The Shadow Pavilion, the fourth in the Detective Inspector Chan adventures certainly carries through with the promise of an entertaining read. DI Chen, Shanghai Three’s Police Liaison with Heaven and Hell, is after whatever group is illegally bringing in residents of Hell as cheap labor. He has two of the best working on it when they disappear. Seneschal Zhu Irzh is not only a demon but a terrific operative in his own right and was sent in with Badger, who can take care of himself. Now Chen has to find out where they’ve gone and still get to the bottom of the issue. It doesn’t help when he finds out that the newly crowned Celestial Emperor is under an attempted assassination and that a shortcutting scriptwriter has imported a Tiger demon to impersonate a movie star and that she is now on the loose and in a starlet-sized snit.

Liz Williams has created an interestingly enjoyable fantasy/scifi/adventure. This one sort of defies classification as Singapore Three is futuresque but with her addition of the realms of Hell and Heaven and all their dream- and nightmarescape denizens, the tale takes on a mythological bent that makes for fascinating reading. She has begun to flesh out some of the secondary characters more – we get to see from the perspective of Badger, a Hellish family familiar with fierce loyalties to Chen and his wife; we also get a little more perspective from the Celestial Emperor; as well as Chen’s wife Inari. As usual we have some new secondary characters, new demons, foolish humans, and the most successful assassin of all time to keep us amused.

With all due speed Williams draws us into the intrigue, imbuing our imaginations with vivid images full of color and scent that make her stories come alive. With this descriptive skill she lures us in. Then, like the sticky strands of a spider’s web, we get trapped and held by a story that is so full of life we cannot even decide what to call it. Is it futuristic police procedural? Is it an allegorical fairy tale? Near future occult? Perhaps an alternative historical fantasy? Whatever you would like to call it, I’ll just call it something I want more of. Fans of the previous three will not be disappointed.

The Court of the Air is the debut novel of English writer Stephen Hunt, and it falls within the category of steampunk, although the novel constitutes a rather eclectic mix of disparate elements that only occasionally come together in a meaningful whole.

The story of The Court of the Air primarily takes place in the kingdom of Jackals, a country that simultaneously is and is not very alike to late 19th century England, if you can imagine an England where Cromwell’s Commonwealth never fell, and where political symbolism is taken quite literally. Thus the Jackals king only has one function, as a symbol of a monarchy shackled by parliamentary democracy. Hence, the king has his arms surgically removed and is paraded around with a metal gag. While the primary reference is Victorian England and steam-driven technology, Hunt also builds his world from an eclectic mix of sentient robots, faerie magic, communist-like revolutionaries, the underground remains of a lost civilization, a Buddhist inspired religion as well as forgotten insect gods worshipped in bloody rites of human sacrifice reminiscent of the Aztecs.

Hunt’s novel is a story about a world poised on the brink of an apocalypse and of two orphans, each with an inborn power to avert the oncoming catastrophe. Molly Templar has grown up in a city orphanage like so many other unwanted children, but when she escapes a brutal murderer in the brothel she has recently been apprenticed to, only to find all her fellow orphans slaughtered, she begins to suspect that someone is committing considerable resources to have her killed. She teams up with a journalist, a retired naval commander and a couple of steammen, sentient robots, in order to escape her pursuers and find out why they want her dead.

Oliver Brooks lost both his parents in a flying accident as a young child. Touched by the inhuman powers of the feymist curtain, he has led a severely circumscribed existence with his uncle in a provincial backwater. His world is suddenly turned upside-down when he finds his uncle and his entire household murdered and himself framed for their deaths. He consequently finds himself on the run from the law together with Harry Stave, a shady friend of his uncle and an agent of the Court of the Air, the mysterious hidden power behind the Jackelian state.

I found The Court of the Air a somewhat frustrating reading experience, mainly because it starts out quite interesting and proceeds to build suspense very well throughout the first 2/3s of the novel. But when we get to point where Molly and Oliver find the answers to why they are hunted, the narrative careens out of control. Molly and Oliver learn that they have inborn abilities that can stop the re-emergence of an ancient evil, but Hunt seems to have had trouble with coming up with a plausible and organic solution to his narrative. Instead he relies heavily on the device of deus ex machina, endowing his hero and heroine with superhuman magical powers that they learn to wield quite suddenly and effortlessly to the detriment of characterization. They simply become less interesting as characters because it is very difficult for the reader to identify with them. Furthermore, it becomes increasingly difficult to uphold the suspension of disbelief that fantasy depends on when the main characters without any significant explanation drastically change from frightened children to competent wielders of superhuman powers. Another of the novels weak points is the way that the narrative derails the plotline about the Court of the Air, the secret police that resides in an airborne fortress of dirigibles. For the better part of the novel, it appears that it is the Court of the Air that seeks the lives of Molly and Oliver, but this plotline is shunted aside about the same time as the children begin to use their suddenly endowed powers, a development that certainly made me wonder why the novel was titled The Court of the Air in the first place.

Though Hunt’s debut has some very serious weaknesses, it also has some strong points. The best part is without doubt his descriptions of the steam-driven technology, which reaches a pinnacle in his invention of the steammen as a sentient race of robots with their own state, culture and religion. This is perhaps the single most original aspect of the novel, and it is worth a read. I also quite liked the Victorian atmosphere of Jackals and Hunt’s use of period slang adds flavour and reality to his creation. These strengths do not, however, balance out the weak points, which is why I have such mixed feelings about this novel.

With The Court of the Air Stephen Hunt demonstrates an abundantly fertile imagination. It is, however, in need of a little pruning in order to make for a more satisfying fantasy novel. It will be interesting to see how he fares with his next offering, The Kingdom Beyond the Waves, also set in the world of Jackals.

Virgil sings of arms and of a man; over two thousand years later, Le Guin offers the princess of that song her own words. Lavinia, the prize of battle in Virgil’s Aeneid, speaks under the guidance of this award-winning author, revealing details of the struggle between cultures from a perspective unseen in the national epic of the Roman Empire. In this first person account of a woman caught by fate and held by love, Le Guin imagines this minor historical figure as a princess with a mind of her own as well as respect for traditions that may not always serve her best interests.


Lavinia shares her story as a storyteller tells tales around a campfire; the conversational tone is inclusive, welcoming readers to stop and listen. She explains her circumstance as a valued daughter of King Latinus and of his queen, Amata, who is twisted with rage and grief over the death of her young sons, taken by a fever that left Lavinia alive to suffer her mother’s wrath.


Lavinia is genuinely loved by the people of Latinium as she grows into adolescence among a vibrant countryside, where she roams without fear or restraint. Her fifteenth birthday brings her self-absorbed cousin Turnus to light as a suitor for her hand in marriage, a suit he presses for the next three years, but she does not trust him: “Turnus flattered my mother and laughed with my father and looked at me as the butcher looks at the cow.”
To avoid social events that honor Turnus, she finds solace in a sacred place where spirit communications have been revealed to her and her father, which further alienates her mother because she is not similarly blessed. Lavinia waits in the dusky woods alone until the figure of a man appears. Virgil is dying, his body somewhere in the future, consumed with a fever that will take away his chance to finish his great poem. This poem, he explains to her, reveres her husband, Aeneas, but speaks little of her. He is ashamed by this slight and offers a glimpse of her future so that she might be prepared for the best and the worst.


It is easy to forget that Lavinia herself has not written this story; Le Guin adopts a believable and intimate tone with which Lavinia weaves back and forth from the distant past to her present, from her adolescence to marriage and motherhood, and back again, carried between times by common feelings brought about during pivotal events in her life. Lavinia may be a princess, but she does not put on airs. She questions her ability to write at all, for if the great spirit poet of the future did not find her worthy of note, perhaps she is, after all, not. How will she choose to act during the remainder of her life to justify remembrance?


Le Guin’s preparation for Lavinia involved reading the Aeneid in Latin, a time and effort consuming task for any scholar. The incomplete epic, which Virgil hoped would burn at his death, was a ten year project ending with the battle for the princess between Aeneas and Turnus. Le Guin succeeds where no author has before, in an imagining of Lavinia’s perspective on the events of the Aeneid as well as what she calls an “unfolding of a hint,” as close and rich as if she herself had experienced it. It comes as no surprise that this tale of magical realism is a work of art in Le Guin’s hands.

Maledicte marks Lane Robins’ first effort as a novelist, and a glance at the cover - which depicts and androgynous face in profile, eyes covered with an ornate Venetian-style domino, the title written with gothic type and the tagline: “A novel of love, betrayal, and vengeance” – it quickly becomes clear that Robins is aiming at a brand of dark fantasy of manners and courtly intrigue that have been very successful in the hands of writers like Jacqueline Carey and Ellen Kushner.

The story starts with a short prologue, where the reader is introduced to two teenagers, Miranda and Janus, who eke out a precarious existence in the Relicts, the slum of Murne, capital of the kingdom of Antyre. Here, Janus is kidnapped by a nobleman acting on the behalf of the Earl of Last. Janus is, in fact, the illegitimate son of the earl, who is in desperate need of an heir. The children know none of this, and the kidnapping thus takes a violent turn. In her desperation, Miranda takes an oath of vengeance and gives her soul into the keeping of Black-Winged Ani, the merciless and bloodthirsty goddess of love and revenge. She intends to reclaim Janus, her first love, and kill his father, the earl of Last.

Disguised as a young man, Miranda enters the household of the baron Vornatti where she creates the persona of Maledicte. Three years later, Maledicte is introduced at the court of King Aris under the patronage of Vornatti. Here s/he cuts an enigmatic and elegant figure, wielding an equally sharp-edge wit and sword among a dissolute nobility. Maledicte attracts the attention of the king with his androgynous beauty, but s/he also creates scandal and makes enemies.

It is at court that Maledicte meets Janus again. They enter into a scandalous love affair that quickly becomes tainted by the ambitions of Janus. As the son of an earl and the nephew of the king, Janus is highly placed at court. He is, however, not content and thus schemes ruthlessly in order to crawl closer to the throne of Antyre. He doesn’t hesitate to use Maledicte, whose god-ridden bloodlust steadily increases, to eliminate whoever stands in his way. However, events spin out of control as Maledicte, goaded by Ani’s lust for blood, edges ever closer to madness. Maledicte is torn between several different identities and the question is whether s/he can recover herself in order to prevent destroying all s/he holds dear.

Lane Robins is very deft in the pacing of the plot, doling out information sparingly in order to create suspense. This makes for at somewhat slow start, but the reader’s patience is rewarded when the story increases in intensity after the first hundred or so pages. The story is focused on courtly intrigues and is full of twists and turns, some fairly unexpected and surprising. The prose is fluid, yet unobtrusive with some shining moments in the descriptions of the opulence of the aristocratic environment and the deadly, sharp-witted banter of the jaded courtiers.

The world-building is sketchy, to say the least. Details about the world the characters inhabit are used very sparingly and only when it suits the plot. The result is a rather hazy impression of a Regency-style world of high society balancing on the cusp of a “modern” era (with oblique references to colonial expansion and industrial innovation). The city Murne, where most of the story takes place, is a little better fleshed out, and Robins makes a few attempts at providing her world with some back-story. However, details about Antyre’s history, its relations with the neighbouring Itarus, its religion and the exile of the gods is scattered about the text in an haphazard and inconsistent manner, which in the end imparts no more than a fuzzy outline of the fantastical world Maledicte inhabits. Actually, it is Maledicte himself, who, unwittingly voices the reader’s experience of the world the story is set in:

Quote:
"Maledicte thought of maps and distance, but his knowledge was sketchy. Vornatti had taught him about the city and its fashionable retreats. Janus had told him about Itarus, and Gilly had sweetened his dreams with descriptions of the Explorations. Ennisere meant nothing, a foggy blur on an unfinished map of the world."

The world of Robins’ novel can in fact best be described as an unfinished map, its fuzzy and blank spots enticing and intriguing, its inconsistencies unexplained. Why, for example, are the god-ridden traditionally persecuted as witches despite their roles as vessels of the divine? How were the exiled gods worshipped? How much did they interfere in the lives of mortals and was their interference always detrimental to humans? One of the themes in Maledicte is the question of superstition since most people, except Vornatti’s man-servant Gilly, believe that the old gods are simply a fabrication, which is why very few are able to recognize that Maledicte functions a vessel for Ani’s bloodlust. But this theme is ultimately undermined by the lack of information. The reader is simply told that the gods disappeared after a battle a few decades back and that people happily abandoned religion altogether – a rather implausible explanation in my opinion. All in all, Lane Robins’ gives the reader a tantalising glimpse of a rather fascinating world and one can only hope that she will develop it further in subsequent books.

Apart from the world-building, my main criticism of the novel concerns the characterization. The story is told via a third person narrative with shifting POV, which can be slightly confusing at times. The main POV is, however, not that of Miranda/Maledicte but instead of the servant Gilly, who plays the role of Maledicte’s friend and confidant as well as the primary witness to the events of the story. He therefore comes across as not only the most sympathetic of the characters but also as the main character of the story. Maledicte is as much Gilly’s story as it is Mirande/Maledicte’s. The reader is only rarely given an insight into the workings of Maledicte’s mind, a fact that lessens the emotional impact of his/her role as the supposed main character. Maledicte mostly comes across as sinister and childishly sullen rather than charismatic and intriguing. In the end, this rather distanced perspective makes it somewhat difficult for the reader to engage herself in the eventual fate of Maledicte and Janus. I, at least, found that I cared more about what happened to Gilly than to the other characters.

I found the question of Maledicte’s multiple identities one of the most interesting aspects of the novel, and was therefore quite frustrated with the author’s inability to explore, in a satisfying manner, the demands and expectations between the overlapping and conflicting identities of Miranda, Maledicte and Ani. Part of the problem is connected to the use of POV, while another relates to the lack of back-story. Miranda and her relationship with Janus are simply not developed enough, prior to the creation of the Maledicte persona, to be convincing and make her yearning for revenge understandable. Their all-encompassing love remains a postulate that is stated by the characters but never proven by the narrative itself. Maledicte’s complete devotion to Janus is fundamentally incomprehensible to the reader (especially as regards the manner in which Janus later makes use of his lover) because one is never really made to understand exactly what these two young people meant to each before the main plot is set into motion. Since the whole story revolves around a love thwarted and betrayed, the lack of back-story for Miranda and Janus is a rather serious failing on the author’s part. Another poorly developed aspect is the process in which the poor street-rat Miranda transforms herself into the elegant, sharp-witted courtier and swordsman Maledicte, something which could have helped to explain how the young woman comes to identify so completely with an identity gendered in the masculine.

Ani’s divine possession of Miranda/Maledicte is perhaps the single-most fascinating aspect of the story, but it suffers from a somewhat uneven handling that oscillates between psychological exploration and external action. Robins gives the reader a few tantalizing hints of the inner conflict between the vengeful goddess and her human vessel, since Maledicte at times attempts to withstand Ani’s seductive whisperings of blood and death. Robins strives to maintain this delicate balance between Maledicte and Ani through most of the novel, but since the POV mostly belong to Gilly and rarely to Maledicte, this aspect often comes across as a pretext for escalating the violence to a level that sometimes approaches the farcical. I must admit that I was continually amazed at the licence Maledicte was given by the king despite his very suspect actions.

Maledicte by Lane Robins can perhaps best be described as a high-strung melodrama of manners, set in a dark and glittering world of courtly intrigue where love and betrayal walks hand in hand. It is an entertaining and suspenseful read, which might appeal to fans of Jacqueline Carey and Ellen Kushner, though it doesn’t reach the high standards of their work. Despite my reservations, I still consider Maledicte a solid first effort from a promising author. Lane Robins is certainly an author worth watching.

Urban fantasy has long-reaching roots, but it is only in the last twenty years or so that writers and readers have begun using the term in an effort to describe and define a subgenre of fantasy. A subgenre in which the city defines the setting as well as itself as a character. The theme of Paper Cities, an Anthology of Urban Fantasy is to illustrate how cities are like living entities in themselves, and how they affect and influence the lives of those that dwell within them.

Some of the stories emphasized the physical aspects of the city creating distinctive images and atmospheres like Jay Lake's Promises: A Tale of the City Imperishable,

On the roof---a roof, rather, for the Sudgate was ramified and ramparted like some palace of dream---the moonlight was almost violet. The heavy grease-and-shit scent of the Sudgate Districts moiled below them somewhere, miscegenating with night humors off the Saltus and whatever flowed down from Heliograph Hill and the Limerock Palace. Sister Nurse set Girl down so that they stood on a narrow ledge, looking back across the City Imperishable to the north and east as a curious, abrasive wind plucked at them both.

and The Funeral, Ruined by Ben Peek,

Lately, the twin ovens had a tendency to blur around the edges for Linette, but even with the beginning of her deteriorating eyesight due to her thirty-eighth year, the immense girth and height of the creations meant that they were unable to be passed over when she looked at Issuer’s skyline. In contrast, the hundreds of long, bronze windmills that rose out of the city could---and did--- fade from her awareness. The Ovens, however, lurked on the horizon like a pair of dark, hunched watchers outside the city, covered in a layer of soot as a disguise. If you managed to forget them (and Linette doubted she ever could), then you would be reminded each Friday when they belched tart smelling ash, and plumes rose out of each to signal the burning of the weekly dead.

Others showed how peoples lives were re-shaped, adapted to, or otherwise forced to conform to their environment like in the absurdly strange Godivy by Vylar Kaftan where office managers mate with copiers to produce...copies of themselves, and in the sobering story Taser by Jenn Reese in which a gang of human boys is led by a ruthless husky-mixed dog with telepathic abilities. In Catherynne M. Valente’s Palimpsest, the city makes its mark on the inhabitants literally,

I caught a glimpse in my mirror as I turned to catch a loose thread in my skirt---behind my knee, a dark network of lines and angles, and, I thought I could see, tiny words scrawled above them, names and numbers, snaking over the grid.

After that, I began to look for them.

There were the fantastically adventurous stories like Alex and the Toyceivers by Paul Meloy. This short story is actually the first chapter of a novel in which demented toy-like beasts are after Alex. A sudden, violent confrontation and narrow escape left me wanting to know more about the Toyceivers and why they were after Alex. The Somnambulist by David J. Schwartz tells of a woman who awakens most mornings exhausted and aching because …

She dreamed that she carried a fire-tipped lance astride an eight-legged horse, that she excavated bones from the floors of ancient cathedrals, that she climbed the inner walls of ruined fortresses long since given over to tourists and pulled amulets from behind loose bricks. Sometimes she killed faceless things that crawled through wind or flew upon currents of sand. She developed calluses on her hands, woke up sore after sleeping on silk sheets. Her nails never needed to be clipped.

The Tower of Morning’s Bones by Hal Duncan is an exaltation of language that spans time and space to revel in the most ancient of myths and more modern technologies in a single bound. Its tone and prose are reminiscent of his duology, The Book of All Hours,

Over the grey memory of his dream and over the grey reality of the world outside, he sings out loud and long the lines that weave the world around him, music and mosaic, a shape of songlines. This modern muezzin sings from his minaret to wake the mourning city up, and as he sings, a tower of hours arises out of swamp, vines climbing shaft to glassy dome. The songliner laughs---the city’s morning glory. Somewhere a weathervane cockcrows.

Although they all share a common theme, the diversity of the stories and imaginations of the authors make this collection an interesting and compelling read. In Paper Cities, the city is not a mere background against which authors prop their characters to tell a story. The city is a character: an incredibly viable, evolving, and influential one at that.

Judith Tarr, writing as Kathleen Bryan, continues the adolescent struggles of Averil and Gereint a year after the ending of “The Serpent of the Rose” in “The Golden Rose.” The teens have spent that year apart, in contemplation and preparation for the adventures assured at the end of “Serpent,” and look forward to meeting again, even if Averil must leave to marry at the wish of her evil uncle, the king. There seems to be no escape from her duty as a royal, but the magic in Averil and Gereint, while strong individually, is practically unstoppable when united.

She is sixteen now, and he seventeen, and a year makes all the difference as they confront those who would use the hidden serpent evil to destroy her uncle’s enemies. Their maturity is evident as they search for ways to thwart the king, struggling to accept that sometimes, even with the magic they share, they need to ask for and graciously receive help from the adults in their lives.

The two continue to wrestle with their desire for each other, but Averil’s insistence that the social constraints surrounding her position make their union an impossibility, along with Gereint’s respect for her concerns, keeps their relationship pure without ignoring the physical aspects of their attraction for each other. Their kisses grow more passionate, and the frank discussion of their desires makes their frustration believable.

The romance is woven into the story so well that it remains a part of it without overwhelming the larger frame, the physical and mental fight against Averil’s power hungry uncle, the king of Lys, who will stop at nothing to rule the kingdoms around him, including Quitaine, left in her hands upon the death of her father, the king’s brother.

Averil and Gereint’s emotional journey echoes typical adolescent development; while they struggle against fantastic forces in a stunning medieval world, their insecurities are universal. The individual’s place and importance in the world, along with the necessity of careful trust in others and the notion that things aren’t always what they seem, were brought up in the first novel of the War of the Rose trilogy and are explored further in the second.

Readers who pick up "The Golden Rose" without the benefit of the background in “The Serpent and the Rose” may be a bit lost as they catch up over the first few chapters, primarily because of the complexity of some of the relationships between characters. The author’s attention to detail and elaborate description bring these relationships to life without overdoing it.

It is a sparkling, iridescent world she creates, but as a character driven piece, the novel stands out because of the careful consideration given to emotional and physical feelings. The cover art, courtesy of the award-winning Donato, echoes these details in a disturbing yet beautiful scene of loss from the story. While not marketed as a young adult novel, this trilogy would be appropriate and attractive to such an audience, while maintaining adult appeal. I look forward to following Averil and Gereint’s resolution of their personal and political problems in the conclusion of this engaging romantic fantasy.

Tad Williams has a knack for creating an atmosphere. His fantasy worlds are fully populated and full of fanciful imagination and realistic character interactions. When you read one of his fantasies you can imagine a whole wide world full of his imaginary people. Shadowplay is no different. The second of his Shadowmarch series, Shadowplay directly follows the events from the first book.

He starts off with the narrow escape of Princess Briony from her home as it is taken over by a treasonous branch of the royal family. The reader first follows Briony and her companion, Shaso, the former Southmarch master of arms and the man she had formerly believed to be a part of the murder of her brother, Prince Kendrick and who had thus been imprisoned for months. Theirs is an uneasy voyage; the princess has never had to fend for herself, has never been hungry and at first has difficulty with the idea of running and hiding.

The next thread for the reader to take up is the story of Prince Barrick, Briony’s twin, who has been given a secret mission for the Twilight People behind the shadowline following the Southmarch army’s defeat at the hands of those same People. Traveling through their lands, into unknown territory with unknown dangers and difficulties; Barrick is accompanied by Ferras Vansen, the former captain of the royal guard who is not only in love with Briony but has been charged by her with the safety of her brother.

While those are the two main threads of the storyline, Williams weaves into the story a handful of other players. Among these are the imprisoned King Olin, held for ransom by Ludis Drakava, Lord Protector of Hierosol, Qinnitan an acolyte of the Hive in Xis who has escaped and is on the run, Merolanna, the royal twins’ great aunt who is still inside the Southmarch castle, Chert Blue Quartz one of the Funderlings who not only has a very strange adopted child but is helping Chaven, the former royal physician work against the treasonous Tollys, Matthias Tinwright at poet at Southmarch, and Daikonas Vo a Perikalese mercenary sent by the autarch of Xis to return Qinnitan. As you can see from the long laundry list of players above, this is not a simple one act play. The reader is allowed into each of these characters minds and is able to see the world from their point of view as well as the view of the main characters. Some may find this distracting, the moving back and forth among so many characters, but I generally don’t as long as the number of characters that I enjoy reading about outweighs the number of characters whose stories I must wade through. Unfortunately, in my opinion, there are very few characters whose fate I truly wish to follow in this book. Thus I found the story to be very uneven with the characters I was interested in being thrown in like candy amongst a morass of plot and characters that I just did not care about.

While I found the plot itself, at its most basic, to be something I would normally enjoy; Williams’ need to throw in everything but the kitchen sink and to drag out certain storylines till they were dull as ditchwater made me sigh with frustration several times during my reading. With some hefty word count cuts and some judicious flashback and tale-telling use, I feel this could be a stellar book. The characterization is deftly handled, the political plotting and inter-character relations were all finely tuned and the realization of the world itself incredibly imagined. At heart, this is a good story and worth reading, though it certainly would not be harmed by a judicious cut back of about 100 pages.

Pulp seems to be in these days in all mediums and let me just say: It’s about time. It is inevitable such a phase will be sniffed out by charlatans (and in some cases have already) and we will soon be drowned in the coming wave of mediocrity but we should not let I had been waiting for people to once again take heed of another man who seems always a step ahead - one Alan Moore in this regard and while I am not sure if Powell gives a damn I’m pleased to see a minor pulp-renaissance occur and Powell is part of that in comics. I should note that I while I have read some scattered issues of Eric Powell’s Goon, I am not an authority on the series as a whole. I am not reviewing the Goon’s adventures in its entirety, but a hardcover collecting an arc that takes place in an original graphic novel and titled Chinatown and the Mystery of Mr. Wicker. As I have said before I think all comics should be published in this manner so I love seeing the product.What you find is a completely accessible book that will allow us to visit three stages of Goon’s life and succeeds as both a current adventure and allowing you to get the gist of the character without seeming obtrusive: Lifelong streetwise crook who has worked himself to be the big fish. Pretty basic concept that allows unlimited opportunities and quick assimilation no matter when you want to tell a story. Afterall, there are crooks everywhere, and there has been a long American-romantic love affair with crime. The world you are in is your own, except there are brushes with the fantastic – an Eastern God, a cursed book – aspects that are assuredly not normal but are choices that aren’t completely out of leftfield. They could be real; in the reality right next to ours, too the slightly mad, or those slightly more perceptive - take your pick - and what you are left with is a Polanski directing Big Trouble in Little China but take it back 80 or so years.

The current Goon is dealing with a takeover from somebody who has information that only somebody who has broken bread with you can have and what is apparently – an beautifully more apparent - his right hand has gone missing. On top of that we get this incredibly atmospheric story from his past as he consolidates turf power, meeting with the Triad, and finds what has the look of love. On the back cover Chinatown and the Mystery of Mr. Wicker is described as a ‘formative chapter from Goon’s early years’, so of course it’s about a dame – I don’t where the female Life Dojo is, but not only are all men given life by women – we learn life’s hardest lessons from them. And that classic image we formulate of that same girl that walks into a 40’s P.I. office or once resided in a Matt Baker’s sketchbook that just kind of stroll into our lives and makes things…more interesting. What I found in this experience is the presence of two distinct stories, the former is forgettable and latter is truly – and I think a bit surprisingly - fantastic and it has nothing to do with a dragon. What is supposed to occur is a layering that acts as an echo and source of tension in the current story from the past, and the flashback provides a soul – in this it is partially successful.

”This aint funny”

While a admittedly starting a funny book in this manner is indeed funny, humor always seems a second away, it is there, but it resides underneath – Powell is able to show humor in an atmosphere that doesn’t call for it. We could be having fun and we may later, but we got to handle shit right now and Chinatown is ultimately about handling your business and loyalty. We can laugh later, or better yet, we once laughed and perhaps more than anything we want to see a chuckle.

For any men who have those chapters in our lives that would not have not have taken a turn for the fictional in thinking the possibility of getting knocked was a daily thought and ultimately not surprising if it became an outcome – you know when every house you frequent has bent blinders on the windows because every car that goes by gets a thorough look-over and mentally-cataloged – we have all met a woman that we at one point propped up as an excuse to enter the real world, to give it all up, to go straight, to live happily ever after, a view that can be seen as romantic but is more a door to the skewed, controlled-madness that to often turns from a phase to a lifestyle. At any rate, either way it is an acceptance and desire of being shackled. To catch a dream we would bet against reality and the first rule of gambling is the house doesn’t lose. I think there may be danger in Chinatown when viewing the female characters that may lead one to conclude a stance or agenda by the writer. Let me first say that stances and agenda don't tend to bother me - there are all types of people in the world and a creator should be able to use any of them in that context. What we have in Chinatown actually are women who merely refuse to rescue Goon from himself – he on both occasions is the pleader and while neither Bella or Mirna are examples of what we would likely attach with the word ideal – they were certainly desirable to Goon and in this story they are depicted as any other – wandering their own way, and the exception (Franky) is the power in the story, but not I feel an accusatory one. There is a lot of truth in these pages or ones that I find to be - if we all had some competition and gods to kill right after our heart is broken I dare say a lot of Playstation controllers would have been saved.

Franky is a ridah. You are going to have your circle, but you are also going to have your ace – and the segments of Chinatown that felt the most emotional were the actions of Franky. Simply put, this guy holds it down; he takes care of Goon and does so in a way that defines the strongest of bonds - he doesn’t have to tell him about it. Proven, the guy that is down forever, that let you look past him once, forgave you – and possibly loved him (Goon) more for it. I felt myself oddly moved by some panels where Powell taps into the essence of friendship – if you ever lost your ace, the last pages of Chinatown, brings back memories. Powell exhibits the ability to render more than emotion, but relationship as well as anyone I have read in sometime and you can see it in a phone conversation Goon is having when someone questions the loyalty of Franky – there is no answer because the question has no substance – it is a verbal absurdity that can’t be heard, as if a foreign language to a mono-lingual mind. Absolute trust is a rare commodity and in that instance we want to warn him that such is foolhardy, we can almost taste betrayal around the corner – but the more powerful outcome is to see him justified.

These are themes we are all familiar, that we know carry gravity and they do in what would seem telling the part of Goon’s life that would in later incarnations look like a scab. It’s ugly, but it protects something tender, a layer closer to you and they work really well but there is a what I perceive as a weakness in the conflict – the situations and feelings are wonderfully captured and framed magnificently by Powell’s art and story-telling tone but they are in someway betrayed by a hokiness that oversteps even the obvious pulp sensibilities of the series itself. It is a story that should be an amazing, poignant; certainly familiar, but in a manner that is never outdated, and it is until we get the reason in the story why Goon has to beat something up. I want to say that the story would have been an excellent chapter, perhaps a deviation, that didn’t require the actual conflict in the current storyline. I realize that such a statement possibly may grate on existing fundamental Goon traditions that I’m not aware of but the conclusion and dynamic involving Mr. Wicker comes off as severely campy when in the presence of an otherwise beautifully rendered story. I guess some could say that it is that very element that makes Goon, but it doesn’t come off as charm in Chinatown it come off as a burden. Powell may have felt the same (admittedly, more likely not) as he does choose to end the story with the thread from the past and due to that, Chinatown is able to conclude with its better half in some way insuring the aroma of satisfaction as we close the door.

I collect original comic art and while across the board I feel much of the modern work is a bit overpriced and I expect that to correct itself after a surge of awareness and the market stabilizes from an influx of buyers and while I think more vintage work will keep escalating as legitimate, relevant, pop-art there are some contemporary artists who have even seen their work go to another level and generally on creator-owned work – a Mignola Hell Boy page, an older Wagner Grendel page, a Keith Maxx page, a Smith Bone pages, a Sim Cerbebus page and while Powell I don’t think has achieved quite that status, Goon pages have shown to be very desirable and you can tell why from thumbing through Chinatown. While some comics seemed to be filled mostly with panels to lead to the next, Powell finds reason for each individual one. Splash pages almost seem to have become added strictly for the purpose of selling them at premium prices in the OA market but Powel utilizes them for a purpose on story– not comely to begin with, we see a man buckle, we see realization, we see a man gain clarity and he has to look at himself to find it. He stood before a mirror to bear witness his own pain and like a man he would not learn from his mistakes he attempts to conquer them. From the perspective of art, Powell can really do no wrong – it’s absolutely gorgeous and while it is an industry that traditional lies in duos and even more in current comics, something about comics that have only one name next to ‘by’ – for what I think obvious reasons – have a more cohesive vision. It is here, where it seems you will most likely find true creative outlets that remind us comics are art, in an industry that is more and more a factory production line.

I fee like I’m riffing VanderMeer and the Post, but somewhere within Chinatown and the Mystery of Mr. Wicker is a great story and I think we can find the lines of separation quite easily. I think I love Chinatown but the Mystery of Mr. Wicker I could have done without – it doesn’t deliver what is weird in the manner that I think pulp masters would see translated today, it comes as quite goofy and honestly has the feeling of being thrown in. I come away from my first prolonged experience with The Goon with a definite interest in reading more; Powell is undeniable as an artist and with Chinatown we see a storyteller that is able to capture a classic and mundane story and infuse it with personality that makes it Goon’s classic story and through it, ultimately a recommendable read and in Mystery of Mr. Wicker we get the feeling that we haven’t seen the best of Powell - that perhaps there may be a haphazard inclination to include certain elements just to have them in-story and I think what we wanted was Anthony Shaffer and we got Nicholas Cage instead.

I’m going to cop more Goon for Franky baby.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

Drake is sent on a journey meant to be short and simple. Yet no journey through the Thornwoods could be termed simple. Constrictor vines, vicious ants and thorn vipers were the least of his worries. Aevians top the list, beginning with the bloodthirsty and aggressive griffins and wyverns. Only by hiding in the thorny woods and taking hidden paths does Derek have any change of bringing his two guests to their destination. His fellow travelers, however, are dwarves on a daring quest to face the one who set the aevian plague on this world - Draglune, the Iron Dragon himself. Although Derek knows by leaving he may never see his home or his beloved again, he too feels called on this quest.

This is Mr. Genesse’s first foray into writing a fantasy fiction novel after denying his calling for years. He has crafted a world where humans are dogged by dragons, wyverns and other aerians. Living in towns protected by thorn trees with paths whittled through forests, humans use what they have available in their natural world to fight for survival. They also have the use of Earth magic assists in their struggles against the unnatural and the already dead. Ghosts walk this place also, haunting those they can easily control.

For a first novel, this was a fairly good attempt at world building. Mr. Gennesse has crafted believable characters that have layers to their motivations and emotions. There is a sense of dogged tenacity in the humans, in their determination to survive in this inhospitable world. The author has certainly captured the malice and evil that drips from the dragon and his minions. He may borrow heavily from archetypes but manages to lend his own bent to them.

Each aspect of the story taken by itself seems well-built. Yet the process of knitting these pieces together falls short of impressive. The weakest point of the entire story is the romantic relationship between Drake and his beloved. I appreciate the lack of sugary sappiness, but the shift between death-defying action and enduring love was not believable for me.

Even knowing this, however, I would be willing to read the next book in the series. Mr. Genesse has the rest of the series written and I am interested to see what will happen with Drake and his quest to save the world. This is a promising book from a writer working to perfect his art.

There were high hopes, hell people were looking to take a ride back to their childhood (tweenhood?) where we could see one of our favorite fantasy books come to life on the screen. My first thought was, this would have been real cool as a live action movie, but I sure do love cartoons as well, so no hopes were dashed…yet.

The Good, the Bad, and the ugly CGI.

There really was a lot of good in this movie. I have heard of lot of comments based on the trailers and how people did not like the animation, but I thought the animation was real good. Yes it has a nostalgia feel to it (ala the Hobbit), but isn’t that the audience it is intended for? Regardless of the intended audience, the animated versions of some of my favorite characters are all well done and I enjoyed watching them.

The voice acting was also top notch with Michael Rosenbaum as Tanis, Kiefer Sutherland as Raistlin, Lucy Lawless as Goldmoon, and star filled for the rest of the cast as well. The only iffy one was Jason Marsden as Tasslehoff, not that Jason was a bad voice actor, its just his voice just did not work for me as Tasslehoff.

Another positive was the fact that the script kept true to the storyline. For the die hard fans this is very important and I feel that in many movies things that a fan would find integral to the story are often left out or glossed over. Now, they can not put everything from a few hundred page book into less then two hours, but they did a damn good job.

Then...

There was a decision to make the dragons and draconians CGI (Computer Generated), and this is where the problems begin. To sum it up, they just do not fit in with the animated work. It is like you are watching two different movies that fell on the cutting floor one on top of the other. The other issue is during the battle scenes the CGI and animated characters interaction is “off”. Animation gets lost behind CGI, swords plunge through CGI characters from further away then they should. A scene that describes it all is when we see what are supposed to be monks on the road by Solace, well the monk robes are CGI, so guess what is under them? A spoiled moment for the audience. Reading some interviews, it seemed that Weis and Hickman thought the 3D would make it more exciting...no...it did not.

Another overall issue I had with the transition from the word to the animated were the little enjoyable nuances of the characters that gave them personality in the book. They are overdone in the movie, ruining that aspect of the characters. A few particulars that I will point out are Raistlin’s coughing from his time at the tower, the way Caramon reacts to Tika when they come back to Solace, and Flint being afraid of the water during the escape. These are all very subtle in the book and in the movie are taken to the extreme and therefore look rather silly. I also thought the violence was a tad bit overdone (people hanging from trees during Solace attack), but maybe I am just nit picking now.

Overall, cut out the CGI, tone down the quirks and we have a great animated movie. Problem is I do not see this happening for the next part of this classic saga turned animated movie. It is like the pearl still stuck in the oyster, pretty surrounded by ugly. Fans of the series would be better served by the Graphic Novels that Devil's Due put out, and people unfamiliar should read the books, they are classics.

Demurral, a vicar in a beautiful corner of Britain, is tired of pushing and controlling ignorant peasants. He knows he has the power to rule much more and is willing to do whatever it takes. In fact, he even doubts that God himself is doing a good job. He eagerly uses his power to command the spirits of the dead and release a demon from the crypt. Demurral’s greed, however, starts a war in this repressed community. The common people are challenged to choose sides. Are they for the vicar, the repression and evil he gladly proclaims? Or will they unite, join with the forces of light and overthrow the darkness?

Previously self-published in the United Kingdom, G.P. Taylor received such a great response that his book was picked up by one of the big houses - Faber and Faber. A vicar himself in Yorkshire, G.P. Taylor has put much of the local geography and history into this tale. His descriptions of the seaside and cliffs are one of the strong points in this book, placing the reader in the midst of the setting.

Written for adolescents, the character building in Shadowmancer is deceptively simple. Not much time is spent on each person, but the time spent looks into their deepest hearts. The story is mainly focused on the battle of good and evil - the Holy War fought here on earth. It is a swashbuckling tale of common folk once again being called upon to do their part in the eternal battle, of slaves finding freedom to live again.

For myself, however, the book contains a bit too much lecture for me. I believe in the message spoken throughout this tale, but for me - stories consist of characters. I want to know why they do what they do. At times the action moves so swiftly and the point of view shifts completely, I felt as if I lost the thread of the story.

Since the tale seems to be more important that the characters themselves, though, a reader needs to approach it for what it is. Shadowmancer feels more like a medieval bard’s work - spoken by the light of the fire in return for a loaf and a warm place to sleep. A book I will read to my children, or let them read, as it does not tiptoe around the truth; it pushes and demands the reader to see and compare real life with the tale.

From the back cover of the paperback book (blurb) -

Now the people know that the dragon minions of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, have returned. But the races have long been divided by hatred and prejudice. It seems the battle has been lost before it begins.

The companions are separated, torn apart by war. A full season will pass before they meet again—if they meet again.

It is always a pleasant surprise to find out that book that you loved, got turned into a graphic novel. That said though, visiting a world that you know and love in graphic form, it has to live up to some healthy expectations for the reader. Devils Due and their team brought it to life, and everyone should be very pleased by their work. Dragons of Winter Night, has the dark feel one would think it should and it comes across in the artwork and layout.

I thought the artwork was beautiful, and where it really seemed to shine was in the outdoor scenes and the artwork of the dragons. The characters were also depicted well for my personal tastes, whether or not they live up to what you envisioned them to be is something you have to look at for yourself. My favorite representation though was Kitiara, you can feel the evil bubbling below the surface, in her facial expressions. I always thought she was a great anti-hero to the group, and I can feel that in the artwork. I also enjoyed the depiction of Fizban as well; the humor of the character still shines through in the drawings. Overall the artwork had pretty big shoes to fill, if you go by the covers of the books done by Larry Elmore, and I think for the medium (a graphic novel can not be of the level of a single piece of canvas) the team of Kurth, Ruffino, Narvasa, Bradley, Rauch and Crowley, did an excellent job. They put together the perfect graphical companion to Weis and Hickman’s novel.

The adaptation by Andrew Dabb stayed pretty faithful and the overall feel and storyline stayed where they needed to be due to the restraints of the graphic novel medium. I personally find the graphic novel to be a nice companion to the book, but it still needs to stand on its own if one has not read the book. It worked for me on both of these levels as I had read this sometime in the 1980’s I believe. It does not hold the same weight as the book, but I do not believe it is supposed to. There is no way they can include everything and I found it to be a fun visualization after reading the books. Even if you are not familiar with the books though it is still very enjoyable just not of the same level I believe as someone that has read the books.

DDP always brings us something new for the fantasy crowd looking to dip their toes in the graphic novel and comic market. I think once you feel the temperature you will want to dive right in. Dragons of Winter Night, the graphic novel, is a great piece to own; visually telling what I consider a classic story in the fantasy book market

A Sword From Red Ice brings us a long-awaited continuation of J.V. Jones' Sword of Shadows series. (Big thanks to Damon for sending me a copy!)

In the Northern Territories, the situation is rapidly growing ever more dire for all those living - the clans, the cityfolk and even the mysterious Sull people. Despite Raif Sevrance's successful healing of the breach in the Blindwall in A Fortress of Grey Ice - the Blindwall has been breached again. The Unmade are being gradually unleashed on the world of the living and no one is safe. Ash March continues on her journey to the Sull homeland and struggles to gain acceptance from her adoptive people.

Despite this, few are aware of the doom that faces them. The clans are in a state of disarray as the once-mighty Blackhail clan crumbles from the inside out - abandoned by the Stone Gods and invaded by unwelcome refugees from clan Scarpe. The Dhoonesmen have retaken their roundhouse from clan Bludd - leaving Bludd holding on to their precarious conquests of other clanholds. The Dog Lord has fled the Dhoonehouse and seeks to rally the remnants of his power even as he realizes the the true threat is from the Unmade. And an army approaching from Spire Vanis is on the verge of attacking the clanholds in this time of weakness.

If you're a fan of the series who hasn't read A Sword From Red Ice yet, I'm sure you're asking yourself the same question I did as I read the book: Was it worth the wait? The answer is: Yes and no. While a new addition to a great series is always welcome - "Sword" is a rather mixed bag.

The little touches I loved from the previous two books, like the snatches of clan history (seen here via the Blackhail guidestone):

The descriptions of the ever-present bitter cold that holds its own dangers:

These are all here, interwoven into the larger story. The characters I liked from the first two books are all here as well: the Dog Lord, Raif, Ash, etc., which keeps the story moving back and forth between their varied plotlines and presents a wide picture of the action occurring across the Northern Territories. There are a number of good moments as well - Bram Cormac's chance encounter with the Dog Lord early on in the book, for instance.


Unfortunately, "Sword" suffers from "Wheel of Time syndrome" - a long book that goes on and on without a huge amount of plot advancement, particularly in the first half. Once I got into the second half of the book, the story started moving a bit faster but it still drags out much more than it needed to. In particular, the subplots with Crope/Baralis and Effie Sevrance respectively are all but pointless here, especially Effie's story, which drags on and on with very little advancement.


We do see bits and pieces of the major plots moving forward - the forces from Spire Vanis finally attack the clanholds, the aftermath of Raif's actions at the Fortress of Grey Ice, Ash's travels to the Heart of the Sull, etc. - but even these plotlines are rather lackluster at times, Ash's and the Dog Lord's in particular. For me, I found it particular maddening to reach the end of a chapter and realize that very little had happened in the course of 10-20 pages.

It's truly unfortunate in the end, as Sword of Shadows was one of the few epic series I had high regard for and had been eagerly awaiting the next installment. That's not to say the book is entirely without merit as noted above but A Sword From Red Ice ultimately feels like a much shorter book stretched out into a 600+ page tome. I'm not soured on the series entirely, but I had much higher hopes for it thus far.

Thorn is a neomage, a non-human descended from the unfortunate infants conceived before the first plague of the End Times destroyed life on Earth as we know it. These infants developed abilities to manipulate energies left from creation. They are believed to be soulless beings, less than human Only able to reproduce when aroused to mage heat - and this only happens in the presence of angelic beings - the mages are scorned by humans and live isolated in enclaves.

In this third installment of the story, Thorn has found a home in a small mountain village and is accepted by the humans around her. Her semblance of balance is rudely cast aside, however, when a mage shows up in her village for no reason. Apparently, the demon dragon she assisted in locking in metaphoric chains has almost broken free. At this point the story rockets out of control, demons and angels popping in out of nowhere and Thorn doing her best to protect the humans in her care.

The book culminates in a mighty battle that exposes the strengths and weaknesses of all involved. Because it is written in first-person, the reader sees inside the head of the main character. Her fears, motivations, all laid out for us as readers to judge. Faith Hunter does something with her characters I always appreciate - they are fallible and scarred by their experiences.

I found this book intriguing, a completely different blending of post-apocalypse and fantasy. While a little dark, I loved the juxtaposition of mage magic and angelic magic with a little human conspiracy theory thrown in (some humans believe the angels are really aliens bent on total domination of Earth). This may sound complicated, but at its heart Host is all about the battle between good and evil fought by the ones caught in the middle. Even though I know how this story ends, I will look up Seraphs and Bloodring (the first two books) to know more about Thorn and her angelic and human friends.

If you have yet to read the first two books in Kristen Britain’s Green Rider series, Green Rider and First Rider’s Call, then stop reading RIGHT NOW. Go immediately to the reviews written by amberdrake, which can be found on this illustrious website. Then promptly buy both books for yourself. Only after you have read them can you proceed with this review!

High King’s Tomb picks up at the end of book two, First Rider’s Call. The Rider Barracks have been destroyed. Rider Alton D’Yer is still attempting to heal the breach in the wall. King Zachary is still going to marry someone other than Karigan, his professed true love. The Riders are picking themselves up and trying to heal from the devastating battle of the previous summer. Even though the enemy was brought down, another is rising up to challenge the crown of Sacoridia and bring back an entity thought long gone - the Arcosian Empire.

This is a longer book, but Kristen Britain has added depth to the culture of Sacoridia and to her characters. I love how she creates and develops the people in her books. Karigan has matured, changed by her struggles and gathered scars. She has survived, but not unscathed. More than anything, this story illustrates the depth of commitment required to be a Green Rider and the sacrifices that must be made.

Readers will also learn more about the establishment of the kingdom, the mythology and religion, even the roots of the magic. The author introduces us to even more new characters, such as the captivating man that gentles and trains the amazing horses that agree to carry the riders. Because of this, I felt Ms. Britain was opening closets and overturning rocks to expose avenues for other storylines in the future. Instead of a culmination of the story about Karigan, I felt a bit baffled by the myriad details added to the book in general. The storyline gets complicated in the middle. The action is divided into the happenings along the D’Yer Wall, Karigan and her challenge to the Arcosian rebels, and another mysterious character called the Raven Mask.

By the end of the book, I felt I had more unanswered questions than when I started. This isn’t exactly a problem because I’m hoping it indicates another book is in the works! Fans of Ms. Britain’s writing will not be disappointed but, like me, they may walk away hungry and wanting more.