Wade Garret's Blog, page 5

Let's Get Serious! —In which I alienate Phish Fans, by Joel J. Adamson

Link:

What is it that makes readers connect? Sincerity and honesty. The kind of sincerity I’m talking about might be called being “serious” but as Alan Watts pointed out, the word “serious” has a sort of dry unfunniness about it, and that isn’t what I’m getting at. Fantasy literature in particular has this problem, much less than it used to, that it’s hard to take seriously a book about wizards and dragons. Ursula LeGuin seems to have eventually convinced everyone to take such books seriously, but not without plenty of books getting written to convince people otherwise. Wizards and dragons sound like childish topics, until you read Gene Wolfe, Stephen R. Donaldson, or dare I say Robert Jordan?

Books weren’t what brought my attention back to this over the past week, however. I bought Blurryface by Twenty One Pilots and noticed that this album is funny, ironic, absurd and self-referential, but extremely deep. The lyrics are about insecurity, uncertainty, life, and death; my favorite lyric is from the hit song “Ride,” which points out that we all have people we say we’d take a bullet for, but there really aren’t any bullets flying right now. I especially relate to “Stressed Out,” which points out that when we’re young, we tend to think our confidence will grow, but when you get older you can develop crippling insecurity. That was grad school for me. They’re blatantly honest about the superficiality of other music and how disappointing that is (“Don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that’s flawless”). It reminds me, of all things, of Laurie Anderson, whose songs are silly, but at the same time are about life and death and the nature of consciousness. She can be talking about a game of Simon Says and point out you could die at any moment. And wouldn’t you feel like it had already happened?

Last night I watched a film called Teeth about a teenage abstinence freak who discovers she has a toothed vagina. It was a risky move: the potential for being downright silly was tremendous given the topic, but this movie pulled off a scary, even funny, but psychologically deep story. No one, not the men who try to rape the main character, not the promise-ring wearing teenagers, nor even her metalhead brother were caricatured. This movie had the best inclusion of material from evolutionary biology that I’ve ever seen. They clearly did their homework with both scientific, psychological, and mythological material. Despite all the guys who get their dicks cut off in this movie, I found it hilarious, especially the card at the end saying “No men were harmed in the making of this film.” My question is: why wasn’t it stupid?

An example that shows the contrast is Katy Perry. She’s capable of producing songs that really get right to the heart, she’s an accomplished vocalist, and I like the themes of some of her songs: “Roar,” “Firework,” “Wide Awake,” and “Chained to the Rhythm” are all great songs that are totally sincere. On the other hand are some of the dumbest songs on radio, where the theme is basically “Let’s get our nails done and get drunk” or “I got drunk and fooled around on my boyfriend.” What distinguishes the two? If Katy Perry is a capable singer and songwriter, why is some of her work so superficial, whereas much of the rest really speaks to the listener? (This might be a good time to mention I can’t stand Phish. Look at the difference between Phish and the Grateful Dead and you’ll know what I mean. Music is a big joke for Phish whereas the Grateful Dead, if they weren’t exactly serious, were sincere about the meaning in the songs they sang)

This is where content, not style, shows its importance. Style is not enough. Katy Perry’s worst songs demonstrate that you can have a full command of style and sing or write about totally superficial material: money, clothes, alcohol, socks. The ephemera of life. If you really want to touch readers you have to talk about things that are universal. Life, birth, death, alienation, love, glory, courage, honesty itself. You can even do it in an absurd way, or in a non-universal way, but as long as the story you’re telling is believable, or if you walk the reader along into the fantastical elements of the story, it will reach them. In the case of Twenty One Pilots or Katy Perry, they get to the heart of the matter right away, having only two-and-a-half minutes to do so. When Katy Perry says “You’re gonna hear me roar,” we know that’s a metaphor, but it’s a metaphor we can all relate to; it speaks to a universal need to be heard and appreciated.
In the case of Teeth, Dawn’s mutation (teeth in her vagina) is not really believable, but the filmmakers walked us in to that using mythology, science fiction, and good ol’ teenage lust as she confronts her identity. By the end of the film, she is willing to concede that she’s a monster, but she’s a monster on a mission, and I was totally on her side. Not believable exactly, but sincere. A real exercise in rising conflict.
Don’t take yourselves too seriously, kids, but be sincere. People can tell the difference.

This is not a boradsword! -by Edd Mcdonald

That is not a broadsword! In recent days, there appears to be a growing interest in presenting historical realism into fantasy writing. If that’s not your bag then that’s absolutely cool. This blog is aimed at those who want the swords in the hands of their characters to function like historical swords.
Fantasy writers that this blog is for:
People who want the medieval weapons they write about to be used like medieval weaponsPeople who are writing fantasy but aren’t super interested in spending years reading about historical weapon usePedants like meIt’s not for you if:
Historical realism is not part of your book – it is a fantasy after allYou prefer to base your weapons use on what you’ve seen in the Peter Jackson LOTR moviesYou are looking for a blog about gardening. Like seriously, what are you doing here?
This blog is intended as a “Quick myth buster” sheet to help out those who want to get a quick grasp of some of the basic, but commonly unknown, facts about medieval arms and armour. It’s so common for swordsmen to play a huge role in fantasy novels but for the author to have little or no experience of sword fighting that I figured it might be helpful.
I focused only on the most common stuff as I didn’t know if anyone is interested in sickle duels.
Disclaimer 1: If you don’t agree with any of the points I put forward, or your swords are lightsabres, or you just don’t like them, or your characters have super strength, or they need special weapons to cut up insect people, then that’s all fine and I’m certainly not telling anybody what they have to do! You can write whatever you would like. This guide is intended for people who want an element of historical realism to their weapons and armour. If you want it to work differently then that’s entirely up to you and this post is not judging you for doing so.
Disclaimer 2: Some of the things I’m going to say are pretty generalised. There are always exceptions, but I’ve not tried to mention them because in doing so it gives too much weight to the rarities, and diminishes the ‘norm’ which is what I’m trying to put across.
How I claim to know about this stuff: I have a BA in Ancient History and Archaeology and a Masters degree in Medieval History. I also study Historic European Martial Arts and train twice per week with David Rawlings, one of the world’s most highly respect swordsmen in the Historical European Martial Arts community. As my background is in European history I won’t be talking very much about Asian martial arts but am talking about the type of fighting that took place in Europe between 500AD and 1700 AD.
I’ve aimed to keep this to brief, bullet point form so that it’s not like reading an essay, with videos provided for those who want to look into these ideas further.
Swords
THE BIG MYTH: Swords are the dominant weapon of a medieval/ancient society.
THE TRUTH: Swords are almost always a secondary or tertiary weapon for warriors, meaning that you would only use your sword if your main weapon was lost/broken/inappropriate. Main weapons would almost exclusively be pole based weapons (lance, spear, polearm, javelin, pike etc) or a missile weapon (bow, crossbow, sling, firearm etc). There is an exception to this, which is for very large and heavy swords that require two hands to be used, but those tend to serve specific functions on battlefields (beheading horses, defending standards etc) and are used by men in full armour.
Swords are at a big disadvantage against pole weapons in most situations but usually in both battlefield formations and 1v1 situations.
Professional Swordsman Matt Easton talks about sword vs. spear
Know your swords
Terminology only matters if you think it matters, but if someone said ‘pistol’ and they meant ‘rifle’ that would generally be commented upon. Unfortunately, loads of fantasy authors seem to use D&D terminology or else just assume their own, which irritates historicity pedants like me:
Shortsword: There is no such thing in history. The image this term brings to my mind is the Roman gladius, which is fairly short as a sword, but the D&D shortsword that deals 1D6 damage simply doesn’t exist.
Longsword: This is a two handed weapon (the hilt is long enough for 3 hands to be placed, if you had 3). It is a later renaissance weapon but it was arguably a civilian and duelling weapon, not a battlefield weapon. There’s some debate on that.
Greatsword: This is a two handed sword for the battlefield.
Bastard Sword: This is the ‘hand and a half’ sword, somewhere between an arming sword and a greatsword. They were a real thing.
Broadsword: A single handed, single edged sword with a large basket guard. It is not a two handed weapon. It is often incorrectly referred to as such. The picture below shows a beautiful Scottish Broadsword made by the great modern swordmaker Marco Danelli of Danelli Armouries. If you want to see what swords should look like, his website is a great resource:
http://www.danelliarmouries.com/

Vs. Armour
Swords do not easily cut through armour. A sword blade is very unlike either to cut, or punch through either mail armour or plate armour. If fighting an armoured opponent, people would historically used a Half Sword technique where they put one hand on the blade and use it more like a spear.
How you use a sword against someone in armour

So why use a sword? Swords are light and easy to carry. They make great side arms because they can be hung easily on a belt. They’re also aesthetically pleasing, and because in the early middle ages making swords was very expensive, they have always been a status symbol. Swords are iconic and indicate being part of a warrior class for much of the middle ages, even after they became common by the end of the 11th century. Note however that swords cease to be expensive or rare by as early as 1000AD and in the high and late medieval they were neither expensive nor the preserve of the elite. Plenty of medieval artwork shows drunken peasants having a go at each other with their swords, and it was a standard side arm for pretty much all soldiers.
Weight
Swords are not heavy! Even the longsword (often referred to as the bastard sword) only weighs 1-2kg (2.4-4lbs). It is very very fast, light and swift. It is hard to parry an attack with any sword even if you know that it’s coming! It’s totally fine for even a slightly built person to wield a steel sword for 2 hours solid without feeling tired unless they’re entirely unused to physical exertion.

If you are NOT wearing armour or have no shield, once they commence, sword fights end in about 1-5 seconds. You can basically forget about multiple clashes of blade or anything that looks like what you’ve seen on Game of Thrones. This video demonstrates longsword fighting in about as historically accurate way as I’ve been able to find:
Unarmoured longsword fighting
Wrestling is an essential part of all hand to hand combat but often neglected! When two fighters get close to each other they will commonly abandon their weapons and fight up close.
The longsword/bastard sword/2 handed sword was the knightly sword, and not very common. The most common civilian weapon set is the single sword (or arming sword) with a buckler. Sword and buckler combat probably played far, far more importance in the medieval world than longswords. Our earliest fight manual, the so called “I.33” from about the year 1300 demonstrates techniques for sword and buckler. The video below is some really great interpretation of sword and buckler fighting (but slowed down). You might note how the inclusion of the shield means that the sword fight takes much longer.
Sword and buckler
Using a one handed sword with nothing in your second hand is generally unusual up until the appearance of complex hand guards. Most people would have used a shield in war, a buckler in civilian life, a knife or cloak if you didn’t have your buckler. Failing all of those you use your free hand to slap at the enemy weapon when it comes near you! You can grab a static sword blade and it will not cut you. Medieval European swords were very sharp, but you can grip a sharp sword with your bare hand safely as long as it’s not pulled through.
I have to mention one of the biggest myths: Katanas are in no way superior to other swords. They have a mythology about their sharpness, but in most ways are quite inferior to European swords. They are prone to chipping because of the hardened blade, they are heavy compared to European swords, they are short and because they are two handed weapons this actually limits their reach. The reason for all that special smithing has nothing to do with quality, and everything to do with the terrible quality of steel in Japan during the katana’s heyday. Sorry, katana fans! They look gorgeous but they aren’t especially useful.
Spears
Spears were THE medieval and ancient weapon. They were used in some format by every army from the beginning of history to modern day – even professional soldiers have bayonets, turning their gun into a spear. They are so underrepresented in fantasy that the only notable wielders that spring to mind are Kaladin in Way of Kings and Oberyn Martell in Game of Thrones. That’s not many for such an important weapon.
An inexperienced spearman will often (usually!) beat an experienced swordsman because the spear has a huge advantage in reach over the sword.
A spear thrust could penetrate mail but will not penetrate plate.
Swinging the whole pole around your head is a totally legitimate historical technique.

The optimal hand to hand combat weapons against plate armour are pollaxes or similar pole based weapons. These weapons were specifically developed to fight against plate armour. If plate armour is a thing in your world, this is what people should be using against it!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pole_weapon
Pole axes are the only weapon that I’ve ever trained with where I thought “jeez, this is heavy!” They weigh a lot. Swinging them takes a lot of effort and you need to use all the muscles in your core and up into your back.
Axes
The one handed axe is a weapon that is used because it is cheap and easy to obtain, not because it is an especially good weapon.
Axe heads need to be pretty small. The huge axe that Gimli has in the LOTR films is far, far too large to be used practically (and must require him to have enormous strength to wield). An axe made specifically for war should be far smaller because in combat, speed is what matters.
If someone chooses to use an axe over a sword for non-armoured fighting then they need a very strange reason to do so. A sword has huge advantages over any single handed axe.
Axes were seldom favoured but they did have their uses. The Vikings made good use of the Dane Axe, a huge double handed weapon to fulfil specific battlefield roles.
Shields
If you don’t have plate armour, you want a shield. Shields are awesome.
If you do have plate armour, shields become redundant and you’re better off with a two handed pole type weapon.
Shields are also very inconvenient to carry around with you.
Unlike a sword, a medium sized shield is actually pretty heavy. Training for 2 hours with a Viking style shield will leave your shield arm knackered. Since shields varied between being little bucklers that just protect the sword hand and massive tower shields that covered the whole body, it’s not really possible to give a ‘standard weight.’
Armour: If you want a great documentary on armour, then the Weapons that Made Britain series is fairly good and entertaining. Note: I’m using the English spelling of armour. If you’re American you can spell it your own zany way!
Weapons that Made Britain: Armour
Leather Armour
Historically, this does not really exist as it’s most commonly imagined in fantasy. Who would wear leather to stop getting stuck with a sword? It’s like suggesting that you couldn’t push a kitchen knife through your shoe. Leather armour would offer almost no protection against bludgeoning, cutting or piercing weapons.
Leather armour is in fact actually just ‘clothing.’ Clothing made of leather.
There are boiled leather vests and some instances of leather armour around the world, but it’s inflexible and never preferrable to steel. Armour and weapons always develop in tandem: if the enemy wear cloth armour/silk then you use curved weapons because the curve reduces friction as you cut them. If they then change to leather you just punch straight through it with something straight and pointy. If they then change to plate you switch to a bludgeoning weapon and try to smash them down and then stab them in the eye when they’re prostate. But leather armour? That’s like armour made out of the same stuff as your shoe.
And just imagine how quickly it’s going to rot after your hero goes swimming in the swamp/sweats in battle.
Mail Armour
The term ‘chainmail’ is a modern convention, historically it was just called Maille.
Mail armour is not heavy. It weighs about 11kgs. A U.S. marine carries about 60kgs on his back, whilst mail’s weight is spread around the shoulders.
You cannot swim whilst wearing it, even if you were a good swimmer. It’s not an issue of weight, it’s an issue of buoyancy.
Mail is super effective against cutting attacks. You cannot cut through a mail shirt with a sword, even a two handed sword. A good cut against it might cause limited blunt trauma damage to the body beneath, but the mail won’t even be damaged.
Mail is not very effective against piercing attacks. Arrows, spears, sword thrusts – anything direct and forceful might go through mail (might – there are historic accounts of mailed knights looking like hedgehogs due to all the arrows sticking in their mail during the crusades). If you’re interested in seeing how mail does against various weapons, the following video is fairly decent:
Cutting test video – sword, axe vs. mail
Plate Armour
Plate armour is not heavy. A full suit of plate armour only weighs about 20kgs (again, 1/3 of what a US marine carries today). It does restrict your movements slightly, but you can do cartwheels, forward rolls etc without any kind of problem in plate armour.
If someone is knocked over, it takes no longer for them to get up wearing plate armour than it does if they are naked. The armour makes no difference, it is not restrictive like that.
Wearing a close visored helmet will interfere with your breathing after serious exertion.
Plate armour did not commonly cover the backs of the upper legs; it was generally assumed that if you were in plate armour then you’d be sitting on a horse, although knights often fought on foot.
Plate armour takes time to put on, and you need help getting it on (my friend estimates 40 minutes for his 15th century harness, with someone helping). It’s not practical to wear whilst travelling around or just day to day.
Plate is probably the most poorly represented armour in fantasy settings. When you are in full plate armour YOU ARE A LIVING TANK! Although the quality of armour could vary hugely, and surviving examples we have today are likely only of the very best quality, a man in full plate was almost invulnerable to even direct blows from the hand held weapons of the medieval period. A fit person who has never held a sword before who is given a suit of plate armour and a sword will almost certainly defeat very good swordsmen if they are unarmoured… but then, that’s what heroes do, right?[image error]

Should you change the way you write based on WHO can/will read it?

This Surprising Reading Level Analysis Will Change the Way You Write By Shane Snow January 28th, 2015 Ernest Hemingway is regarded as one of the world’s greatest writers. After running some nerdy reading level stats, I now respect him even more.
The other day, a friend and I were talking about becoming better writers by looking at the “reading levels” of our work. Scholars have formulas for automatically estimating reading level using syllables, sentence length, and other proxies for vocabulary and concept complexity. After the chat, just for fun, I ran a chapter from my book through the most common one, the Flesch-Kincaid index:
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I learned, to my dismay, that I’ve been writing for 8th graders.
Curiosity piqued, I decided to see how I compared to the first famous writer that popped in my head: Hemingway. So I ran a reading level calculation on The Old Man and the Sea. That’s when I was really surprised:
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Apparently, my man Ernest, the Pulitzer- and Nobel Prize-winning novelist whose work shaped 20th-century fiction, wrote for elementary-schoolers.
Upon learning this, I did the only thing a self-respecting geek could do at that point: I ran every bestselling writer I had on my Kindle through the machine. I also ran some popular crime and romance novelists, a few political books I despise, and a couple of business writers who bought their way onto bestseller lists (i.e., their work wasn’t notable enough to sell on its own). I grabbed each author’s most well-known work, pasting in enough text to gain a statistical confidence.[1]
For reference, I threw in a few other things: an academic paper about reading level indices, another paper about chess expertise, a Seth Godin blog post, the text of the Affordable Care Act, and the children’s book Goodnight Moon.
Here’s what came out:

(Click to enlarge)
What this shows is the approximate number of years of education one needs to be able to comprehend the text. Flesch-Kincaid is the most popular calculator, but some scholars argue that other indices, like Gunning-Fog and SMOG [2] are better. For the above chart, I ran everything through the five most popular calculators, and took an average.[3]
Another highly-regarded measure is the Flesch-Kincaid “Reading Ease” score. It estimates how fast a piece of writing is to get through.
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Here’s a look at the reading ease of those same books:

(Click to enlarge)
Reading ease roughly correlates to reading index, but you’ll see that some of the works shift when calculated this way. For example, Hemingway moved up a rank.
Since fiction and nonfiction are not apples to apples, here’s a breakdown by category:

(Click to enlarge)
Note how none of these guys wrote above a 9th-grade level.[4]
Nonfiction is a little different, but you’ll notice that these bestselling books tend to hover at or below 9th grade as well, with a few exceptions that are known for their difficulty (e.g. Good to Great is exceptional material but only really accessible to college students) or that were just crappy books (the ones who bought their own books in order to become bestsellers):

(Click to enlarge)[5]

(Click to enlarge)[6]
The initial surprise from my little data experiment is that writers whose work we regard highly tend to be produce work at a lower reading level than we’d intuit.[7] Cormac McCarthy, Jane Austen, and Hunter S. Thompson join J.K. Rowling in the readability realm of pre-teens. The content of McCarthy’s and Thompson’s novels isn’t meant for children, but these writers’ comprehensibility is rather universal.
I wasn’t shocked that academic documents rank difficult. However, I was surprised that the ones I studied were only 12th and 13th grade reading level.
Most of us don’t read at that level, it turns out. (Or if we can, we hate to.) Here’s what research says about how many Americans even can read well:
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In other words:
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Download I did an informal poll of some friends while writing this post. Every one of them told me that they assumed that higher reading level meant better writing. We’re trained to think that in school. But data shows the opposite: lower reading level often correlates with commercial popularity and in many cases, how good we think a writer is.[8]
I recently wrote a post about three important ingredients for “shareable” writing: Novelty, identity, and fluency. “Novelty,” of course, has to do with surprising or new ideas and stories. “Identity” means the reader can relate to the subject or characters. And “fluency” means the reader can get through the writing quickly, without having to think so hard about the words themselves.
My reading level data verifies that Hemingway, et. al. write with more fluency than others. That’s what makes them exceptional. And it gives them a better chance to reach larger audiences.
In eras past, sophisticated writers aimed to entertain and persuade a sophisticated audience with big vocabulary and complex ideas. (Case in point: Ben Franklin’s autobiography—one of my favorites—is written at a 13th grade level.) In recent years, it seems an increasing number of sophisticated thinkers have intended to reach larger audiences through literary simplification (e.g., Malcolm Gladwell, one of the smartest people I’ve met, who certainly could write at a 13th grade level but intentionally writes at 8th grade level in order to bring complex ideas to an audience that wouldn’t hang at a higher level). Yet, school teaches us that higher reading level equals credibility, which is why so many of us try to sound more sophisticated when we speak and write. In fact, that’s what most business and academic writers still do: they get verbose and pack their work with buzzwords and heavy diction in order to appear trustworthy.
Turns out, that’s counter-productive.
Let’s look at Vox’s Ezra Klein, the Washington Post and American Prospect writer who made his mark in the journalism world through the opposite practice. Klein’s job, like any good reporter, is to take sophisticated information and explain it in a way that a larger audience can understand. He does it exceptionally well. Here’s what that looks like in a couple of his recent posts:
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Now, at a reading ease of 57 out of 100, Klein’s articles are not Goodnight Moon. But he significantly increases the percentage of people who can actually comprehend some very complex material. And that’s made his career.
I posit that this idea has a lot to do with the unlikely popularity of blogs in general. When blogging became a thing fifteen or so years ago, journalists frequently scoffed. How can amateurs possibly win an audience’s trust like we pros can? Movies and TV shows made a trope of the enterprising young blogger who gets no respect from the newsroom.[8] Yet, blogs—with their conversational prose—took off.
For one last comparison, I grabbed a top story from a bunch of news sites around the web. It’s not a wholly scientific comparison (entertainment stories will contain different vocab than policy or business stories), but I tried to take samples that represented each publication’s standard work. Here’s what I found:

(Click to enlarge)
I was curious why GQ was more complex than the Los Angeles Times, and Cosmo less complex than GQ. Turns out that esoteric vocabulary that you tend to find in fitness and health articles (like the one I sampled for GQ) clocks in at a higher reading level, even if the rest of the prose is simple.
You may not be surprised to learn that the 3rd-grade-level BuzzFeed post was the most shared article on the list. The top BuzzFeed News article, on the other hand, dealt with weightier subject matter and was more advanced reading (and shared much less). The Economist, of course, publishes the most complex writing. Strange, however, that Huffington Post’s big news stories tend to be complex as well. This is a product of subject matter to a degree, but I suspect it also has to do with having more seasoned writers on staff and an aim over recent years to appear more sophisticated. They’re not writing at a level that a well-educated person can’t jibe, but the fact that 50% of the country isn’t going to comprehend the top general interest story on HuffPo is pretty interesting.
What does this all mean?
We shouldn’t discount simple writing, but instead embrace it. People freak out that teenagers are reading 5th-grade-level books, but it turns out that’s not a bad sign. Of course, we want to teach teens to comprehend higher reading levels than Harry Potter, but just because we can doesn’t mean we should be forced to waste time slogging through Ph.D.-level papers when the Ph.D.s could write more fluently.
The other lesson from this study is that we should aim to reduce complexity in our writing as much as possible. We won’t lose credibility by doing so. Our readers will comprehend and retain our ideas more reliably. And we’ll have a higher likelihood of reaching more people.
Of course, nobody’s going to be excited enough to read or talk about something just because it’s easy. To make an impact, writing has to be interesting, too.[9][image error]

It might not be reasonable (or desirable) to write business texts at a 4th grade reading level. Gladwell and Hemingway are different beasts.[10] But within a given genre, the best writers tend to write the simplest.[11]
And in case you’re wondering, this blog post got an 8.6.

A New Interview

Thanks Fiona for taking the time to chat.

Here it is.

Interview

My review of BvS: Dawn of Justice

First, let me say how hyped I was for this movie. I was nuts over it.
These characters are my childhood, shit, my adulthood, more so than any other heroes.
I was so excited that for the last month I was avoiding everything about it online and Tv; of course, you can't dodge it all, but I did my best.
I was even taking the time to workout beforehand all the things I didn't understand, like or agree with, based on the trailers I'd seen (before going Dark) and telling all my friends my ideas as a way to counteract all the negative talk already circling the drain—and this was before the actual first reviews came out.
I was supposed to see the movie with one of my best friends, a Die-In-the-Cape Superman aficionado, who like me, also enjoyed Man of Steel. But I'm glad I didn't see it with him, because he was loosing faith early on, despite all my theories and how I fervently denounced hater trash-talking—mostly cause many weren't fans of the genre or didn't enjoy MoS or who wanted everything to be Marvel's take on Super Heroes—my friend couldn't be swayed from going into it with far less than modest hopes.
(It didn't help that we couldn't get a schedules right, ya know, the Life of Dads) 
SOOOOO he saw it early, like a dozen hours before me and I told him to tell me, without spoilers, if he liked it or not and he basically came away saying...
He liked it far less than Man of Steel, though he's glad for fans—basically he was disappointed more than anything. This just wasn't what he was expecting, so this kinda put a huge question mark on the whole Justice League going forward.
So, I had all of this floating in my head when I saw it the next day with my wife.
I watched it in almost near silence. When it was over, we left without saying much, she kept asking me how I felt, what I thought, so here it is....
Between 3.5 and 5 out of 10 Stars is how I rank Dawn of Justice
So, if you loved this movie, well, there's no point reading onward cause it won't matter.

Q: That's an odd Star Rating?
A: Well, I split it because I view the movie two ways 1) Story 2) Visuals
So the story is the meat of the movie—dialogue, motivations, acting but not really because they were directed to deliver those lines that way, but the plot and so on. And for me, that's a 3.5 out of 10.
The Visuals were great—costumes, almost all the scenes, graphics, almost all the action and so on, which is why I gave it a 5 out of 10.

Savy?
Lets do the reverse: Visuals 1st because they're mostly positive


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Ok, so, clearly the actors looked great, the costumes looked great.

And this is a pretty bad ass Bat Cave; this isn't even all of it. 
 
Yep, that's a sweet Bat Mobile *even if a little too obviously Urban Warfare*

Yep, that's also a sweet Bat Wing *Seems to be a shitload of Batman stuff?*
I mean, you get it, it's a damn good looking movie...for the most part; yes, plenty of scenes were too dark (not gritty) just dark and hard to see. The battle with Zodsday (you'll get this later) was really hard to see, not nearly enough contrasts, too much smoke and fire and just dark. Nevertheless, for the most part, this was a very pretty movie with some great slow motion scenes and crisp-action driven scenes, which Snyder is a master of. 
Ok, good, so this really sums up why it's a 5 out of 10. The visuals were pretty damn good, but, since I kinda lump music into visuals—no, you can't see them, but they do add to the weight of a scene—this movie didn't really have a good score and I can't remember any music in the movie that stirred my emotions anywhere near how I felt when watching MoS. 
Now, onto the hard stuff.
While I respect Snyder and his team for swinging for the fences, this movie for me had way more misses, fouls and strikes compared to the few good hits and honestly, I don't remember any scene in the movie that was a home-run for me—and that hurts to say. Hurts me more than you know.

The Failure of Trying to do TOO MUCH

Dawn of Justice isn't Dark Knight Returns
 



1) It doesn't have the history of the characters in-order to have the emotional-weight needed for their fight to matter, because in the movie, they'd just met. Superman's been a hero for about two years.2) The fight in the movie isn't nearly as creative as the comic/animated movie.3) There's a POINT to their fight, a message, a question of WHO has power and who has the Right to it—
A) The Regan Government, which Superman is an agent of; of course Batman feels this makes Superman a tool, something he should never be given WHO HE IS and what he represents. B) OR Batman, who wants to do his own thing and feels HEROES serve to check all other powers, except the Gov has "retired" many.—and so because their "fight" is more than just a senseless battle-royal, their dialogue during and/or their inner thoughts depicted in the comic ARE IMPORTANT. They add substance to the conflict, but the movie lacks almost all of this and instead inserts weaker dialogue, of which is basically Batman's one lesson he's learned from his parents and then the laughable of all moments in the movie...
Say whatever you want about the "Depth" in this scene, how it's the moment where Batman realizes Superman is also just a son who wants to save his mother, how it suddenly snaps him back to the loss of his own mother....but what if her name wasn't Martha?
What if she was Sue Kent?Yeah, Superman would've died. Think of it this way:
The audience is pushed to a cliff (the showdown) because The "Great Detective" can't do math, and ignores his own eyes, including any/all evidence about the Zod encounter following his THREAT TO THE PLANET, on top of being a ridiculous pawn of Lex's flimsy plan to make them fight. 

Next, the audience is told to jump from the cliff (buy-into the climactic Martha moment whereby our heroes become BFFS) and don't worry, it'll all work out, because the parachute—the assumption of it all coming together via subtle nuance—will open and the amazing depth will be revealed like an atomic bomb in your mind....
 
Except it didn't for many people; pushed to the cliff, told to jump, I and others found ourselves without a parachute. Why? The extremely poetic trigger was silly and weak. Worse. When you realized that's all they had to get the team united, it was a joke. And Nay Sayers bark that it's because the point was missed, the depth was lost....viewers just didn't "Get It"

Bull Shit! We got it and it's stupid and it's beneath both of these Icons.

I love Wonder Woman, but why?

1) For the one scene that ties into her own solo movie.
2) So she can promote a mini trailer of THINGS TO COME in DCU via the file Lex ha on all the other future DCU's JL members.
3) Oh, to help fight Zodsday.

Yeah, not enough. She did great. She looked great. But, no real purpose.



LEX isn't!
 






 Mark Zuckerberg splashed with JOKER!

"The character is in line with what audiences want to see now, which is a more modern, psychologically realistic concept of Lex Luthor. His motivations are multifaceted; he has a way of using language that’s specific to the way his mind works; he struggles with interesting philosophical dilemmas like that of the individual having too much power, even if that individual is using that power for good. For instance, Superman has so far been using his powers to do some good, but is it safe to have someone like that walking the streets? It’s great that all of this happens in the context of a very exciting superhero movie."Jesse Eisenberg's

Modern?
First, I hate this buzz word, because it's empty and meaningless, but, what about this was modern.
Does Modern = Annoying? 
Psychologically realistic?
Are you kidding me? He did a piss gag!
He has a way of using language that's specific to the way his mind works?
Yeah? WOW, that's deep. But you know how also talks specific to the way his mind works:
I love this movie and this actor and this character
Eisenberg's portrayal was a train-wreck.
His intelligence wasn't frightfully inspiring, which it should've been. No, he was an over confident, pseudo-intellectual douche with daddy's wallet to play with. 

I was hoping it was all an act.
That in private, the Real Lex (even an alter ego) would come out, but it never did...

This is but a taste of what we should've gotten, and no, I'm not talking about the hair or his age.



Superman, but not the one we were expecting.

He had no heart in this movie. He left Man of Steel on solid footing. He was becoming Superman. And yet here, it's not that being a Hero is tough, but that it's a burden and not the kind that makes Superman upset at the state of the world, the one that makes him question What's The Point. I mean, he didn't care what the people were saying about him, he said as much to Lois in the tub scene. Later he says he's been "Righting Wrongs for a Ghost, living his life the way his father saw it, thinking I'm her to do good, Superman isn't real, just the dream of a farmer from Kansas." WWWTTTTTFFFF? And why didn't Martha have anything positive to say to him? Where were all the heartfelt, encouraging scenes from MoS? Did he forget what the symbol on his chest means? How did he go from wanting to know WHO he is and WHERE he came from and WHY he's here, to just....
What killed it most for me, was the scene in congress. It was terrible. It didn't reveal his humanity while all around him people were blown up, burning...it showed him as a lifeless alien.
He's not Dr Manhattan. 

He's the bridge between two worlds. 
I mean, killing Zod wrecked him. But when innocent people died...Also, that scene should've been the turning point where the apprehensive portion of the public was starting to come around to him, because, there was no reason he couldn't have stopped that bomb. Remember the earlier scene where Lois had a gun to her head, but instead of Eye Beams or blurring speed or Frost Breath, Superman put the guy through the wall before he could pull the trigger? And yes, that dude diedOk, so considering that, why couldn't he have reacted to the Congress woman's OBVIOUS NERVOUSNESS {which the film made sure to point out to the audience} and checked out the room, put 2 & 2 together and become a freaking hero? Or, perhaps LET HIM SPEAK before congress? There were countless other scenes in the movie that could've been cut so Superman could get a word in? Ya know, one of the great things the MoS is best at, is embodying the best in us, what we could be "If Shown the Way" and at the end of his touching speech to the world about the tragedy in Metropolis, how it's effected him, there still could've been an explosion if Snyder really, truly just couldn't get around kicking The Boy Scout in the nuts.

Louis Lane, 
outside of Solo Superman, 
or unless reporting the action, NEEDS TO GO AWAY.
Way too much film time was based on her and the terrible Spy/Corrupt Gov/Political Thriller sub-sub-sub plot they worked out for her through this mess of a muddled movie.  In MoS, her reporting made sense, it's how we come to find Superman and because she's his direct contact, she gets wrapped up into the great plot/threat during the Kyrptonian attack. However, in this movie...her reporting takes us the long long way around to what we already know.

Now, she could've been a public activist for Superman, doing interviews or reporting to "spin" the news in his favor...as happens in real news, this could've brought up conflicts in the media, how the Daily Planet is involved; she could've also LIVE FILMED the later battle with Zodsday, which could've made for some better action scenes as viewed through the lens of a camera (cleaning up the image, show us things the naked eye can't see given the speed they were fighting/moving; further shots to show scale, also, Superman could've of course rescued Lois—a trope, but it works sometimes—or she could've reported secondary damage, which Superman, Batman or WW could've contained to show their Heroic Sides) I mean, there were plenty of things for her to do. She could've had more discussions with Clark/Superman about how he's feeling, their relationship...
And the worst scene of all was the Kyrptonite Spear.Forget that she throws it away, to then go back and get it, but then, Superman has to save her from drowning, for her to then save him from downing cause its KRYPTONITE? That was the most back and forth Who-is-Saving-Who? scene I've ever seen. 

What Happened to Martha between Mos and BvS?
You don't go from this: Tough discussion with a child about what his LIFE WILL ONE DAY MEAN 


And you don't go from this: Reassuring moment about the future
To giving him an OPT OUT. This scene wasn't about the realities, how failures and harsh choices for the greater good have to be made by Heroes like Superman and that letting them go unanswered (him being blamed for mass murders) to a scared humanity only worsens things.
No, this was a bitter mother pissed about how the world is treating her special, misunderstood, misrepresented little boy, saying "It's ok, screw them"
I loved the Kents in MoS, they were tough and complex, but yet they were still folksy and lovable and caring and compassionate and they KNEW and TRUSTED that Clark would one day be the SUPERMAN the world needs. That his life had a purpose and it was there job to guide him.
I don't know what Martha has become, but I know she's lost Johnathan/Jor and Lara-El's vision for a better world; and perhaps that's fine that she's scared, I understand that, but then her SON should've reminded her of who he is, where he's come from, how he was raised and what his parents in-trusted in him....unless in the time between Mos and BvS they've come to mean little to nothing. But that makes no sense!

The Batman!
For the most part, Ben did a great job. 
And while I won't tackle some issues, I have to confront this...
Trust me. I get it. It's not that Batman has never "killed" before and people often love to point to the 89" movie and certain comics or the few times when he's used a gun as examples when Batman did "non-Batman things" but Batman has always been at his best when the Line isn't Crossed.

 As a friend put it, "It's ok for Batman to put people in the hospital, it's even ok for him NOT to save everyone (karma/accidents/failures) but it's never ok for him to purposefully put people in the morgue" and I agree with this.
Though certain (short) stories have confronted the issue of killing after the fact, Superman too, the point wasn't to continue the path, but that it's the end of it—that's the final straw. Or the point of these shorts and one-offs were about HOW DID THEY GET HERE. Such stories are fantasies about our hero(s), they're philosophical wonderings, GREAT WHAT IF'S; they're not meant to be regular content, they're not the standard concept of our hero, because the heart of their conflict with the world is their Resistance to becoming what they fight. Once they give-in, it's over.


Zodsday and the Death of Superman, should never have been


isn't
I was actually excited when my theory about Zod being made into the monster came true, but then that terrible line was uttered "...he's your Doomsday" or something like that, which made me cringe. 1) Because there was no way they'd give this major event the respect it deserved.2) Because there was no way they'd give Superman's Death the respect it deserved. 3) Because there was no way they'd give the Aftermath of Superman's Death the respect it deserved.

Consider the animated conflict (even simplified, it's awesome)

Now consider the comic version (skipped panels)
"The Justice League International (Guy Gardner, Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Maxima, Fire, Ice, and Bloodwynd) responds to a call from a smashed big-rig outside of Bucyrus, Ohio, and follows the trail of senseless destruction which leads them to a confrontation with the mysterious creature.[2] It systematically takes the team apart, starting by throwing a tree trunk through their aircraft and finishing by punching Booster Gold into the stratosphere. Booster Gold is caught in mid-air by Superman, and declares "It's like Doomsday is here", thus providing the monster with a name.The Man of Steel arrives on the scene, having cut short a television interview with Cat Grant in Justice League America #69. He and the able-bodied League members follow the threat to the home of a single mother and her two children, where their battle with "Doomsday" destroys the house. The League attacks Doomsday with all their energy-projection powers; the only discernible effect is that much of his bodysuit is blasted or burned off.          
     
Doomsday again defeats the League, causes the house to explode into flames, and then leaps away. Superman follows, after saving the small family. Superman throws Doomsday into the bottom of a lake. After Doomsday escapes from the lake bed, he and Superman tear up a city street.Maxima then reenters the fray. Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen are sent to cover the battle for television, while Lex Luthor (then masquerading as his non-existent son "Lex Luthor II") dissuades Supergirl from joining the fight. 

The fight continues at a gas station, where Maxima rips a light post from the ground; the sparks from the wiring ignite the leaking gasoline and the station is destroyed in a huge explosion. Guardian arrives after Doomsday leaves, finding Superman and Maxima, and offers his aid.
 




  Superman then follows Doomsday's trail of destruction (compared to that of a major tornado), waiting for an opportunity to attack. With the monster's rampage drawing closer, Lex Jr. convinces Supergirl that she's needed in Metropolis while Superman is fighting elsewhere. While demolishing an appliance store, Doomsday sees a TV commercial for a wrestling show being held in Metropolis, and after seeing a road sign for Metropolis, heads in that direction. Superman engages him and throws him in the opposite direction, where he lands on the mountain housing Project Cadmus. They brawl throughout Habitat, a living forest connected to Cadmus, bringing most of it down. When the superhero Guardian arrives, Doomsday knocks him down and leaps toward Metropolis.Doomsday is driven below ground, where he ruptures gas and electrical mains, leveling Newtown, a large section of Metropolis. Supergirl goes to Superman's aid, but a single punch from Doomsday knocks her to the ground, her form destabilized. 

Professor Emil Hamilton and Bibbo Bibbowski, Superman's allies, fire a laser cannon at Doomsday, but it does not harm him. The local police open fire on Doomsday, but again, he is not harmed. Superman returns to the fight.  
Superman and Doomsday lay into each other with everything they have. They strike each other with so much force that the shockwaves from their punches shatter windows. At the struggle's culminating moment in front of the Daily Planet building, each fighter lands a massive blow upon his opponent. The two titans collapse and moments later, in the arms of a frantic Lois Lane, Superman succumbs to his wounds and seemingly dies.[2] Jimmy, Ice, and Bloodwynd are also present at the end.The climactic event happened in Superman (vol. 2) #75. The issue only contains 22 panels, and every page was a single panel, which was a structure building on the previous issues - Adventures of Superman #497 was done entirely with four-panel pages, Action Comics #684 with three, and Superman: The Man of Steel #19 with two. The entire story was immediately collected into a trade paperback and titled The Death of Superman.
 
It's a HUGE DEAL! Multiple issues, story lines, comics and cross overs and while I'm just giving snip-its, I'm not even including all the ripples that come after this crazy huge event.
But we got


Added to this short, basic state funeral, there's a small private family funeral (can't find images of)

!!!!BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER CAUSE HE'S NOT DEAD!!!!
That's right, at the end of the movie, there's a scene with the casket where the dirt on top beings to "float" like happens when Superman is about to FLY.
 Ok, I'm basically done.
Here's my final rundown of plot holes and things which should've been cut in-order to make room for more important places to tell the damn story:
1) Cut/scrap the whole opening sequence of the Wayne Murders, Bruce finding the cave (it's tired) 2) After Superman saves Lois from being a human shield....even if they spent a few moments kissing or w/e, once they went back outside and Lois realized the guys who killed everyone were gone, obvious dirt-bike tracks, WHY DIDN'T HE GO AFTER THEM? HE'S SUPERMAN? He likely could've still SEEN THEM riding away or heard the bikes or simply flew super speed after the tracks and quickly caught up to them? It makes no sense.
*To have them escape, keeping up with the whole terrible sub-sub-sub plot of a strange bullet no one has seen that keeps Lois occupied for most of the movie, why didn't they have some Lex Tec and vanish, teleport, escape in a cloaked ship of some kind; I mean, Iron Man's armor is basically magic on screen in the MCU, why didn't Snyder feel he could, I don't know, put some Scifi into this comic movie? It was just weak writing with no creativity.*
3) How the hell was Superman setup for the murder of the villagers when Lex's goons killed everyone, with strange bullets *The one Lois uses in her sub plot* and she's a Witness and the CIA had an operative there, so likely their were drones in the sky...ya know, the ones the terrorist leader mentioned shortly before dying? 4) How did Superman know where Lois was in the desert?5) Why didn't Superman take back the Kryptonian ship? I mean, he stole it back in MoS, but now he leaves it in the hands of the Gov? Wouldn't he want it? Couldn't that have opened some awesome doors? Zod's key? Perhaps rebuilding Jor-El from the depths of the ship's computer? The Wealth of knowledge....*sigh*
6) When Superman rescued the exploding space shuttle, how did he arrive in time?
7) When Clark is following Bruce down stairs to confront him about Alfrid speaking in his ear, why does he pause when hearing the Spanish news cast about the building on fire? Does he speak Spanish?
8) How does Clark Kent not know who Bruce Wayne is?
9) How did Bruce not get any word of the returned checks with the creepy writing on them—given that character's relationship to Bruce—way way way way way way way way way way way beforehand, I mean, there were months worth of checks? The guy was all over the news when he defaced Superman's statute, shouldn't it have come up then? Really, all the returned checks with evil thoughts on them, all slipped through the cracks, right until the absolute last moment so the bomb could go off in congress?
10) When Bruce goes to the underground fight match, why isn't he in disguise? Forget the Detective/Batman element, just on it's face, would it be ok for Wayne Enterprises/Family to be linked to such entertainment? 11) If Superman could hear Lois scream while fighting Zodsday, on top of finding her in the desert, how come he didn't know the scream of his own mother when she was being abducted?
12) And how did Lex know where to find Martha? Maybe Superman's link to Lois in MoS, but if that's true...how come Batman, the Great Detective, didn't already know the identity of Superman?
13) So Lex knows the identity of the JL, anyone see a problem with this?
14) Though he's no in the movie, given that this Batman kills, how is Joker alive?
15) Why did Lex even need an import license for the Kryptonite? He's working with killers and terrorists, why didn't he just smuggle it in himself? 


Ok, now I'm done.
3.5 to 5 sad, sad stars out of 10
The point is: Keep your Justice League
I already have mine












 

My Review of DoJ is coming

GENESIS: Book One of The Kingdom Come Series (All Reviews)

 Ok, Now they're all in one place: Amazon, B&N and Goodreads :)

Author S.C. HaydenApril 8, 2016 4/5A vast and wonderful book. The storyline is a little dense at times but never plodding. Layered and lovely, it kept me up late more than a few times. Epic Sci Fi is not dead. Huzzah.
Author C.T Phipps-
March 4, 2016
4/5 stars
A complex well-developed world. Genesis reminds me of the original Wheel of Time novel, The Eye of the World, in that it opens with a collection of references and description of a strange new world full of ideas as well as concepts which the reader is dumped head first into. It's a fascinating but frequently distracting tale which exists halfway between sci-fi and high fantasy. This is not going to be a book for everyone but I, personally, enjoyed it once I managed to immerse myself fully into the world. The beginning is a bit rough, though, I will state the perspective changes a few too many times. The breadth of the author's imagination is fascinating, though, and I'm envious as an author.
The character of Jak seems like a typical farmboy protagonist in an unusual world which combines Bronze Age city-states with supernatural phenomenon and technology. After a series of events push him from his home, he is joined by a cast of intriguing characters in the brainy Leia and Evangeline as well as the roguish Ruddiger. Events propel them forward on a road trip which takes them against a post-apocalypse world of science and religion gone wrong with mysteries and bizarre locales. The story follows their multiple perspectives on events and we get a sense of the alien far-future humanity has degenerated into. It can be a little overwhelming but very satisfying once it gets going.
I suggest readers stick with it until at least the Jak chapters to enjoy.

ImA Contradiction
Dec 15, 2015
4/5
This was a great read from cover to cover. The depth of the world created by the Author left me feeling spellbound after the final chapter. In reading the story I found that I became caught up in the lives of the characters as well as in the imagery used to pull me into the world itself. I quite literally felt like I was inside their world, seeing everything as they saw it. I enjoyed the multiple characters POVs because it allowed me to see even deeper into the world created by Garrett. I will be looking forward to more installments in the series. 
Author Dave de Burghon December 3, 20154/5 Slow burning, Subtle and Unique! Wade has written a considered and carefully crafted tale here, one that merges different genres not only well but in interesting and exciting ways.He allows his characters to grow in the reader's mind, giving them to space and time to continuously define themselves, while also expanding and exploring the world they live in without dumping info on the reader or bogging down the narrative.His tale also creates new cultures and magic while subtly twisting our own history, so don't be surprised if you read about something that sounds familiar.My only issue is that the book is a slow read, but that may be because I'm used to reading fast paced tales - one thing is for sure: this is a novel that builds subtly and consistently, showing Wade to be a writer and storyteller who has great control and a vast imagination.Looking forward to reading more from this author! Lee BroomAugust 14, 20154/5 This was an epic tale! I really liked the main character Jak, and really started getting into the story when he was introduced. When he and his friends and family went through all these major events, the suspense of seeing what happens to them really carried me through this book. I can't say I understood everything in the book, but there was a surreal sense of time and place and reality that was compelling within it. Things were really interesting when attention was put on the Areht people and the way they lived. Anyway, events and people in the story grab the reader's attention, so it's worth a look if you want to go to a very different place. Thanks to the author for providing the free copy in exchange for an honest review. Hernan CordovesJuly 8, 20154/5 Great read. A vast world rich with verbal imagery. This author has a writing style very similar to that of George R.R. Martin, and Robert Jordan. Throw in a little Frank Herbert, and you got Wade Garret. Looking forward to book 2. Author Patrick James RyanJune 12, 20154/5 Genesis, by Wade Garrett is a tremendous story, rich in diverse well developed characters that the reader can be completely consumed with! I applaud him for taking the risk to develop a story that is vast and complex, yet balancing prose enough to keep the reader hooked! The diversity of characters move the story through a variety of perspectives and lenses, which may be challenging for some readers, but Wade ties it all together nicely as protagonists battle antagonists and the plot continues to thicken throughout the chapters. For fans of futuristic science fiction, this is a great read! I would recommend prospective readers take it to the beach on vacation in an effort to absorb all the nuances of the story without distraction. Garrett is obviously teeing himself up for a series on the heel of the success of this book, and it will be interesting to find out where he goes next with this world he has created! Benjamin BernhardtJune 8, 20154/5The book is well-written for the most part, although there are some confusing time-jumps in the story. The characters are relate-able and easy to understand (except the ones you're not supposed to understand). The mythos of the story fits the setting and draws you in, making you want to keep reading and find out more. Claire HillMay 21, 20151/5A book that demands your full attention. When I was asked to review this book by the author, I accepted as it really sounded like my kind of book and the synopsis appeared promising.From the very beginning, lots of different petiole and places you aren't familiar with are mentioned, which I found really confusing. I knew that all would probably become clear eventually, so I tried to keep track and persevered.I've read lots of books where each chapter is told from a different person's perspective and quite enjoy that, but, in Genesis this happens every paragraph. I was completely lost after a few chapters in so decided to leave it there.I think this is the kind of book that you need to read when you have lots of time to devote to it exclusively. Think log cabin, solitude and snow. There are several 5 star reviews on Amazon for this book, so people obviously enjoyed it. It just wasn't for me. Darlene Cruz April 7, 20155/5 Well written and sucked you into the abyss of Sci-Fi. Each character is a character because of the detailed descriptive narrative. Entertaining and intriguing to say the least. Wade Garret caused a confusion here and there switching between characters and gracing us with each characters "going on," but he managed to keep me focus on the storyline and it was well worth it. A bulky book, not that I'm complaining. Hey I was happy to keep on reading a very tantalizing good read. Thank you, Darlene Cruz I won this book from Goodreads First Read Giveway.
Dragons Read Books Too March 27, 20154/5 Pretty Decent Read: Great Start For a Series. Pretty good book. A lot to wade through initially as the explanations are abound for what the Areht does. Some parts of it seemed a little complex for the average reader to follow. Once the action picks up, it us full throttle from there on. Then, you see how the characters interact and why. I found a few if the scenes jumbled but for the most part I found this book ocerall enjoyable  
WR--Reckless Traveler March 12, 20155/5Unprecedented World Building This is the kind of science fiction novel that you have to surrender yourself to completely. There is a ton of world building going on here, the author has clearly mapped out whole histories of a complex and fascinating world. When you don't know an author, it's difficult to commit fully to the task of learning everything that must be comprehended to enjoy a novel like this. In this case, however, it is worth it. Joshua Bernhardt February 23, 20155/5 I really enjoyed the story and the world in which it takes place. The environment is intricately described and comes to life through the storytelling. One feels immersed into the world and the events are, to me, vividly displayed in my mind. There are multiple story threads going on that cross each other in interesting ways.
Am awaiting the next installment.
Andrew February 23, 20154/5A Great Science Fiction Book I received a free copy of the book through goodreads first reads.3.5/5 stars. A good book filled with interesting characters and a rich, full world that is massive in scope. It was a little hard to get into the book in earlier chapters because of all of the references to places/words/events/etc. that you have no real knowledge of what, where, or who it is talking about. Once you get farther in the book, however, all of it begins to come together and you have a better understanding of how deep and complex the world in this series actually is.Another thing that was difficult in the beginning was how the perspective kept changing between the characters, told from one characters perspective in one paragraph, a different character in the next, and back again to the first character in a third paragraph. Once you get used to it, however, this approach was actually fairly interesting as it allows you to see events from each of the characters perspectives.All in all it was a good book that I enjoyed reading and I look forward to reading more books from this series. I recommend this book to anyone with an interest in science fiction, and while it is a bit difficult in the beginning, if you stick with it you will be rewarded with an impressively detailed and rich world with a great story to go along with it. Author Andy.P  February 17, 20153/5I absolutely loved the hook and writing style. This has been a very difficult book to read and review.
To begin with, I absolutely loved the hook and the writing style. From the characters dialogue to the quotes at the beginning of chapters, I very much enjoyed the author's skill at constructing a complicated world with interesting people.
The downside is that there's little or no explanation or back-story given for anything. Right from the beginning, we are told it is the “third age”. OK, the third age of what? Why is this the third age? What happened to the second age? These questions and more are never answered.
This author has great potential and is probably a terrific lecturer or essay writer. This book has everything it needs to make it a great story except the story itself. It lacks both narrative and description. I finished reading it because I enjoyed the style.
The reader is left to wonder if this world is a future Earth or a completely different universe. The narrative is often hard to follow because the POV switches from one character at one time to another in possibly a different time, right in the middle of chapters with no warning. This makes it difficult to keep track of who is doing what where and when.
This story is about continuing war. The enemy seems some kind of giant cyborg bug, which was thought to have been defeated and or destroyed at some unknown time in the past. The story centers around a small group of people, one of whom has discovered his father's mysterious sword. The sword seems to grant or awaken some kind of power within our hero, but it's unclear if his power is purely mental or some kind of man machine hybrid.
That said, I look forward to seeing how Wade's writing grows from here!  LadyAmanuet November 6, 20144/5Impressive Debut Work.Though I enjoy fantasy it is not a genre I usually default to. Genesis was recommended to me by a friend because of our mutual like of Dune. I was very impressed with this debut work! The worlds and characters are richly developed and Garret does a great job of drawing the reader in. I am excited to read the next installment!

Jeannie Masterson November 6, 20145/5Great Book! Wow! Didn't expect this. Not normally one for fantasy stuff but REALLY enjoyed this. This is a first time author? I was hooked from the opening pages. Eagerly anticipating Book Two!  Sassy November 6, 20145/5Don't even try to put this one down because you won't be able to! You'll long for the next sentence!This book was phenomenal! I am eagerly anticipating the next volume of this series! Wade, hurry it up!!!The characters are so full of depth, deep dialog, and detail that in reading, I felt I could hear them next to me if I had closed my eyes with their gruff voices. Smell their skin, feel the worn edges of their clothing even. Garret has such a powerful way with description. It really pulls you in, making you ready to turn the pages as fast as you can to get to the next part of the adventure. The prologue almost lost my attention, but I'm so thankful that I continued to read. It wasn't that the prologue wasn't good, it's that it contained so many facts that my brain was swirling. Almost as if I needed to make a flow chart to keep up. Once I began reading the meat of the book, it all made sense. Be prepared to be engulfed in this book. Once you start reading, you won’t want to put it book down. You too will crave to know more! My poor Kindle Fire almost couldn’t keep up with me turning pages so quickly!  Michael R Collins September 20, 20145/5 Complex and compelling. Diving into this book is diving into a complete world already served and delivered. The world in which Wade Garret has built is not one that is constructed as you go. It’s hard not to get sucked into the rich and developed story as well as the elaborate and well fleshed out characters. As we follow the main character Jak, the story chugs along, building up momentum and makes it hard to put down
In the beginning you feel a little bombarded with all the little details, but the farther you get those details help guide you through and make it all the more real.
This isn’t a book to expect to read quickly and move on. It’s a fantastic tome of sci-fi/fantasy immersion. joe redman August 26, 20145/5 Genesis is a great book, Its a little long but it grabs you and once it does you can not put it down till the end. The detail Wade put in the book about all the characters and the world they live in made me feel as if i was there. I hear Wade Garret is working on part two, if so I cant wait for it to come out. GREAT READ for anyone!!!  Nadja July 26, 20145/5 An Awesome Book!Wade Garret's Genesis: Book One of the Kingdom Come is one of the most epic sci-fi books I've read this year. The characters are so realistic that they almost feel tangible. Although I feel that the dialogue can be improved (I think it's just me not being used to dialogue written like this), the characters' personalities are something I can actually associate with, which is great.
Though the novel is quite long, Garret's talent made me flip through my e-reader like a steam engine, almost non-stop, and I finished the book in a few days. However, the prologue with Black didn’t really catch my attention as much as the actual first chapter did, but I’m pretty glad that I didn’t drop the novel as the chapters after the prologue makes up for it.With each scene painted in full colours and vividness, I can imagine each event happening in my head. If you like books with great detail, you will like how Garret explained his world from how the buildings line up on the road to how some characters choose to wear their clothing.Even though I'm not usually a fan of past tense and third-person in writing, I was still astounded by the amount of detail and effort put in the making of this novel. The different point of views of the characters were confusing at first, when views switched from character to character, but I got used to it, and truth be told, I actually liked it.All in all, this is one novel sci-fi fans shouldn't miss. Thanks Garret for sharing your story with us and I'm looking forward to the second book. Author P. Rawlik March 2, 20144/5Fantastic DebutGenesis is a magnificent debut and something Wade Garret should be proud of. The scope is reminiscent of some of the epic series of the 70s and 80s, and will draw comparisons to Dune and the Wheel of Time. Garret has created a grand example of world building, full of a fascinating landscape, people and technology that should serve him well in the future as he returns to it in future installments. His characters are rich and well-developed, and their motivations are clear and reasonable. The combination of setting and characters creates an enjoyable and exciting tale that draws the reader in and won't let them go.However, in the interest of balance there are some sections of the book that drag, and it could use a good editor to deal with some grammatical and structural issues, but these are minor and really do not detract from the book. Wade Garret should be pleased with himself and readers of SF should watch for his future releases. Tommy Hendley December 30, 20135/5I started reading this book and haven't been able to put it down.
Going to recommend this one to anyone who appreciates this genre! Amazon Customer December 8, 20135/5Wonderful world you can sink your teeth into. Story telling executed in a fantastic style that makes you want to keep reading. The characters jump off the page and make you believe in their journey. Good till then end. When is the next one? NGreen November 1, 20134/5Long book, worth the read. I am not usually one for reading the longer Sci-Fi novels, but Genesis was definitely worth time. Garret really does a great job providing the physical and social landscape of this world. Fantastic imagination went into the different classes of people, especially of the Arete. The characters and relationships in this book are another great strength. I give the book 4 stars because Garret has created a compelling and complex story that will leave you wanting more, but there are some editorial issues that keep it from perfect. I am certainly waiting for the next book in this series. Elizabeth Weiss November 1, 20135/5Converted Science-Fiction/Fantasy readerOk so I have to say I'm not a huge science-fiction/fantasy person, but this book definitely has made me think twice about my reading list. One of the best books I've read in a long time! It took me some time to get thru it because I'm not use to the flow of a fantasy story but I loved the overall story. This writer has a way of making the reader feel very invested in the characters. The heroes you will absolutely love and find yourself shouting out loud when they come upon misfortune and the villains you will love as well with their extreme complexity nothing is quite what it seems. A very involved and in-depth story from start to finish, I was so sad when I reached the end but I'm so excited for the second book to come out. I can't wait to see where this story goes. Not a book for the faint of heart, but I have no doubt that most geeks out there will love this book. I have been converted, so glad I picked this one up!!! Happy reading! rhondap September 18, 20134/5Fantastic characters, dark plotThis is his first book published? I am impressed! A lot of action and an entire list characters that bring emotion to a fantastic and dark plot. Looking forward to more from Jak and company. MaryAnn September 18, 20135/5Garret's characters are memorable and compelling, and his creativity and originality within the fantasy genre makes him a remarkable storyteller. This one is a keeper. Wade Garret delivers the key elements of great science fiction: an authentic and detailed future-world; realistic, relatable characters to live in it; and a taut, thoughtful story. Garret's supple, muscular writing is the icing on the cake.

The scene setting and storytelling are so detailed that I felt like I woke up after dreaming in the beginning of the story and walked alongside the characters. I love how the story unfolds like an elaborate piece of origami. If you are looking for a story you can really get lost in with characters you feel like you know then buy this book now. You won't be sorry 

A New Goodreads/Amazon Review

Author C.T Phipps-
4/5 stars
Genesis reminds me of the original Wheel of Time novel, The Eye of the World, in that it opens with a collection of references and description of a strange new world full of ideas as well as concepts which the reader is dumped head first into. It's a fascinating but frequently distracting tale which exists halfway between sci-fi and high fantasy. This is not going to be a book for everyone but I, personally, enjoyed it once I managed to immerse myself fully into the world. The beginning is a bit rough, though, I will state the perspective changes a few too many times. The breadth of the author's imagination is fascinating, though, and I'm envious as an author.

The character of Jak seems like a typical farmboy protagonist in an unusual world which combines Bronze Age city-states with supernatural phenomenon and technology. After a series of events push him from his home, he is joined by a cast of intriguing characters in the brainy Leia and Evangeline as well as the roguish Ruddiger. Events propel them forward on a road trip which takes them against a post-apocalypse world of science and religion gone wrong with mysteries and bizarre locales. The story follows their multiple perspectives on events and we get a sense of the alien far-future humanity has degenerated into. It can be a little overwhelming but very satisfying once it gets going.

I suggest readers stick with it until at least the Jak chapters to enjoy.

A new Goodreads Review

Jerry-
5/5 stars
I greatly enjoyed this book,it is a fairly long read,but,i like that in a book.He does get a little sidetracked on his characters,from time to time,again ,i like this.A litlle character background keeps them real and gives your mind something else to think on(ponder).he stays on the story line well and keeps the whole story moving along.
I belive this is a well written book,worth the time to read.This is a gifted author and i look forward to more of his work.I will be there to get my copy.

Two's Company

Two’s CompanyJoe Abercrombie [image error] Illustrated by Tommy ArnoldEdited by Jonathan Strahan Tue Jan 12, 2016 9:00am 5 comments 4 Favorites [+] Lost in the wide and barren North, Javre, Lioness of Hoskopp, runs into Cracknut Whirrun on a bridge far too narrow for the expansive egos of either.  With the King of the Northmen and the High Priestess of Thond in pursuit, can Shevedieh, the greatest thief in Styria, persuade either one of these proud heroes to step aside?

Somewhere in the North, Summer 576
“This is hell,” muttered Shev, peering over the brink of the canyon. “Hell.” Rock shiny-dark with wet disappeared into the mist below, water rushing somewhere, a long way down. “God, I hate the North.”
“Somehow,” answered Javre, pushing back hair turned lank brown by the eternal damp, “I do not think God is listening.”
“Oh, I’m abundantly aware of that. No one’s bloody listening.”
“I am.” Javre turned away from the edge and headed on down the rutted goat-track beside it with her usual mighty strides, head back, heedless of the rain, soaked cloak flapping at her muddy calves. “And, what is more, I am intensely bored by what I am hearing.”
“Don’t toy with me, Javre.” Shev hurried to catch her up, trying to find the least boggy patches to hop between. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can take!”
“So you keep saying. And yet the next day you take some more.”
“I’m bloody furious!”
“I believe you.”
“I mean it!”
“If you have to tell someone you are furious, and then, furthermore, that you mean it, your fury has failed to achieve its desired effect.”
“I hate the bloody North!” Shev stamped at the ground, as though she could hurt anything but herself, succeeding only in showering wet dirt up her leg. Not that she could have made herself much wetter or dirtier. “The whole place is made of shit!”
Javre shrugged. “Everything is, in the end.”
“How can anyone stand this cold?”
“It is bracing. Do not sulk. Would you like to ride on my shoulders?”
Shev would have, in fact, very much, but her bruised pride insisted that she continue to squelch along on foot. “What am I, a bloody child?”
Javre raised her red brows. “Were you never told only to ask questions you truly want the answer to? Do you want the answer?”
“Not if you’re going to try to be funny.”
“Oh, come now, Shevedieh!” Javre bent down to snake one huge arm about her shoulders and gave her a bone-crushing squeeze. “Where is that happy-go-lucky rascal I fell in love with back in Westport, always facing her indignities with a laugh, a caper and a twinkle in her eye?” And her wriggling fingers crept towards Shev’s stomach.
Shev held up a knife. “Tickle me and I will fucking stab you.”
Javre puffed out her cheeks, took her arm away and squelched on down the track. “Do not be so overdramatic. It is exhausting. We just need to get you dry and find some pretty little farm-girl for you to curl up with and it will all feel better by morning.”
“There are no pretty farm-girls out here! There are no girls! There are no farms!” She held out her arms to the endless murk, mud and blasted rock. “There isn’t even any bloody morning!”
“There is a bridge,” said Javre, pointing into the gloom. “See? Things are looking up!”
“I never felt so encouraged,” muttered Shev.
It was a tangle of fraying rope strung from ancient posts carved with runes and streaked with bird-droppings, rotten-looking slats tied to make a precarious walkway. It sagged deep as Shev’s spirits as it vanished into the vertiginous unknown above the canyon and shifted alarmingly in the wind, planks rattling.
“Bloody North,” said Shev as she picked her way towards it and had a tentative drag at the ropes. “Even their bridges are shit.”
“Their men are good,” said Javre, clattering out with no fear whatsoever. “Far from subtle, but enthusiastic.”
“Great,” said Shev as she edged after, exchanging a mutually suspicious glance with a crow perched atop one of the posts. “Men. The one thing that interests me not at all.”
“You should try them.”
“I did. Once. Bloody useless. Like trying to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t even speak your language, let alone understand the topic.”
“Some are certainly more horizontally fluent than others.”
“No. Just no. The hairiness, and the lumpiness, and the great big fumbling fingers and . . . balls. I mean, balls. What’s that about? That is one singularly unattractive piece of anatomy. That is just . . . that is bad design, is what that is.”
Javre sighed. “It is the great shame of creation that we cannot all be so perfectly formed as you, Shevedieh, springy little string of sinew that you are.”
“There’d be more bloody meat on me if we weren’t living on high hopes and the odd rabbit. I may not be perfect but I don’t have a sock of bloody gravel swinging around my knees, you’d have to give me . . . Hold on.” They had reached the sagging middle of the bridge now, and Shev could see neither rock face. Only the ropes fading up into the grey in both directions.
“What?” muttered Javre, clattering to a stop.
The bridge kept on bouncing. A heavy tread, and coming towards them.
“There’s someone heading the other way,” muttered Shev, twisting her wrist and letting the dagger drop from her sleeve into her waiting palm. A fight was the last thing she ever wanted, but she’d reluctantly come to find there was no downside to having a good knife ready. It made a fine conversation point, if nothing else.
A figure started to form. At first just a shadow, shifting as the wind drove the fog in front of them. First a short man, then a tall one. Then a man with a rake over his shoulder. Then a half-naked man with a huge sword over his shoulder.
Shev squinted around Javre’s elbow, waiting for it to resolve itself into something that made better sense. It did not.
“That is . . . unusual,” said Javre.
“Bloody North,” muttered Shev. “Nothing up here would surprise me.”
The man stopped perhaps two strides off, smiling. But a smile more of madness than good humour. He wore trousers, thankfully, made of some ill-cured pelt, and boots with absurd fur tops. Otherwise he was bare, and his pale torso was knotted with muscle, criss-crossed with scars and beaded with dew. That sword looked even bigger close up, as if forged by an optimist for the use of giants. It was nearly as tall as its owner, and he was not short by any means, for he looked Javre more or less in the eye.
“Someone’s compensating for something,” muttered Shev, under her breath.
“Greetings, ladies,” said the man, in a thick accent. “Lovely day.”
“It’s fucking not,” grumbled Shev.
“Well, it’s all in how you look at it, isn’t it, though?” He raised his brows expectantly, but when neither of them answered, continued, “I am Whirrun of Bligh. Some folk call me Cracknut Whirrun.”
“Congratulations,” said Shev.
He looked pleased. “You’ve heard of me, then?”
“No. Where the hell’s Bligh?”
He winced. “Honestly, I couldn’t say.”
“I am Javre,” said Javre, puffing up her considerable chest, “Lioness of Hoskopp.” Shev rolled her eyes. God – warriors, and their bloody titles, and their bloody introductions, and their bloody chest-puffing. “We are crossing this bridge.”
“Ah! Me too!”
Shev ground her teeth. “What is this, a stating-the-obvious competition? We’ve met in the middle of it, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” Whirrun heaved in a great breath through his nose and let it sigh happily away. “Yes, we have.”
“That is quite a sword,” said Javre.
“It is the Father of Swords, and men have a hundred names for it. Dawn Razor. Grave-Maker. Blood Harvest. Highest and Lowest. Scac-ang-Gaioc in the valley tongue which means the Splitting of the World, the Battle that was fought at the start of time and will be fought again at its end. Some say it is God’s sword, fallen from the heavens.”
“Huh.” Javre held up the roughly sword-shaped bundle of rags she carried with her. “My sword was forged from a fallen star.”
“It looks like a sword-shaped bundle of rags.”
Javre narrowed her eyes. “I have to keep it wrapped up.”
“Why?”
“Lest its brilliance blind you.”
“Ooooooooh,” said Whirrun. “The funny thing about that is, now I really want to see it. Would I get a good look before I was blinded, or—”
“Are you two done with the pissing contest?” asked Shev.
“I would not get into a pissing contest with a man.” Javre pushed her hips forward, stuck her hand in her groin and indicated the probable arc with a pointed finger. “I have tried it before and you can say what you like about cocks but they just get far more distance. Far more. What?” she asked, frowning over her shoulder. “It simply cannot be done, no matter how much you drink. Now, if you want a pissing contest—”
“I don’t!” snapped Shev. “Right now all I want is somewhere dry to kill myself!”
“You are so overdramatic,” said Javre, shaking her head. “She is so overdramatic. It is exhausting.”
Whirrun shrugged. “It’s a fine line between too much drama and too little, isn’t it, though?”
“True,” mused Javre. “True.”
There was a pause, while the bridge creaked faintly.
“Well,” said Shev, “this has been lovely, but we are being pursued by agents of the Great Temple in Thond and some fellows hired by Horald the Finger, so, if you don’t mind—”
“In fact I do. I, too, am pursued, by agents of the King of the Northmen, Bethod. You’d think he’d have better things to do, what with this mad war against the Union, but Bethod, well, like him or no, you have to admit he’s persistent.”
“Persistently a shit,” said Shev.
“I won’t disagree,” lamented Whirrun. “The greater a man’s power swells, the smaller his good qualities shrivel.”
“True,” mused Javre. “True.”
Another long silence, and the wind blew up and made the bridge sway alarmingly. Javre and Whirrun frowned at one another.
“Step aside,” said Javre, “and we shall be on our way.”
“I do not care to step aside. Especially on a bridge as narrow as this one.” Whirrun’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And your tone somewhat offends me.”
“Then your delicate feelings will be even worse wounded by my boot up your arse. Step aside.”
Whirrun swung the Father of Swords from his shoulder and set it point-down on the bridge. “I fear you will have to show me that blade after all, woman.”
“My pleasure—”
“Wait!” snapped Shev, ducking around Javre to hold up a calming palm. “Just wait a moment! You can murder each other with my blessing but if you set to swinging your hugely impressive swords on this bridge, the chances are good you”ll cut one of the ropes, and then you”ll kill not just each other but me, too, and that you very much do not have my blessing for.”
Whirrun raised his brows. “She has a point.”
“Shevedieh can be a deep thinker,” said Javre, nodding. She gestured back the way they had come. “Let us return to our end to fight.”
Shev gave a gasp. “So you wouldn’t step aside to let him past but you”ll happily plod all the way back to fight?”
Javre looked baffled. “Of course. That is only good manners.”
“Exactly!” said Whirrun. “Manners are everything to a good-mannered person. That is why we must go to my end of the bridge to fight.”
It was Javre’s turn to narrow her eyes. She was almost as dangerous an eye-narrower as she was a fighter, which was saying something. “It must be my end.”
“My end,” growled Whirrun. “I insist.”
Shev rubbed at her temples. The past few years, it was a wonder she hadn’t worn them right through. “Are you two idiots really going to fight over where you fight? We were going this way! He’s offering to let us go this way! Let’s just go this way!”
Javre narrowed her eyes still further. Blue slits, they were. “All right. But don’t think you’re talking us out of fighting, Shevedieh.”
Shev gave her very weariest sigh. “Far be it from me to prevent bloodshed.”

Whirrun wedged his great sword point-down into a crack in the rocks and left it gently wobbling. “Let’s put our blades aside. The Father of Swords cannot be drawn without being blooded.”
Javre snorted. “Afraid?”
“No. The witch Shoglig told me the time and place of my death, and it is not here, and it is not now.”
“Huh.” Javre set her own sword down and began, one by one, to explosively crack her knuckles. “Did she tell you the time of me kicking you so hard you shit yourself?”
Whirrun’s face took on a contemplative look. “She did predict my shitting myself, but that was because of a rancid stew and, anyway, that happened already. Last year, near Uffrith. That is why I have these new trousers.” He bent over to smile proudly upon them, then frowned towards Shev. “I trust your servant will stay out of this?”
“Servant?” snapped Shev.
“Shevedieh is not my servant,” said Javre.
“Thank you.”
“She is at least a henchman. Possibly even a sidekick.”
Shev planted her hands on her hips. “We’re partners! A duo!”
Javre laughed. “No. Duo? No, no, no.”
“Whatever she is,” said Whirrun, “she looks sneaky. I don’t want her stabbing me in the back.”
“Don’t bloody worry about that!” snapped Shev. “Believe me when I say I want less than no part of this stupidity. As for sneaking, I tried to get out of that business and open a Smoke House, but my partner burned it down!”
“Sidekick at best,” said Javre. “And as I recall it was you who knocked the coals over. Honestly, Shevedieh, you are always looking for someone to blame. If you want to ever be half of a duo you must learn to take responsibility.”
“Smoke House?” asked Whirrun. “You like fish?”
“No, no,” said Shev. “Well, yes, but not that kind of Smoke House, you . . . Forget it.” And she dropped down on a rock and propped her chin on her fists.
“Since we are making rules . . .” Javre winced as she hitched up her bust. “Can we say no strikes to the tits? Men never realise how much that hurts.”
“Fine.” Whirrun lifted one leg to rearrange his groin. “If you avoid the fruits. Bloody things can get in the way.”
“It’s poor design,” said Shev. “Didn’t I say it? Poor design.”
Javre shrugged her coat off and tossed it over Shev’s head.
“Thanks,” she snapped as she dragged it off her damp hair and around her damp shoulders.
Javre raised her fists and Whirrun gave an approving nod as the sinews popped from her arms. “You are without doubt an impressive figure of a woman.” He put up his own fists, woody muscle flexing. “But I will take no mercy on you because of that.”
“Good. Except around the chest area?”
“As agreed.” Whirrun grinned. “This may be a battle for the songs.”
“You will have trouble singing them without your teeth.”
They traded blows, lightning quick. Whirrun’s fist sank into Javre’s ribs with a thud but she barely seemed to notice, letting go three quick punches and catching him full on the jaw with the last. He did not waver, only took a quick step back, already set and watchful.
“You are strong,” he said. “For a woman.”
“I will show you how strong.”
She lunged at him with a vicious flurry of blows but caught only air as he jerked this way and that, slippery as a fish in the river for all his size. Meat slapped as Javre caught his counters on her forearms, growling through gritted teeth, shrugged off a cuff on her forehead and caught Whirrun’s arm. In a flash she dropped to one knee, heaved him over her head and into the air, but he tucked himself up neat as Shev used to when she tumbled in that travelling show, hit the turf with his shoulder, rolled and came up on his feet, still smiling.
“Every day should be a new lesson,” he said.
“You are quick,” said Javre. “For a man.”
“I will show you how quick.”
He came at her, feinted high, ducked under her raking heel and caught her other calf, lifting her effortlessly to fling her down. But Javre had already hooked her leg around the back of his neck and dragged him down with her. They tumbled in a tangle of limbs to the muddy ground, rolling about with scant dignity, squirming and snapping, punching and kneeing, spitting and snarling.
“This is hell.” Shev gave a long groan and looked off into the mist. “This is . . .” She paused, heart sinking even lower. “You two,” she muttered, slowly standing. “You two!”
“We are . . .” snarled Javre as she kneed Whirrun in the ribs.
“A little . . .” snarled Whirrun as he butted her in the mouth.
“Busy!” snarled Javre as they rolled struggling through a puddle.
“You may want to stop,” growled Shev. Figures were emerging from the mist. First three. Then five. Now seven men, one of them on a horse. “I think perhaps Bethod’s agents have arrived.”
“Arse!” Whirrun scrambled free of Javre, hurrying over to his sword and striking a suitably impressive pose with his hand on the hilt, only slightly spoiled by his whole bare side being smeared with mud. Shev swallowed and let the dagger drop into her hand once again. It spent a lot more time there than she’d like.
The first to take full shape from the mist was a nervous-looking boy, couldn’t have been more than fifteen, who half-drew his bow with somewhat wobbly hands, arrow pointed roughly in Whirrun’s direction. Next came a selection of Northmen, impressively bearded if you liked that kind of thing, which Shev didn’t, and even more impressively armed, if you liked that kind of thing, which Shev didn’t either.
“Evening, Flood,” said Whirrun, dabbing some blood from his split lip.
“Whirrun,” said the one who Shev presumed to be the leader, leaning on his spear as if he’d walked a long way.
Whirrun began to conspicuously count the Northmen with a wagging finger, his lips silently moving.
“There are seven,” said Shev.
“Ah!” said Whirrun. “You’re right, she’s a quick thinker. Seven! I’m touched Bethod can spare so many, just for me. Thought he’d need every man, what with this war against the Southerners. I mean to say, they call me mad, but this war? Now that’s mad.”
“Can’t say I disagree,” said Flood, combing at his beard with his dirty fingers, “but I don’t make the choices.”
“Some men don’t have the bones to make the choices.”
“And some men are just tired of their choices always turning out the wrong ones. I know being difficult comes natural to you, Whirrun, but could you try not to be just for a little while? Bethod’s King of the Northmen, now. He can’t have people just going their own way.”
“I am Whirrun of Bligh,” said Whirrun, puffing up his considerable chest. “My way is the only way I go.”
“Oh, God,” muttered Shev. “He’s the male Javre. He’s the male you, Javre!”
“He is certainly in the neighbourhood,” said Javre, with a note of grudging appreciation, flicking away some sheep’s droppings which had become stuck in her hair in the struggle. “Why does only one of you have a horse?”
The Northmen glanced at each other as though this was the source of some friction between them.
“There’s a war on,” grunted one with shitty teeth. “Not that many horses about.”
Shev snorted. “Don’t I know it. You think I’d be walking if I didn’t have to?”
“It’s my horse,” said Flood. “But Kerric’s got a bad leg so I said he could borrow it.”
“We’ve all got bad legs,” grunted a big one with an entirely excessive beard and an axe even more so.
“Now is probably not the time to reopen discussion of who gets the horse,” snapped Flood. “The dead know we’ve argued over that particular issue enough, don’t you bloody think?” With a gesture, he started the men spreading out to the right and left. “Who the hell are the women anyway, Whirrun?”
Shev rolled her eyes as Javre did her own puffing up. “I am Javre, Lioness of Hoskopp.”
Flood raised one brow. “And your servant?”
Shev gave a weary groan. “Oh, for—”
“She’s not a servant, she’s a henchman,” said Whirrun. “Or . . . henchwoman? Is that a word?”
“Partner!” snapped Shev.
“No, no.” Javre shook her head. “Partner? No.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” said Flood, starting to become impatient. “The point is Bethod wants to talk to you, Whirrun, and you”ll be coming with us even if we have to hurt you—”
“One moment.” Javre held up her big hand. “This man and I are in the midst of resolving a previous disagreement. You can hurt whatever is left of him when I am done.”
“By the dead.” Flood pressed thumb and forefinger into his eyes and rubbed them fiercely. “Nothing’s ever easy. Why is nothing ever easy?”
“Believe me,” said Shev, tightening her grip on her knife, “I feel your pain. You were going to fight him for nothing, now you’re going to fight for him for nothing?”
“We stand where the Goddess puts us,” growled Javre, knuckles whitening where she gripped her sword.
Flood gave an exasperated sigh. “Whirrun, there’s no call for bloodshed here—”
“I’m with him,” said Shev, holding up a finger.
“—but you’re really not giving me much of a choice. Bethod wants you in front of Skarling’s chair, alive or dead.”
Whirrun grinned. “Shoglig told me the time of my death, and it is not here, and it is not—”
A bowstring went. It was that boy with the wobbly hands, looking as surprised he’d let fly as anyone. Whirrun caught the arrow. Just snatched it from the air, neat as you like.
“Wait!” roared Flood, but it was too late. The man with the big beard rushed at Whirrun, roaring, spraying spit, swinging his axe. At the last moment, Whirrun calmly stepped around the Father of Swords so the axe-haft clanged into its sheathed blade and stabbed the bearded man in the neck with the arrow. He dropped spluttering.
By then everyone was shouting.
For someone who hated fights, Shev surely ended up in a lot of the bastards, and if she’d learned one thing it was that you’ve got to commit. Try your damndest to negotiate, to compromise, to put it off, but when the time comes to fight, you’ve got to commit. So she flung her knife.
If she’d thought about it, Shev might have figured that she didn’t want to weigh down her conscience any more than she had to, and killing a horse wasn’t as bad as killing a man. If she’d thought about it more, she might have considered that the man had chosen to be there while the horse hadn’t, so probably deserved it more. But if she’d thought about it even more, she might have considered that the man probably hadn’t chosen to be there in any meaningful sense any more than Shev had herself, but had been rolled along through life like a stone on the riverbed according to his situation, acquaintances, character and bad luck without too much chance of changing anything.
But folk who spend a lot of time thinking in fights don’t tend to live through them, so Shev left the thinking for later and threw at the easiest target to hit.
The knife stuck into the horse’s hindquarters and its eyes bulged. It reared, stumbled, bucked and tottered, and Shev had to scramble out of the way while the rider tore desperately at the reins. The horse plunged and kicked, the saddle-girth tore and the saddle slid from the horse’s back as it toppled sideways, rolled over its rider bringing his despairing wail to a sharp end, then slipped thrashing over the rocky verge of the canyon and out of sight.
So Shev ended up with horse and rider on her conscience. But the sad fact was, only the winners got to regret what they did in a fight, and right now Shev had other worries. Namely, a man with the shittiest teeth she ever saw and a hell of an intimidating mace. Why was he grinning? God, if she had those teeth, you’d have needed a crowbar to get her lips apart.
“Come here,” he snarled at her.
“I’d rather not,” Shev hissed back.
She scrambled out of the way, damp stones scattering from her heels, the screech, crash and clatter of combat almost forgotten in the background. Scrambling, always scrambling, from one disaster to another. Often at the edge of an unknowable canyon, at least a metaphorical one. And, as always, she could never quite get away.
The shitty-toothed maceman caught her collar with his free hand, jerking it so half the buttons ripped off and driving her back so her head cracked on rock. She stabbed at him with her other knife but the blade only scraped his mail and twisted out of her hand. A moment later, his fist sank into her gut and drove her breath out in a shuddering wheeze.
“Got yer,” he growled in her face, his breath alone almost enough to make her lose consciousness. He lifted his mace.
She raised one finger to point over his shoulder. “Behind you . . .”
“You think I’m falling for—”
There was a loud thudding sound and the Father of Swords split him from his shoulder down to his guts, gore spraying in Shev’s face as if it had been flung from a bucket.
“Urrgh!” She slithered from under the man’s carcass, desperately trying to kick free of the slaughterhouse slops that had been suddenly dumped in her lap. “God,” she whimpered, struggling up, trembling and spitting, clothes soaked with blood, hair dripping with blood, mouth, eyes, nose full of blood. “Oh, God.”
“Look on the sunny side,” said Whirrun. “At least it’s not your own.”
Bethod’s men were scattered about the muddy grass, hacked, twisted, leaking. The only one still standing was Flood.
“Now, look,” he said, licking his lips, spear levelled as Javre stalked towards him. “I didn’t want things to go this way—”
She whipped her sword from its scabbard and Shev flinched, two blinding smears left across her sight. The top part of Flood’s spear dropped off, then the bottom, leaving him holding a stick about the length of Shev’s foot. He swallowed, then tossed it on the ground and held up his hands.
“Get you gone back to your master, Flood,” said Whirrun, “and thank the dead for your good luck with every step. Tell him Whirrun of Bligh dances to his own tune.”
With wide eyes Flood nodded, and began to back away.
“And if you see Curnden Craw over there, tell him I haven’t forgotten he owes me three chickens!”
“Chickens?” muttered Javre.
“A debt is a debt,” said Whirrun, leaning nonchalantly on the Father of Swords, his bare white body now spattered with blood as well as mud. “Talking of which, we still have business between us.”
“We do.” She looked Whirrun slowly up and down with lips thoughtfully pursed. It was a look Shev had seen before, and she felt her heart sink even lower, if that was possible. “But another way of settling it now occurs to me.”

“Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
Shev knelt shivering beside a puddle of muddy rainwater, muttering every curse she knew, which was many, struggling to mop the gore from between her tits with a rag torn from a dead man’s shirt, and trying desperately not to notice Javre’s throaty grunting coming from behind the rock. It was like trying not to notice someone hammering nails into your head.
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“This is hell,” she whimpered, staring at her bedraggled reflection in the muddy, bloody puddle. “This is hell.”
What had she done to deserve being there? Marooned in this loveless, sunless, cultureless, comfortless place. A place salted by the tears of the righteous, as her mother used to say. Her hair plastered to her clammy head like bloody seaweed to a rotting boat. Her chafed skin on which the gooseflesh could hardly be told from the scaly chill-rash. Her nose endlessly running, rimmed with sore pink from the wiping. Her sunken stomach growling, her bruised neck throbbing, her blistered feet aching, her withered dreams crumbling, her—
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .” Javre’s grunting was mounting in volume, and added to it now was a long, steady growling from Whirrun. “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .”
Shev found herself wondering what exactly they were up to, slapped the side of her head as though she could knock the thought out. She should be concentrating on feeling sorry for herself! Think of all she’d lost!
The Smoke House. Well, that hadn’t been so great. Her friends in Westport. Well, she’d never had any she’d have trusted with a copper. Severard. No doubt he’d be far better off with his mother in Adua, however upset he’d been about it. Carcolf. Carcolf had betrayed her, damn it! God, those hips, though. How could you stay angry at someone with hips like that?
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .”
She slithered back into her shirt, which her efforts at washing had turned from simply bloody to bloody, filthy and clinging with freezing water. She shuddered with disgust as she wiped blood out of her ear, out of her nose, out of her eyebrows.
She’d tried to do small kindnesses where she could, hadn’t she? Coppers to beggars when she could afford it, and so on? And, for the rest, she’d had good reasons, hadn’t she? Or had she just made good excuses?
“Oh, God,” she muttered to herself, pushing the greasy-chill hair out of her face.
The horrible fact was, she’d got no worse than she deserved. Quite possibly better. If this was hell, she’d earned every bit of it. She took a deep breath and blew it out so her lips flapped.
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh!”
“Rrrrrrrrrrr!”
Shev hunched her shoulders, staring back towards the bridge.
She paused, heart sinking even lower than before. Right into her blistered feet.
“You two,” muttered Shev, slowly standing, fumbling with her shirt-buttons. “You two!”
“We are . . .” came Javre’s strangled voice.
“A little . . .” groaned Whirrun.
“Busy!”
“You may want to fucking stop!” screeched Shev, sliding out a knife and hiding it behind her arm. She realised she’d got her buttons in the wrong holes, a great tail of flapping-wet shirt plastered to her leg. But it was a little late to smarten up. Once again, there were figures coming from the mist. From the direction of the bridge. First one. Then two. Then three women.
Tall women who walked with that same easy swagger Javre had. That swagger that said they ruled the ground they walked on. All three wore swords. All three wore sneers. All three, Shev didn’t doubt, were Templars of the Golden Order, come for Javre in the name of the High Priestess of Thond.
The first had dark hair coiled into a long braid bound with golden wire, and old eyes in a young face. The second had a great burn mark across her cheek and through her scalp, one ear missing. The third had short red hair and eyes slyly narrowed as she looked Shev up and down. “You’re very . . . wet,” she said.
Shev swallowed. “It’s the North. Everything’s a bit damp.”
“Bloody North.” The scarred one spat. “No horses to be had anywhere.”
“Not for love nor money,” sang the red-haired one, “and believe me, I’ve tried both.”
“Probably the war,” said the dark-haired one.
“It’s the North. There’s always a war.”
Whirrun gave a heavy sigh as he clambered from behind the rock, fastening his belt. “’Tis a humbling indictment of our way of life, but one I find I can’t deny.” And he hefted the Father of Swords over his shoulder and came to stand beside Shev.
“You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are,” said the scarred one.
“Few of us indeed,” said Shev, “are as funny as we think we are.”
Javre stepped out from behind the rock, and the three women all shifted nervously at the sight of her. Sneers became frowns. Hands crept towards weapons. Shev could feel the violence coming, sure as the grass grows, and she clung tight to that entirely inadequate knife of hers. All the fights she got into, she really should learn to use a sword. Or maybe a spear. She might look taller with a spear. But then you’ve got to carry the bastard around. Something with a chain, maybe, that coiled up small?
“Javre,” said the one with the braid.
“Yes.” Javre gave the women that fighter’s glance of hers. That careless glance that seemed to say she had taken all their measure in a moment and was not impressed by it.
“You’re here, then.”
“Where else would I be but where I am?”
The dark-haired woman raised her sharp chin. “Why don’t you introduce everyone?”
“It feels like a lot of effort, when you will be gone so soon.”
“Indulge me.”
Javre sighed. “This is Golyin, Fourth of the Fifteen. Once a good friend to me.”
“Still a good friend, I like to think.”
Shev snorted. “Would a good friend chase another clear across the Circle of the World?” Under her breath, she added, “Not to mention her good friend’s partner.”
Golyin’s eyes shifted to Shev’s, and there was a sadness in them. “If a good friend had sworn to. In the quiet times, perhaps, she would cry that the world was this way, and wring her hands, and ask the Goddess for guidance, but . . .” She gave a heavy sigh. “She would do it. You must have known we would catch you eventually, Javre.”
Javre shrugged, sinews in her shoulders twitching. “I have never been hard to catch. It is once you catch me that your problems begin.” She nodded towards the scarred one, who was slowly, smoothly, silently easing her way around the top of the canyon to their right. “She is Ahum, Eleventh of the Fifteen. Is the scar still sore?”
“I have a soothing lotion for it,” she said, curling her lip. “And I am Ninth now.”
“Nothingth soon.” Javre raised a brow at the red-haired one, working her way around them on the left. “Her I do not know.”
“I am Sarabin Shin, Fourteenth of the Fifteen, and men call me—”
“No one cares,” said Javre. “I give you all the same two choices I gave Hanama and Birke and Weylen and the others. Go back to the High Priestess and tell her I will be no one’s slave. Not ever. Or I show you the sword.”
There was that familiar popping of joints as Javre shifted her shoulders, scraping into a wider stance and lifting the sword-shaped bundle in her left hand.
Golyin sucked her teeth. “You always were so overdramatic, Javre. We would rather take you back than kill you.”
Whirrun gave a little snort of laughter. “I could swear we just had this exact conversation.”
“We did,” said Javre, “and this one will end the same way.”
“This woman is a murderer, an oathbreaker, a fugitive,” said Golyin.
“Meh.” Whirrun shrugged. “Who isn’t?”
“There is no need for you to die here, man,” said Sarabin Shin, finding her own fighting crouch.
Whirrun shrugged again. “One place is as good for dying as another, and these ladies helped me with an unpleasant situation.” He pointed out the six corpses scattered across the muddy ground with the pommel of his sword. “And my friend Curnden Craw always says it’s poor manners not to return a favour.”
“You may find this situation of a different order of unpleasantness,” said the scarred one, drawing her sword. The blade smoked in a deeply unnatural and worrying way, a frosty glitter to the white metal.
Whirrun only smiled as he shrugged his huge sword off his shoulder. “I have a tune for every occasion.”
The other two women drew their swords. Golyin’s curved blade appeared to be made of black shadow, curling and twisting so its shape was never sure. Sarabin Shin smiled at Shev and raised her own sword, long, and thin, and smouldering like a blade just drawn from the forge. Shev hated swords, especially ones pointed at her, but she rarely saw one she liked the look of less than that.
She held up the hand that didn’t have the knife in. “Please, girls.” She wasn’t above begging. “Please! There really is no upside to this. If we fight, someone will die. They will lose everything. Those who win will be no better off than now.”
“She is a pretty little thing,” said the scarred one.
Shev tidied a bloody strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s nice to—”
“But she talks too much,” said Golyin. “Kill them.”
Shev flung her knife. Sarabin Shin swept out her sword and swatted it twittering away into the mist as she charged screaming forward.
Shev rolled, scrambled, ducked, dodged, dived while that smouldering blade carved the air around her, feeling the terrible heat of it on her skin. She tumbled more impressively than she ever had with that travelling show, the flashes of Javre’s sword at the corner of her eye as she fought Golyin, the ringing of metal crashing on her ears as Whirrun and Ahum traded blows.
Shev flung all the knives at her disposal, which was maybe six, then when those were done started snatching up anything to hand, which, after the last fight, was a considerable range of fallen weapons, armour and gear.
Sarabin Shin dodged a hastily flung mace, then an axe, then carved a water-flask in half with a hissing of steam, then stepped around a flapping boot with a hissing of contempt.
The one hit Shev scored was with a Northman’s cloven helmet, which bounced off Shin’s brow opening a little cut, and only appeared to make her more intent on Shev’s destruction than ever.
She ended up using the fallen saddle as a shield, desperately fending off blows while the snarling woman carved smoking chunks from it, leaving her holding an ever smaller lump of leather until, with a final swing, Shin chopped it into two flaming fist-sized pieces and caught Shev by her collar, dragging her close with an almost unbelievable strength, the smoking blade levelled at her face.
“No more running!” she snarled through her gritted teeth, pulling back her sword for a thrust.
Shev squeezed her eyes shut, hoping, for the second time that day, that against all odds and the run of luck she would find a way to creep into heaven.
“Get off my partner!” came Javre’s furious shriek.
Even through her lids she saw a blinding flash and Shev jerked away, gasping. There was a hiss and something hot brushed gently against Shev’s face. Then the hand on her collar fell away, and she heard something heavy thump against the ground.
“Well, that is that,” said Whirrun.
Shev prised one eye open, peered down at herself through the glittering smear Javre’s sword had left across her sight. The headless body of Sarabin Shin lay beside her.
“God,” she whimpered, standing stiff with horror, clothes soaked with blood, hair dripping with blood, mouth, eyes, nose full of blood. Again. “Oh, God.”
“Look on the sunny side,” said Javre, her sword already sheathed in its ragged scabbard. “At least it is not—”
“Fuck the sunny side!” screamed Shev. “And fuck the North, and fuck you pair of rutting lunatics!”
Whirrun shrugged. “That I’m mad is no revelation, I’m known for it. They call me Cracknut because my nut is cracked and that’s a fact.” With the toe of his boot he poked at the corpse of Ahum, face down beside him, leaking blood. “Still, even I can reckon out that these Templars of the Silver Order—”
“Golden,” said Javre.
“Whatever they call themselves, they are not going to stop until they catch you.”
Javre nodded as she looked about at the King of the Northman’s dead agents. “You are right. No more than Bethod will stop pursuing you.”
“I have nothing pressing,” said Whirrun. “Perhaps we could help each other with our enemies?”
“Two swords are better than one.” Javre tapped a forefinger thoughtfully against her lips. “And we could fuck some more.”
“The thought had occurred,” said Whirrun, grinning. “That was just starting to get interesting.”
“Wonderful.” Shev winced as she tried to blow the blood from her nose. “Do I get a vote?”
“Henchpeople don’t vote,” said Javre.
“And even if you did,” added Whirrun, giving an apologetic shrug, “there are three of us. You’d be outvoted.”
Shev tipped her head back to look up at the careless, iron-grey sky. “There’s the trouble with fucking democracy.”
“So it’s decided!” Whirrun clapped his hands and gave a boyish caper of enthusiasm. “Shall we fuck now, or . . . ?”
“Let us make a start while there is still some daylight.” Javre stared over the fallen corpse of her old friend Golyin, off towards the west. “It is a long way to Carleon.”
Whirrun frowned. “To Thond first, so I can pay my debt to you.”
Javre puffed up her chest as she turned to face him. “I will not hear of it. We deal with Bethod first.”
With a sigh of infinite weariness, Shev sank down beside the puddle, took up the bloody rag she had used earlier and wrung it out.
“I must insist,” growled Whirrun.
“As must I,” growled Javre.
As though by mutual agreement they seized hold of each other, tumbled wrestling to the ground, snapping, hissing, punching, writhing.
“This is hell.” Shev put her head in her hands. “This is hell.”

“Two’s Company” copyright © 2016 by Joe AbercrombieIllustration copyright © 2016 by Tommy Arnold