to play with words, with descriptions, scenery, etc., to closely approximate other descriptions, scenery, etc. that Lin Carter has read before. And he largely succeeds. Why? Because in writing a light, breezy tale, he keeps things light and breezy. This is supposed to be humorous, and it generally is. After the turgid��Spider Silk,��Curious Custom��provides a palette cleanser.

Which brings us to the final course.

Avram Davidson��provides the best of the stories.��Caravan to Illiel��is travelogue as story. It is a master class in condensed world building. From the opening that describes the city of Styr so well that I���d like to read a novel set there, the story follows the hero Corydon, in his new role as caravan guard, through one interesting location and adventure after another, all the while putting the pieces in place for the conclusion of a story the reader might not have noticed was occurring under his nose. The sheer variety and imagination displayed in the places Corydon passes through shows what Sword and Sorcery is capable of. Davidson is a vastly underrated writer. His style is reminiscent of both Clark Ashton Smith and Jack Vance. I���d recommend��Flashing Swords #3��on the strength of this story alone, with the others as bonuses of varying value.What are your thoughts, readers, on this volume? Let me know. And, if all this traveling about has tired you, why not read a book set in one place? (I need to remember to mention my own stuff here. Thus that less than clever segue.) Check out��Thick As Thieves.

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The Dresden Files: Sword-and-Sorcery?

I had intended to write another post on anthologies. However, I was about three and a half stories through a collection when��Peace Talks��arrived. So much for that plan. I���m about halfway through the latest of Harry Dresden���s series of unfortunate events. Once I���m done, I���ll get back to revisiting Fafhrd and Gray Mouser���s shenanigans.

Reading��Peace Talks, however, raised in my mind the question of whether or not the��Dresden Files��are sword-and-sorcery. Superficially, why not? The main character is a wizard. One of his buddies is a sort of holy warrior, often armored up and swinging a sword. So we���ve got both swords and sorcery right there. I��recently wrote a post��in which I enumerated what I thought were the essential components of sword-and-sorcery fiction. Why not run through those with an eye to Jim Butcher���s tales of Harry Dresden and a Chicago infested with the supernatural.

But, I���m going to do it in reverse order.

Number five was magic. Check. Plenty of magic. Chock full of magic. Brimming, stuffed, breaded with, deep-fried in, and fortified with a dozen essential magic vitamins and minerals. That one is easy. Moving on.

Number four on my list was excitement. Check. Butcher keeps the action fast and intense, with the ability to keep ratcheting up the suspense during extended fight sequences. Which occasionally feature sword battles. Decidedly weighing in favor of pro. I can practically see the scale moving.

Number three was horror. Again, check. There are horrific beasties, nightmare creatures, blood-sacrifices, dark gods, etc. Even a book centered around a horror convention. This factor might, in fact, be overplayed, militating against the books being S&S and instead being borderline horror. But, that���s a limb that I don���t think would hold weight, so I���m not going out on it.

Number two was immediacy, requiring a hero who instigates action and consequences, and isn���t merely a helpless pawn. Check. While Harry can find himself an unwitting dupe in someone else���s plot, he is never without agency. Turning the tables on those who think they are manipulating him is often part of the plot. Looking pretty good so far. Four down, bringing us to number one.

Number one was scale, the stakes cannot be too high. Uh-oh. Push the alarm button, we���ve got a problem. While some of the earlier books, and most of the short stories, keep the stakes relatively low, as the series has gone on the consequences have ramped up. To cataclysmic levels. The books have moved ��� first incrementally, then, full-steam ahead ��� into Epic Fantasy territory.

With that, I���m afraid I have to conclude that the��Dresden Files��are not S&S. Not even what I call Semi-autos and Sorcery, which is what I consider the equivalent, but set in our reality (more or less) rather than some secondary world or imagined past. I think the��Monster Hunter International��books might be considered Semi-autos and Sorcery, did they not run into the same problem as the��Dresden Files. There is nothing wrong with playing for world-changing stakes in your fiction. It is merely a classification issue, moving into Epic Fantasy. But, since what I���m doing here is the equivalent of sorting the wing dandruff of the Angels dancing on the head of a pin, the verdict I have to hand down is negative, despite there being no crime or affront of any kind.

Where does that leave Urban Fantasy in general? I���m afraid I cannot opine. I���m rather ignorant of the genre. I think my��Karl Thorson��series (of which more anon) might qualify as Semi-autos and Sorcery. But I may have to leave that to some future hair-splitting pundit to determine.

What do you think?

Let me leave you with a link to my��Amazon Author��page, since I���m pushy that way.