Coming from a different direction, Peter David explores the Peter Pan legend through the eyes of Paul, a young man whose family has experienced a terrible loss. Paul's baby sister dies in her crib one night. His family deals with this tragedy in different ways. Paul's mother retreats into reality, declaring that only the recognition of the pain of life will make one strong enough to survive. Paul's father simply retreats, leaving his family and the woman who used to be his wife but is now a stranger. Paul relies on what he believes - that his friend, the Boy of Legend, and the magic that surrounds the Boy can somehow replace his sister with another baby. After rescuing a pixie, Paul finds himself led into Anyplace and embroiled in a power struggle between the pirates and the Boy. Thus begins an adventure for Paul that will cause him to question his beliefs and face the most difficult pain of all - saying goodbye.

His quest is not all rainbows and roses. Peter David, the author, weaves the thread of loss and loneliness heavily throughout the story. While some might believe the subject matter of sadness and rejection are too much for younger readers, I disagree. What child has never experienced some type of loss? This is an excellent example of how one little boy deals with the pain he is feeling.

Mr. David writes in a lyrical prose that is a work of art. Unfortunately, the structure and cadence of the writing serves to separate the reader from the story, keeping the reader from participating in the fantasy, experiencing the wonder alongside Paul. Instead, a gulf has been formed, maintaining a strict formality of here is the story and over there stands the reader. For readers who enjoy submerging themselves into a book's reality, this will be a disappointment.

In spite of this, or maybe because of it, I enjoyed this story. The formality and separation served to give the book an old-fashioned feel, as if this was a dusty favorite resurrected from the nursery. The style of the book gives it a sense of being made to read out loud. The cadence lends itself to auditory emphasis and perhaps would be more entertaining to children to listen to the story rather than read it themselves. Peter David goes behind the scenes of NeverNever Land, giving bones and structure to a legend that has spanned generations. He brings in many well-known characters from Peter Pan, giving them fresh faces and different reasons for existing. The new characters are blended seamlessly in with the previous legends, causing Tigerheart to be able to stand on its own.

This is a deep story that would bear well under the scrutiny of a literature class. The nuances of the storyline, though delicate, are clear. Here is a young man struggling to understand the abandonment by his mother, the painful escape of his father, and the harshness reality can bring to life. Mr. David ties up all his loose ends in the end, delivering a whimsical tale that harkens back to the elegance of turn-of-the- century literature.

I’m a fan of stories centered on strong female characters: ball busting, take no prisoners, hey-buy-me-a-drink-and-when-I-do-you-walk-away-laughing-at-what-a-chump-I-am; you know, basically the women I’ve known all my life. While these types are generally relegated to the urban-fantasy subgenre, it’s always nice to come across them in science fiction. I think the last science fiction story I read with a really strong female character was Sharon Shinn’s Archangel and I thought that was a fantastic book.

Grimspace is the story of Sirantha Jax, a Jumper that works for the corp, which is a large business corporation that controls most of the planets in the known universe (think of Dunes Empire). A Jumper is a female born with the J-gene which allows them to move through space in starships at faster-than-light speed. Think of it as opening a worm-hole, which they call beacons. Travel that may take months can now take hours with a Jumper on the crew. However, this gene being rare, all known Jumpers are highly prized and used as commodities.

These Jumpers are cursed with the addiction of seeing things only they can see when they jump: colors, lights, patterns, etc. It’s like a screen saver with the flashing beams of light and you kinda get the picture—except with more drug use. To them this is the opium that they can’t get enough of, and many “burn-out” and die after too many jumps.

As the story begins to unfold, we find Sirantha being haunted by her last jump, which she can’t remember. Evidently, her last jump consisted of her crashing a starship, killing delegates from all over the universe and her pilot/lover, Kai. Along the way she meets the roguishly good-looking yet cold starship pilot March, a pacifist doctor named Saul who may be more than he seems, the lesbian tough as nails ship mechanic Diana, and the alien-slave Loras, who has been genetically predisposed to be a slave.

Throughout the whole story I kept thinking, this really is a poor man’s Firefly (even right down to the banter of Sirantha and March a la Mal and Inara, which I love!) and that the book would read better as a television show. Still, if it can remind me of one of my favorite television shows, then that can’t be a bad thing.

Grimspace is the debut novel of Ann Aguirre who lists her inspirations as Linnea Sinclair, Sharon Shinn and Elaine Corvidae, and it’s not hard to see why. Her overly feminist world view is at times refreshing and mind-numbing odd all at the same time.

Odd tangent: Ann reminds me of my high-school history teacher. The teacher was a young lady just out of college with really strong views on “man’s domination” of world views and topics. Even though she was a history teacher, she hated the word “history” calling its “man’s” corruption of the word (get it? His-story) and made us refer to past events with the gender non-specific “our-story” or “old-story.” While I could see her point of view, I always felt that it was unnecessary, since history is not a gender specific world. What does this all mean? Well, it’s like using race for race sake, unnecessary and it draws unwanted attention to what you are doing. Ann Aguirre does this quite a bit in Grimspace ; all throughout the book, the female characters of the story say, “Sweet Mary, Mother of Mary, Mother Mary sucker, etc” whenever they want to curse (this of course instead of Jesus or god). While this may not seem important, I found this odd because Ann makes a point in her story telling us that the concept of souls and heaven have been disproved by science, and most people are not religious anymore. They don’t even remember what Mary stands for. It was like the whole story was trying to be misandric but for no real reason than just to be so. I know this isn’t really a big deal but I just thought it was odd, and it kept pulling me out of the story.

Another problem I had with the book was that it felt like it went through a writer’s camp or a serialization. Chapters were roughly five-pages long and always tried to end on a high-note. While this at times is fine, at five-pages a clip, it got a little excessive. It took away the immediacy of the story with all those high-notes. Short chapters can work for some stories. Take for instance Kite Runner . While I didn’t particularly like the story, I felt that it was a quick and nice read because of the short chapters and that added to my enjoyment of the book. However for Grimspace the short chapters make things seem rushed and too-fast paced, which leads me to wonder if this was done at a writer’s camp that need a chapter or two done every day.

As I mentioned before, I especially loved the banter between the male protagonist March and Sirantha Jax. It’s one of those beautiful, “I hate you so much and I hope you die but I can’t stop being so sexually attracted to you” stories that is at once altogether unrealistic yet entertaining. I kept catching myself saying aloud, “oh no, she didn’t” and then having to close the book, take a break and re-evaluate my masculinity.

While I had a lot of fun reading Grimspace, it felt rushed and incomplete. It reminded me of that Flight of the Conchords song, “you’re so beautiful, you could be a part-time model; but you probably still have to keep your normal job.” While this book was a fun read, it wasn’t necessarily memorable or thought provoking (and at times it was overly sappy and clichéd, like I was reading a book that belonged in the Romance book section). Still, that isn’t always bad. We as readers need a rest sometimes, and it’s always nice to just sit back and read a fun story without having to think. And for that, I say to Grimspace, thanks!! I look forward to any future efforts she puts towards her new creation.

[On a side note]: The whole jumping aspect of the book reminds me a lot of Bester’s Gully Foyles “jaunting” in Stars My Destination . This is reminiscent even right down to Sirantha possibly unique jumping quality (which I don’t want to give away) that may change the universe, just as Gully Foyles unique ability to jaunt through space changes his universe.

If you liked this book also check out: Linnea Sinclair’s Games of Command, Sharon Shinn’s Samaria Series, Catherine Asaro’s Skolian Empire Saga and Firefly.

Fans of the Noble Dead saga have watched Magiere discover her heritage, assist in rescuing an elven assasin, and constantly remain on the lookout for more vampires. Now, driven to recover a powerful talisman, she finds herself blindly following a mysterious dream to a castle somewhere along unknown trails. She must find the talisman before her half-brother, the vampire Welstiel, finds it first and uses it for untold evil. Readers will also see into the mind of one of the Undead, Chane, a “child” of the vampire Welstiel. Created by Welstiel, Chane owes him allegiance for the half-life he leads but finds that allegiance challenged in the days to come. The two sides are joined by a third, a powerful elven contingency who seek the talisman also to use it’s power to further their own agenda. All three collide at the mountaintop fortress that holds answers to questions raised throughout the entire series.

For a long and complicated series, the book is a quick read and easy to understand. The descriptions of the Undead and their practices are chilling and a bit unusual in this age of overdone vampiric clichés. There are a lot of characters with very odd names, which can make it difficult to keep them straight. (I would have appreciated a cast list but I realize that serious fans would not necessarily need such a crutch.) The elven casting was as expected, but the political byplay wasn’t. The power struggle between the three groups adds depth to what could have been a shallow story.

Readers definitely need to read the series in order, otherwise they will be lost from the beginning. The action starts right in the middle of the story where the last book left off. Many allusions are made to previous happenings and the events in this book gain significance by the experiences the characters have already weathered.

I appreciated the way the authors crafted the sense that Fate can be avoided for awhile, but eventually she catches up with you. Several characters in this story are pushing the limitations of their destiny, but each one will be called upon to finish their chosen task whether they want to or not. Sometimes the action became a bit repetitive but the grand finale was worth it.

The end of the book served as a bit of a teaser also, so I looked up the series’ website and discovered the authors are preparing to continue the saga by beginning a new series. The website suggests there will be a couple of characters carried over from this first series but that the action will happen on another continent. The first book in the series should come out around January, 2009.

My first foray into Glen Cook's writing was less than a success. I got through about 50 pages of The Tyranny of the Night and threw it across the room—page after page containing made up words with no explanation of what they meant. Every problem that people have with fantasy books was made evident in those first 50 pages and I had never gone back to a Glen Cook world.

However, I'm a big fan of the subgenre, urban-fantasy, and when I read that Cook's Garrett PI novels were an early representation of said genre, I quickly bought the first book. I should have left it collecting dust in the used bookstore I found it in. In truth, this is more of a detective story in a cartoony world than an urban-fantasy.

Sweet Silver Blues is the first book in the Garrett PI universe. It’s centered around a man named Garrett who works as a PI in a town called TunFaire, where its citizens consist of dwarves, elves, trolls, and many other fabled creatures. Yes, Garrett is a PI in a fantasy world where humans coexist with the other species. Sounds very similar to the Toontown in Who Framed Roger Rabbit , but with more sex and killing.

Also, pivotal to Garrett's world are two warring factions that have been fighting wars for land that contain silver—silver being the prime metal all sorcerers use for their, well, sorcery. A tenuous pitch at best. Nothing more concerning these sides fighting is explained, although I'm sure later books go into more detail, this seeming important. But honestly, I'm sure like me, you won't be able to rush fast enough to get out of Garrett's and Cook's world.

The main problem I had with this book is that nothing really happens, and for a short book that’s surprising. Garrett is supposed to be a PI but there is barely any detective work that gets done. When he needs a new clue, some goons attack him; he in turn beats the goons up; the goons cry and whine, spilling information which leads him to the next clue. Any detective work that gets done is done off-page—the character having done the detecting then comes back and explains how he went about his detecting. It's all entirely superficial and becomes increasingly irritating and boring.

Another problem is the action sequences. I mean come on! Most of the characters just spend the pages drinking, getting drunk, and then trying to recover from being drunk. That's mainly the action that gets done in the book. Why would I want to read page after page of others just drinking and talking about drinking? Thanks, but no thanks. I can just as easily be drinking and not reading this book.

Also, I have to take Mr. Cook to task with his dialogue. Again, his dialogue is peppered with too "cool" for school lingo that entirely exists in his own little world. Half the time I didn't know what anyone was talking about (and I've studied Dostoevsky, Beckett and Nabokov for most of my life!!). Cook's sentences are also quite terse and short, leaving much unexplained.

And what’s with Cook’s characterization of the different species? My god!! It essentially goes like this: Here is a dwarf—she’s short, yet somehow leggy and sexy. Here is a centaur—look at him run around with his large testicles. *Cue laughter.* I mean is this the best he can do? I mean, really?

The positives? It's a quick read, there are sexy dwarves, there’s everyone's favorite interspecies mating, and well, the series does continue in other books (although this as a positive is debatable).

As Peter Griffin in Family Guy so eloquently put it when faced with a stand-up comedy act he disliked, "You sir, are not for me. No. No, not for me, sir." Alas I must say the same thing to Mr. Cook. While I did finally finish one of his books, I must sadly say, "You sir, are not for me."

Not recommended unless you are dead set on wasting more hours of your life. Rated a low 3/10

If you liked this also check out: trains crashing, New Jersey, a day at the dentist’s, and the always enjoyable, high-school bully beating.

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.

The vision of a bridge probably invokes the feeling of simplicity, a means to go from A to B or vice versa, at time ornate, but more likely, sensible, serviceable, and functional, but bridges in fiction have led us to many memorable moments. Whether the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, Goats Gruff, Jon Orr, or perhaps most memorable to me, a standoff between brothers, Benedict and Brand, fans of speculative fiction have tread many bridges and with Shadow Bridge, Gregory Frost brings to us a world made of bridges, bringing a literal walkways to the figurative that exists all around us.

Our travels take us to different spans, an apt description considering our protagonist‘s ‘magic’ is in her hands - a master shadow puppeteer - as she looks back on her travels, collecting and sharing stories, and performing in a manner that had not been witnessed since a generation before. Leodora, whose stage name, Jax, relays not only the stories of the myth, but draws audiences from members of the pantheon who inhabit such stories. Relegated to a caste that views a potential marriage to the dimwit son of a lackluster family in the hinterlands as an optimal destiny, Leodora, the local pariah, who knows very little but lies and gossip regarding her eclectic parentage runs off to pursue her father’s trade. Bardsham the last master shadow puppeteer - and the greatest.

The town drunkard was the first to bring Leodora to Tenikemac as a baby and he would accompany her as she fled. Soter, the man who preserved the legacy of Bardsham, the puppets of the former master of shadow play, and passed them to his heir. Soter is the bridge to the past, prone to converse with the dead, and while his intent seems true, you get the distinct impressions he does his best to lay low, perpetually on the run but nor trying to look like it and his new, or perhaps life-long charge has raised the stakes. Is his habit due to reflecting on past digressions or the future he was waiting for? Or perhaps - he just enjoys his drink. There is guilt, there is pride, and a sense of duty.

In between the travels, two deviations highlight the novel. One to tell the story of the company’s third member picked up along the way . It’s a the story of a boy left abandoned with an abandoned home who is used as bait for a divine lottery and then sold to service to a Harem with a twist -drinks and spirits included. A musical savant/avatar, you lose yourself in his song, as although brief telling you get completely immersed and you don’t realize you left one story for another - it was always about Diverus wasn’t it? - until a member of the audience reveals a familiar face. We also get a recurring story, of creation and death, a tale of a fisherman - the original dreamer - and his wife, that adds to the immediacy of the story as they recount the mythology and origin of Shadow Bridge itself.

There is a fourth member, the secret companion, an enigma that will remain as such…

The most amazing aspect of the novel may be its constraint. There is a real story. Frost can go anywhere, along the bridges of a multiverse, and he seemingly does, but it all spirals back, every step is relevant, even if we don’t know it as a fact when we whimsically take it, at once Florentine and Shinto. But it never just dissolves into a fever dream - the characters and their problems are substantial, if it is an experiment, they are the control. What made something like Amber such a terrific read was that you while one can clearly witness the endless possibilities of walking through Shadow, Zelazny never forgot his story; and while Frost’s weave and use of point-of-view is a bit more ambitious, you only ever lose the story long enough for it to find you around the next corner. The segues from one environment to another, from one span to another is smooth. It doesn’t come off as abrupt absurdism, it’s not a book that demands constant leaps of faith even when we find ourselves in mid-jump, and it is able to maintain an authentic feeling of travelers on the road. For this reason, Frost’s makes us feel we are not seeing his finished products being deconstructed recorded on paper , we feel like we are there as he constructs it. The telling is as refined as the product thus far.

Often times when following a troupe’s travels in our reading, the journey feels as if it’s what occurs between the author’s real passion or the exact opposite, destinations are end point, rest areas in between the actions create bonds between characters in the process of running away from troubles or chasing after themselves - and in the aptly titled Shadow Bridge we have both. Nothing feels like an extensions of the other, everything is unique, everything is fantastic, we touch the mythic, we share stories with gods, then we go to find our next job, drink our next beer, catch our next fish, stare at and converse with our monuments, we play board games…with Kitsune.

A planned duology, what we also see is the development of a concept - a universe - for even more stories whether future novels or short fiction to inhabit. From parades to ‘the end’, more stories of the dragon bowl, there is fertile ground for revisiting all manners of stories in a Willinghamish way. There are preexisting cases such as a call back to call back to Frost’s fine collection Attack of the Jazz Giants and other stories, where one story - a Sturgeon finalist - entitled How Meersh the Bedeviler Lost his Toes was referenced, as Leodora viewed her puppets:

And later, the master story teller tells him - the Trickster - to go back to his own story.

It’s a beautiful story but not in the same vein I have described in more recent reviews, it’s not Valente who both whispers and screams at us with the voice that makes us anticipate each equally; Frost charms us in manner like Park did last year, and there is a feint lyric in the background , a harpist in the wind, that is beautiful but has a grace that goes beyond skin deep that brings to mind the strengths of several of my most beloved reads, but only in flashes, before forming its own vision. When confronted with just having the first book in a story, upon reaching its conclusion there are many possible reactions. Disappointment, anticipation, satisfaction, disconcertion and Frost leaves us looking back believing the phrase, "we build too many walls and not enough bridges". As we look forward, the idea that we may be a part of something special is more than a mere passing thought. We aren’t just looking forward to a worthwhile journey, we just stepped out of one., and yet we feel like we are continually chasing it and are never left feeling lethargic as at the same time we sense it stalking us. The novel physically weighs in at well below 300 pages, but you come out of it with more in the experience than you do multiple installment tomes promising swords and truths, blood and stone - you can trip on its shadow.

I’m hooked, the serenity of a fisherman’s dreams and the chaos of the beings who inhabit it offers a middle ground we can all find our place in, in this case one of the best reads of the year and this is just the beginning. I'm a traveling man this year this year; the best books of this year I encountered when walking the road and crossing a bridge.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

In the land of Verde, the evil sorcerer Lord Maldici is plotting to gain even more power to augment what he inherited from his ancestor Lord Morte. His minions already hold most of the land of Verde under his sway - looting and pillaging as their whims dictate - but Maldici is not content. He seeks the Keeper who guards the legendary beast Corno d'Oro, in order to seize their power to finally crush his brother Lord Verona and bring all of Verde under his rule.

Vita, a young woman and the current Keeper is unaware of Maldici's designs until his brutish underlings attack her village in search of the Keeper and she is unwittingly forced to betray the secret of the Corno d'Oro - just as was prophesied long ago. Meanwhile her friend Giovanni, a young pirati must seek out a way to end his people's unending thirst for gold, and the sea witch's daughter Marina toils unhappily under the stern eye of her mother, longing to seek out her true destiny on land. Their purposes ultimately bring them together to save their homes and the world...

On the surface, The Separated is fairly standard fantasy fare with nothing incredibly groundbreaking and the plot is a bit simplistic and rushed at times. Harrison does bring out some good variations, though - I liked the central legend of the two Corno d'Oro and how they were separated. The pirati (pirates) being forced to their way of life in order to appease the sea dragon Dragomar is a nice touch as well.

However, what I did find impressive about The Separated is Harrison's eye for imagery - which brings to life in vivid color the various locales throughout Verde - Vita's village, the sea witch's home and the city of Genovera, among others. This really serves to give the story a depth that it would be lacking otherwise. The strong character development is a plus as well - Vita, Giovanni and Marina are all believably fleshed out in the course of the story. I will say that while it wasn't totally necessary to the story, I would have liked to have seen Giovanni's story developed more - he is an interesting character. Understandably, Vita's story takes the forefront of the narrative for a good portion of the book.

After all is said and done - The Separated certainly is an enjoyable read - geared toward the younger reader but still has something to offer for an adult audience, a la the His Dark Materials trilogy.

A little boy with a gift for leadership and a desire for the good of his people runs afoul of those with a hunger for power. His skills in strategy and inspiration unwittingly threaten the position of the crown prince, who is himself incapable of the type of loyal following that Inda inspires. Inda’s downfall from grace marks a turning point in the story, and he must leave the life he knows and create a new existence at sea. Here the story widens its scope and readers begin to see that the fate of this one boy has affected his country on every level.

This is fantasy written in both broad sweeps of the pen and behind-the-scene details, bringing this world into three dimensional relief. Full of swashbuckling flourishes, mysterious spies, political machinations, and believable characters, this is a well-told story that has adroitly worked its way into my list of favorites. Although the main character is Indevan, the boy of the title, the book is truly about politics and powersharing among cultures sustained by war and trade.

Sherwood Smith has excelled at her craft, creating a society where men have granted women power within limits and women have quietly worked behind the scenes to control and ameliorate what men might do. The complex social structure, the assumption that small magics are a part of life, the slang of the characters all combine to convince the reader that the lives defined by this book are reality. What captivates me the most are the hints that Inda’s people may have come from some other world, dropped comments here and there that imply a larger scope to the story than just the pages in this book.

I truly enjoyed reading this book. I like books that look at the bigger picture and authors who take the time to create the small details and flesh out their stories. Sherwood Smith has accomplished this with flair. She includes a short list of definitions in the back of the book to help with terms, but I could also have used a list of characters or a family tree.* I found myself backtracking a bit to remind myself who was who. She also ended the book with a whopping cliffhanger (blast her hide)! This means I need to run out and find The Fox, the next book in the series.

*Readers who would like more information about the Inda universe should check out Sherwood Smith’s website at www.sherwoodsmith.net

Fiction’s new favorite purloiners return, the scene of their last crime – an act of lurid but no less true justice - drifting behind them. Their introductions behind them, the characters cast off and stripped of nearly all possessions but their lives, one could conclude an author would be primed to hit the shores running with his second offering, diving headlong into another fresh and elaborate juke devised to follow 2006’s most recommendable debut.

To our initial disappointment Lynch delivers.

We find the remnants of our band stalking the pits of the Sinspire, patiently and calculatingly ascending lady luck’s ladder in Lynch’s Monte Carlo, the city-state Tal Verrar, marked on any map as the destination for the apex of high society and high stakes. The absurdity of the back in-saddle starting point exhibits the author’s greatest strength, his decisions on how to pace a novel. The cuts to the recent past, giving us the anatomy of the scheme and farther back to moments transpiring in the direct aftermath of The Lies of Locke Lamora are perfectly placed, once again functioning as a new door to open just before the occupied space stagnates. You seem to never be anywhere but where you want to be, Lynch just doesn’t let you in on the fact until a chapter later, and the reader isn’t sprinting or running a marathon as much as they are in a literary shuttle run. The initial perceived thoughtlessness is rectified as our ‘hero’ is doing the only thing any reader should expect as an aftermath to the first book…

The Thorn of Camorr is grieving. Reduced to a melancholic lush, burdened with the weight of an adynamic soul. The Gentleman Bastards have been reduced to a duo and it is Jean who takes on a gamgee role to make sure that number isn’t cut in half again. The bastard’s lifestyles are inherently risky, but Locke is used to winning his gambits and the effect of the loss of members of his troupe is not skirted over by Lynch. While Locke chooses to rot we witness Jean exploring other avenues other friendships, and destiny - paths that make him at time vague, unreadable even to Locke. For Locke it was the dead end, for Jean it was a bit of crossroad, they always knew the stakes better than anyone but never had to pay-up, and the events in Camorr were shakedowns of the soul. When we finally see the charisma and vigor return to Locke – he is not unchanged – he has doubt, not in himself or Jean, but in Jean’s faith in him. There is an Ocean’s Eleven vibe but what drives the duo most is neither a faire sauter la banque goal nor vengeance, but it is passion for the art of the trade as Lynch cuts back to unveil steps to the heist at intervals even as they are being cast in multiple plots against other factions – simultaneously.

When I reviewed The Lies of Locke Lamora the single stumbling point for me were the Bondsmagi. Their presence as a nation of essentially unstoppable ace-in-the-hole-ass hole-boogiemen seemed more convenient plot device to me than a welcome in reading even though Lynch memorably made sure to exhibit they could indeed be touched – and with extreme prejudice – it remains an element still that I wish we could be rid of. It does give that constant threat of reprisal in Locke’s and Jean’s lives and one they are fully aware that they are almost powerless to stop if the Bondsmagi want to collect, but otherwise seems like a burden we now have to deal with just to make the Grey King’s ploy in the first book plausible. That aside, Red Seas Under Red Skies is not only a worthy sophomore effort, it is with little doubt the superior book. Too infrequent is our chance to read great pirate stories, such that we all have that similar shortlist in our head when asked to reference them: The Scar, On Stranger Tides, The Princess Bride (okay I’m stretching but you its one of those inclusions you simply can’t be mad about), Pyrates, Captain Blood; some more dedicated readers may include recent stories by Wells Tower or Rhys Hughes and Lynch supplies an addition to that list. It is so because in a book that features our protagonists being used as puppets by both sides in a feud over control of Tal Verrar between a well informed War Lord and the master of the Sinspire, Requin and his majordomo, learning the art of pirating and with one eye always looking over their shoulders for Bondmagi, all while still keeping to and amending their own scheme in play, Lynch is able to still make a brief excursion to Salon Corbeau the highlight and most decisive and gratifying chapter in the novel.

The glamorization of thieves and their exploits are hardly an untested formula in all mediums of fiction (and non-fiction) from – and Lynch’s books have a manner about them that make them feel cool but not trendy – the difference is achieving a state when it is not your goal. In this manner it’s more pool hall junkies than smokin’ aces and Locke’s healthy hatred for the wealthy and is so blatant that it creates this aura of honesty about the character that creates a natural common ground with more than ninety-ninety percent of the people who could potentially pick up the book. Chain’s words rattle in the back of his mind, and brands Locke to be an instrument, not as a social equalizer, but to act as a living memory and in a case that a past humbling instance doesn’t apply, to be the tool with arms long enough to hit the elite in the mouth – not so much for the joy of the literal punch, but to personify the figurative, permanent black eye. While Lynch keeps his promise of offering the reader a complete, self-contained story in each book of the sequence, it is the chapters such as this sprinkled in both books that expose the roots of the Thorn, the foundation and origin of the persona and we are a witness to it as much in the displays of his commitment to his craft as we are when he later insures a family of master artisans be spared a settlement’s judgment. It is really these chapters that supply that secondary, post-read pondering content and allows us to discuss Locke himself: peerlessly confident, a traveling - even if for one person audience - show, adrift, and guided by nothing but perhaps his own unique brand of avarice and the camaraderie of his partner, or is he that and still a child – looking to be guided by a higher authority, be it a father figure or deity. Is he driven by purpose or constantly searching for it? I’m unsure if it was the author’s intent – perhaps it was my own projection – but Locke seemed to go into a darth-mode for a moment, as he was a spectator of game played in Salon Corbeau called The Amusement War. He showed what was more than mere disgust, it was pure, unbridled, hatred. We know Locke is certainly capable of mischief from grand theft to killing, but the presence of this hate was almost disconcerting, and in the most positive of ways. This is not a balanced individual and while capable of extreme concentration and control when necessary, as much as Locke is able to manipulate his surroundings – the world moves him, not the other way around, and thus a feeling of contrivance is avoided in a manner that sometimes is not true of larger than life characters where often too often the world revolves around them.

This is as much a Jean novel as it a Locke novel, and it Jean’s story that in some ways saves the novel as the secondary characters tend to be a bit uneventful and seem perhaps too bit of a clean fit. There was no Chains, or characters of the like that were only limited by pages they were on, not what they brought to them. When we left Camorr we did so feeling we left some future stories whether they included the bastards or not, told or left untold where Red Seas Under Red Skies feels much more like just simply leaving a chapter behind us. Lynch has a talent for what amounts to multiple epilogues, and while actual roles may seem a bit less thoughtful or standout, the conclusions to various plot lines never do. It's probably true that Red Seas Under Red Skies ends up feeling more harmless than it's predecessor and in end we are left much the same as we were in the beginning except the condition of the spirit and body change places, yet from the tone you feel there is a weary but playful composure - a game face – has returned to Locke and we wonder if these red seas will ever lead him to a home.

For even the most novice of fantasy enthusiast it is hard not to notice the Mieville similarity, not in the sense of adding to the tired modernization of the fantastic spiel, or at in any way implying a creative riff in regards to content, but in terms of general symmetry. Like China, Lynch abandons the confines of his urban center that not only served as the backbone of the introduction, but also breathes as if alive - a constant presence without dialogue, and chooses to launch to the high seas, a decision that makes us as much reader and mystery tourist. It also creates a odd sensation that rather mimics and reinforced the point-of-view and continuity cuts from past to present – as readers we were not so much unlike Bellis in search of future opportunity but ran off from our immediate past enough to look back before ever step forward and the subsequent trips were what made the story. We still have that Camorr musk on us as readers and it takes awhile for us to appreciate the fresh sea air. In Red Seas Under Red Skies, no matter the location of the masquerade at hand, Camorr still plays an off-stage roll and we perhaps learn more of the city – and the mentality of her vagabond sons while being elsewhere. There is also an excursion in The Scar to a land of blood sucking horror mosquito people, and Lynch has his version of such a stopover and monsters only they are represented by man. Admittedly it’s all rather superficial - as were many of the overstated comparison involving with the first novel - (the comparisons) but something that was definitely in my mind.

In the more the merrier era of ensembles and complexity weighed by cast numbers Lynch chooses what is still not the path less taken, but is one that is polluted with innumerable unmarked graves, not blank due to a lack of information, but to signify that is no more relevant than the other, of stories buried that don’t require a revisit, failed adventurers blurred together that fail to spark reasonable recognition and whose names die even if they themselves do not, where the Tristan of Eutracia’s will come to rest or be buried alive. It is the path that has successfully been undertaken by a few, these are characters that threaten to become part of the very fabric of fantasy’s conscious – they are not necessarily characters that claim new territories and spill first blood on new ground but all are those that come to define. I like Neverwhere more than the next guy – but who was the protagonist again? Inevitably some replies will be "the guy who Vandermer and Croup were chasing". With Lynch, through just two books you feel as if the author perhaps has stumbled upon that multiverse-spanning, vellum-crossing, shadow walking, dream trail that ran through the Underdark that once revealed a lavender glint reflecting off dual scimitars, or was once trodden by a storm-bearing Albino, or where a blind prince of Amber sulked, or where stalked a ring-totting leopard, and even once bore a fool wizard and his luggage, among others. It is that connection with a single character that was once vogue that seems to a point admonished now for that very fact, and thus the numbers of personalities and seem that is still able to drive a series by their presence alone in a manner that perhaps is only mirrored in its first steps currently by Stover’s Cain or Morgan’s Tovac. The accomplishment includes and goes beyond being the topic of self-important small circles; it extends into daring to be large, indeed embracing it, but not at the same time fearing to achieve that state by accepting built in limitations more often simply the vices of minority aloofness. These are characters that create absolute statements – to actually come to not like Locke Lamora seems near implausible, a sad, dark place, an opinion hell with baffling inhabitants and even stranger horizons who sadly run away from large crowds just to be noticed and seemingly always scratch their when they miss the party wondering why. These are the characters that transcend book and series titles: they are the Elric, the Cain, Conan, Covenant and Drizzt books. The vast majority of the time I would say the human element – I think – remains the most important facet of any piece of fiction but I think we often limit what we perceive as grand accomplishment to examinations of that state and tend to view simply the enjoyment of as something lesser. There are simply very few reads that just have that kick back and relax ambience, that timeless fresh and jazzy ‘Summertime’ experience, "Here it is the groove slightly transformed just a bit of a break from the norm just a little somethin' to break the monotony of all that hardcore dance that has gotten to be a little bit out of control it's cool to dance but what about the groove that soothes that moves romance give me a soft subtle mix and if ain't broke then don't try to fix it" – ahhh...good times! That’s what Lynch brings to the shelf. When will Locke find what he searches for? Is it something even the greatest thief can steal? Does Locke Lamora fascinate me? Not in specific ways that some characters do. But the idea of more of his as of yet untold adventures do – and that’s an accomplishment.

The headstones don’t lie.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

In the first installment of Catherynne M Vaente’s In the Night Garden, the first part in duology entitled The Orphan’s Tales, the ingredients are all present and the conditions are met. Clichés abound at every corner, every three steps a risk at tripping on tropes, another orphan’s story, meandering prince in tow and a quest for each cast member, a jaunt into fantastic fiction that is epic in the truest sense of the word. On the surface, a description of another forget-me-soon, brand-expectation feeding, disappointment. - the next and last in the seemingly sempiternal line our hobby has to offer. Something happens, however, our memory fails us, the expected horizon blurs, while at times grimmly familiar, our once assured stride turns into adventures stumbles and off the paved path we still encounter homages, but homages turned vintage, as we encounter cynocephali, rapacious wizards, witches, shape shifters, assassins, mother goose, griffins, flame birds, we are like the prince aware of and living his intended story but in welcome need of the immediate contradictory and continuous afterword. It is a story of beasts and adventures on the high seas, in cities of dream, and where barkeeps wait for a divine promise kept, all residing below a star-studded pantheon. But it is always the garden we go back forward to.

Surrounding the palace of a Sultan, a garden serves as the dwelling place of an outcast child shunned for her ornate gaze, her eyes magically tattooed with stories carrying the weight of 1001 nights. Ostracized for the birthmark, she was only even allowed to wander the garden – relegated as a tolerated local gapeseed - out of fear of retribution from her kind – she must be a demon child right? A living taboo, it is only natural it would be the curiosity of a child of the royal house who would come looking for her, as even the greatest story ever told requires someone to listen. A pact is made between the two, the girl - the literary bastard child of Scheherazade and Ishmael – our narrator and the young lordling drawn into her tales like a strung out Bastian Balthazar Bux. We see a pact turn into symbiotic bond, a relationship growing with the story and it is through their exchange that the reader will experience a series of interlocking tales, myths in a myth, folktales told within a folktale, in a clever fashion never but never too clever, sidestepping contrivance. Valente’s ball of yarn seems infinite, as stories keep mounting, pieces fitting before, after, on top of, and under previous chapters and at times might induce some reader weariness, but the patient reader will start to see their breadcrumbs intersect. These are stories set to no particular or uniform emotional tone – in Valente’s world treachery, vengeance, camaraderie, love, independence, faith, tradition, shame, sacrifice and family – exist concurrently with each other, which is why one moment can be dementedly violent while the next may offer a worthy laugh or indeed both.

When critique is offered of a formidable stylist like Valente, noted strengths delegated are usually more aesthetic in nature, and while there is no depreciation in this regard from her previous work, perhaps the most significant achievement of In the Night Garden is the world she creates (or Harrison’s bane if you will). We will not be given the product of Valente’s world building, we will travel with her as she builds, she gives us no map, it’s drawn as you flip the pages. The perspective of the world around her characters allows the world to organically grow and shift even when standing in place – you do not buy into the background, you buy into the inherent belief system of individual character’s who inhabit backdrop – whether human, beast or divine in inspiration – revealing the secret life of the world around them, and that’s a mean trick. Readers will bask in the Arabian atmosphere and recognize Canterbury’s twisted roads but shouldn’t discount the bloody chamber or Heian myth – all harnessed by one of the most distinctive writers to come along in fiction in the last few years.

In short, In the Night Garden is downright folk-funky, with DJ Cat V scratching and mixing myth and lore with an original blend given previously untold life by a writer who ultimately made me ponder the question of what happens when a neverending story ends, while almost making me forget to ask about the power in the name of the teller. The Orphan’s Tales is the poet, short fiction writer, and novelist maximizing her entire skill set in an offering that caters to the sensibilities of the fan of all forms.

Not in the too distant past one of my favorite - now flawed - methods to describe my tastes in the fantastic or preferred reading in general was to make the distinction between those who had a story to tell and were simply given a venue to tell it – a capacity that I couldn’t help but view as seemingly having as much to with hat-drawn luck as much as existing as a true barometer of actual proficiency of craft - and to those who had the actual gift of conveying the story. It was well intended, putting more credence to the deft of stroke rather than the common root of vision – the for some reason at times abstruse distinction beyond base synop between a Celidon and Landover, a Severian and Rahl, a Conrad Metcalf and Harry Dresden, that separates fantastic fiction from simple fanciful fluff - but when making that refined and defining cut, judging works as either stroke or stencil, I think in less drastic comparisons it became all to easy to ignore the true end game, a combination of the intent of both circumstances. The Story and the Teller. We read In the Night Garden, but in the girl’s hands we experience, we feel, we live the stories as if we accompany the character’s journeys with blood soiled club in hand and yet simultaneously watch them from afar armed with S’mores on a stick. Like the young prince, we run off in the night, we steal time, lie to our obligations, indeed we may find ourselves in a dungeon and better for it with proper company, as we shut the world out for the privilege to have it told to us seeking our forbidden fruit - but mostly we listen for a glimpse of the miraculously cursed girl with the deep, beautifully-burdened eyes with the greatest gift of all…

Catherynne M. Valente is a storyteller.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

Hinterland continues the story begun in Shadowfall, the first book of James Clemens' The Godslayer Chronicles.

With the slaying of the naethryn-possessed god Chrism by Tylar de Noche, an uneasy peace has fallen over the lands of Myrillia. Tylar has been named regent of Chrismferry as a temporary measure and his former order of Shadowknights plans to reinstate him to his knighthood.

In the distant land of Saysh Mal, the dark Grace-tainted skull of a rogue god fleeing the lawless hinterlands is recovered, bringing various factions out of the shadows who all desire the power held in the skull for their own ends.

In the land of Oldenbrook, Brant, a young Hand of the god Jessup is haunted by the fateful day when he witnessed the rogue god's final stand, and by the terrifying power that sweeps across Oldenbrook.

Events come to a head with Tylar's arrival at the Shadowknight stronghold of Tashijan for his knighting ceremony. A god-driven storm rises up to besiege the walls of Tashijan, sending ice and dark Graces against the defenders. Even the inner reaches of Tashijan are not safe, as the former castellan Mirra lurks in the bowels of the stronghold, sending darkness-spawned horrors against the defenders.

In the end, the only answers to be found are in the hinterland bordering Saysh Mal...

Hinterland manages to somewhat get away from the predictability of Shadowfall. As before, the concept of the god's bodily humors being used for power is a good touch. In particular, the feeling that not everyone arrayed against the protagonists is completely evil keeps the story from being just another "good versus evil" struggle. As with Shadowfall, it may not be an entirely original story, but there's enough here to lift it above the run-of-the-mill epic fantasies.

I'd rate it a bit above Shadowfall, and would hope that this improvement continues with any future books in the series.

While perhaps surpassed in recent years by individual projects by various authors it would not be an overstatement to state that The Thrawn Trilogy - an arc released in the early 90’s - became the measure that all other shots of EU have been held against. Much of this has to do with circumstances of time as the books chronologically occur in a time that make them natural sequels to the original film trilogy and I don’t find it a coincidence that it found success during a time that would have seen the fans of the aforementioned movies reaching the second and third decades of their lives taking their first look back at products related to their childhood. I say much of it because there was no lack of storytelling ability present as Zahn successfully integrated new elements and ideas into a franchise that has become a tradition on to itself, and while there have been numerous books that told the continuing or past tales in the Lucasdom, Zahn didn’t just write of or about the myth, in many fan’s minds his work is part of the tapestry not merely a product of its legacy; he’s playing backup for Figrin D’ and the Modal Nodes he’s not a groupie, and while not in my mind the most noteworthy writer to add to expanded universe it is hard to argue that Zahn wasn’t the first real reason – and a good one - to even take note of Star Wars on paper.

Zahn’s latest Star Wars offering treads no new ground but backtracks into a timeframe that occurs between the first two canonical films and amongst its three plot threads depicts the exploits of who will perhaps represent his most significant and longest lasting mark into the mythos that he introduced in the aforementioned sequence – Mara Jade. Once the potential executor and at the same time destined wife of Luke Skywalker, she first served as a shadow operative answering only to Palpatine himself, and known as a matter of fact by a chosen few and to all others as rumor – if even at all – as the Emperor’s Hand. A second plotline explores the decay of the Empire from the inside as members of a squad of Storm Troopers are forced to differentiate between the body of ideals they proudly served as the arms of and the actual truth behind them and thus their own deeds. Rounding out the three threads we follow the familiar trio of pre-knight Luke Skywalker, pre-official rebel –as a rebel at heart he has always been - Han Solo, and pre-salvatorian Chewbacca and it is decidedly the dreariest of the trio.

After experiencing a most welcome and I thought a highly unlikely circumstance: two recent, highly recommended Star Wars efforts - written by Karen Traviss and Aaron Allston and both associated with the promising Legacy of the Force sequence - Zahn’s effort fell short of those reading experiences, not undone by premise, as this nook in the EU – at least conceptually - represents an obvious draw to fans who have been waiting to see the exploits of a certain Mara Jade in her Imperial position and to what I think is a growing trend – the popularity of military-styled SF and Fantasy represented by Storm Troopers in Allegiance. Zahn’s actual painting seemed modest in comparison to its provocative frame which made for a suitable read – still above most Star Wars books I have read - but left me pondering the moments that I thought should have shook a fan boy to the core; You know…those moments that make seem reading even lackluster novel worth it by for a second touching that inner schwartz spirit that allows us to even claim to like Star Wars even after the prequels. For example, even if you didn’t enjoy Perry’s Shadow of the Empire, one had to smile with Vader – a macarism through the page - as he proclaimed to Xizor, "In the Emperor’s absence, I speak for the Empire" (which is no doubt paraphrasing, the book is not available to me at the moment) as he laid down his ultimatum to the intergalactic boss of bosses and ultimate arriviste. These are the moments that for a second make you think you hear John Williams in your head and while I think I faintly heard Imperial March starting to play on a couple of occasions but it turned out to be more like Tesh not Williams. These are moments unperceived by even those with the most sterling of minds – that unidentifiable force that won’t allow fans denounce their allegiance despite Jar Jar’s and painful dialogue alike.

Even before the time of the prequels - a.k.a the Dark Times as far I’m concerned - the lynch pin of the Star Wars has been Vader – the living, breathing cynosure of the universe. When judging a EU book that features characters from the canonical films interacting with those that are not, Vader remains the comparative foil, as it is in his presence that some of the greatest interactions occur, be it with Luke, Tarkin, Leia, Fett, Palpatine, Kenobi, the next ex-admiral of the Executor or just insouciantly informing Solo he has been expecting him. This facet of Vader remains true to me even with recent efforts – like the absolutely heinous Jedi Trial - that are motivated in welcomed attempts at humanizing the character of Vader but miss and really become part of a trend that is best described as the pussifacation of one of the truly iconic figures in modern mythology. Going into this book the fan has to most anticipate the meetings of Vader and Mara, a meeting between father and future daughter-in-law, the prodigy and the progenitor of his line, for two reasons, one, the simple reverse-symmetry inherit in the event and to see how Zahn would handle Vader – the latter of special interest due to Zahn’s infrequent and perceived disdain of the character, a subject that’s the motivation of fan discussion in itself. That said, in such a system of books individual liberties are often taken, and should be understood as many find the interpretations and liberties other authors have taken with many of Zahn’s original creations (including in the aforementioned on-going Legacy of the Force series) including Mara herself. Call it an over inflated view of the Dark Lord, hell, call it simple chauvinism, but I couldn’t help thinking that the meetings between the two left me cold, as if the significance of the build-up leading to them was registered by the author but what should have been an ominous meeting of Empire’s ultra-elite – and more than that, the non-bureaucratic elite - turned into a bit of a teenage (which in Mara’s case may be apt) chest thumping performances. Vader takes on a Galactus–like role where we know he is the HNIC and that fact is used as untarnishable shortcut when writers try to show us the measure of another character. With that in mind I still couldn’t help but come away thinking even more of the Vader I thought I knew gone in these encounters where I had hoped to find another perspective on what I feel is the establishment.

Without question the most compelling episodes of Allegiance are in following the exploits of the rogue storm troopers. On the run and equipped with a nifty stolen ISB (Imperial Security Bureau – think part Gestapo, part political commissar) transport and coming to grips of the quixotic nature of the reality they think they serve. Zahn successfully paints a human face on the Empire’s infantry, and although the focus tends to be on one of them – one Daric LaRone – so much so leaving the others in the quartet rather indistinguishable, and even worse not unnecessarily so, their administration of vigilante justice and encounters with the other notables proves to be fruitful in that they give a view of the everyman in the universe and doesn’t assume such a perspective has to be exclusive to the rebellion. They are not the only examples Zahn uses to portray this element in regarding the Empire, and while it (the Empire) can correctly be characterized by corruption from its very origin there were those who believed in its ideals and were no less good citizens of the human race (or alien) because of it. In many ways Anakin himself could be viewed in the same light before he became single-minded his vision of the future regarding Padme. The biggest accomplishment of Allegiance is instilling a sympathetic, and even more than that an overall ambivalent characteristic into the Empire.

The third thread could never escape emanating the characteristic of simply existing to be an obligatory thrown-in of familiar characters to add credence thought to be needed to enhance the publicity synopsis. Indeed, on the cover of the novel while in conclusion everything ends up making a brand of contrived sense I couldn’t help thinking that whatever Allegiance would amount to, it would achieve it despite these portions of the novel featuring Solo, Skywalker, and Chewie that more or less seemed like chore to give them while Zahn a neat number to tie into his book’s title. All three segments are about forms of allegiance, – the trooper’s conflicts about their ideals no longer being mirrored by the Empire, Han coming to grips to expanding his circle to include more than two and perhaps an entire rebellion, and that of Mara, a person who has found true purpose in her teens, and with a steadfast vigor that’s loss of purpose makes the utter hatred we see in her Zahn’s original trilogy that much more organic and effective. Even beyond the three main threads, Zahn toys with concepts of allegiance in almost every other secondary character, making for either the most apt title in history or the feeling of beating a dead bantha.

There are nice touches intended for the established fan. We see anther nod to the 501st Star Wars fan group, as Vader’s personal legion of Storm Troopers are designated with the same title - the same designated legion he leads into the Jedi Temple as chronicled in Revenge of the Sith. There is also an appearance by the pre-Moff Disra, a major player who we see in a previous Zahn duology. In one of the better Vader/Mara encounters we get this dialogue:

Admittedly not groundbreaking, but it’s one of few instances that the Bodhisattva-approved Vader shows up in Allegiance, and it’s a nice tie-in to a minor breath-taking occurrence that occurs in the original trilogy.

While probably a book that is on every Star Wars fan’s radar due to the draw of Zahn revisiting the Jade character, and certainly not without its moments that may ultimately make the book worth reading and even a required read for true SW enthusiasts – if only to have something to talk about – it doesn’t represents Zahn’s best, either in the EU or overall, which is undoubtedly his earlier short fiction. If the recent Legacy of the Force novels were a step forward, efforts that I think can be appreciated by Science Fiction fans in general and not just the existing built-in fan base, then Allegiance is at least an accidental stumble, but even more so it has the look of a purposeful sprint back, which is what some wanted, but I expected a Zahn effort and got something closer to a KJA effort – a lot of people will buy it, but ultimately it’s more forgettable than it is worthy of the allegiance of any but the most ardent of completist.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

Drake, is a young apprentice to a sword maker in Stokos. On his 16th birthday, a wild night of partying gets him in more trouble than usual and finds himself judged by King Tor. His punishment is to be thrown to out to sea, three leagues from Stokos, and during his swim back he meets the love of his life.

Personal Thoughts – Hugh starts this book on a humour note as the reader is plunged into Drake’s over indulgent life of drink, women and trouble. When Drake survives King Tor’s punishment, he meets the woman who drives his lusts and gets him into more trouble. A new religion takes hold in Stokos and unfortunately the founder, his sword maker master, dislikes Drake. To escape further wrath, Drake falls in with pirates, then his troubles really start.
The whole story is written with a humours note. This works fine during some scenes, but can be quite tedious for a whole book. I felt the humour would work much better if the action and tense situation were written more seriously.
I also felt there was a lack of focus for this story. Drake flounders from one strange, difficult situation to the next. At the end of the story I didn’t feel his character or the plot progressed in any meaningful way, and this is quite a long book for nothing of importance to happen. If the author wanted to write a jolly, light heartened tale then I feel the story should have been shorter. There seems to be two versions of this book, I had the older version, which is quite long, though Ive noticed the newer version is 300 shorter.
It’s not the best story I have read, however, it is reasonably entertaining.

David Day’s “A-Z of Tolkien” is more than a simple reference companion for JRR Tolkien’s world of Middle-Earth. It is an act of devotion.

Tolkien, as the Introduction explains, created the worlds of Middle-Earth and the Undying Lands as a gift to England. Essentially, he was determined to create for Great Britain the kind of rich mythology that other countries and cultures had and then set his stories within these worlds. As Day writes, “The enormity of this undertaking is staggering. I would be as if Homer, before writing the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey,’ had first to invent the whole of Greek mythology and history.”

Day draws from all of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth works, not just “The Lord of the Rings,” but from “The Hobbit,” “The Silmarillion,” and others. From Tolkien’s work, Day compiled this encyclopedic guide of the people, places, events, creatures, and even plants. Entries range in length from a short paragraph to nearly two pages. Day’s work is not as dry as many of these kinds of guides. Each is eloquently written and many read like great works of short fiction in their own right.

The very scope of the work makes its flaws that much more surprising. For example although the Ent Treebeard’s wife has an entry (“Wandlimb”) as do what seems like the entire Dwarven royal line, there is no entry for “Smeagol,” the infamous Gollum’s given name. Several other names were not cross-referenced, although an index helps to make up for these flaws (“Smeagol Gollum” does appear in the Index, referring the reader to the entry on Gollum).

The black and white illustrations were contributed by six different artists, creating a nice diversity in styles. Covering a wide variety of subjects, the illustrations capture everything from simple mischievousness, to mystery and honor, to some of the terrifying monsters lurking in the dark places of Middle-Earth. Interestingly, the sketches are still relevant and current, even in this world of Peter Jackson’s cinematic adaptation of “The Lord of the Rings”—testament to the clarity of Tolkien’s vision and prose. I would have liked even more illustrations.

“A-Z of Tolkien” has to potential to add substantially to a reader’s appreciation of Tolkien’s works, whether using the guide as a reference while reading the Middle-Earth stories (“The Silmarillion” in particular can be a dense read) or as a “coffee-table” book to pass the time. In either case, one cannot look at Day’s guide without being, once again, astounded at Tolkien’s accomplishment of creating such a complex, rich, and real world and Day’s achievement in chronicling it. I rate “A-Z of Tolkien” a 9 out of 10.