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.

Every once in a while a book comes along that redefines enjoyment and artistry. With Breath and Bone, Carol Berg has achieved just that. The magic in this story lives and breathes in the very words and phrasing of the tale. I have not read a more captivating work of art in sometime.

Readers are drawn seamlessly into Valen’s mind in this first person point of view tale spun effortlessly, woven with magic and such craft as to gift life into its very pages. Valen finds himself between the devil and the deep blue sea as his oaths and renegade reputation catch up with him. Bound to the bastard prince Oriel and struggling against a deadly addiction, he comes the overwhelming realization the kingdom and the very existence of all creation depend on him and his questionable decision making. At the root of it all lies the reason for his grandfather’s madness and the hatred he feels from his father.

The plot twists and turns, knarled like an old tree and filled with unexpected darkness. Hidden motivations come to light and questions raised by the first book in this series, Flesh and Spirit, are answered. The tale is filled with numerous characters yet each has an individual voice so readers easily can keep them straight. More than a typical quest fantasy, Valen struggles with questions many people face. Issues of familial devotion, abandonment, and loyalty are woven within the age-old conflict of whether the ends justify the means. Is saving the lives of hundreds worth the damning of one soul?

I could find no weak link in the golden chain of this story. From beginning to end I was held in thrall by the beauty and blending of myth and magic. Carol Berg is a gifted artist who paints magnificent scenes of prose. The only slightly negative statement I can make is to beware - know that every book you read from now on may suffer in comparison. Here is a book that will compel you to return and enjoy its texture and savor its depth. Bravo, Ms. Berg!

Jacynda is a Time Rover from the year 2057, escorting academic tourists back and forth in the river of Time to engage in historical research. Called upon to recover a reluctant tourist who is enjoying the past a little too much, she finds herself in one of the most terrifying times and places during the Victorian Era - East End London, 1888, the playground of Jack the Ripper. As if a tourist refusing to return isn’t enough, Jacynda finds out a Rover has also gone missing. Woven throughout her escapade is the presence of the Transitives, a group of people with the mysterious talent to alter their appearance by shifting their shape completely. Jacynda must decide who to trust as she finds she is running out of the very commodity she has always controlled - Time.

Winner of the Daphne du Maurier award, Sojourn is an exquisitely crafted tale that takes readers back to the very bowels of the East End. Squalid, derelict, and desperate, the people there are simply trying to survive another day. Jacynda can’t help but compare her life in 2057 with the existence of those in 1888. The author lays the stark and sterile society of the future next to the teeming life of the Victorian Era. Jacynda begins to realize filth and struggle serve to heighten the pleasures of the simple things in life, such as fresh hot scones and a quiet bath.

Jana G. Oliver has performed a masterful feat, balancing the multiple threads in the storyline to culminate in an ending that both satisfies and leaves questions unanswered. The only threadbare aspect to the plot was the relationship between Jacynda and her employer in 2057, but this pales in comparison to the rest of the story. Readers will find non-stop action from the beginning as they tumble from 1888 to 2057 and back again. Ms. Oliver introduces characters and creates personalities, capturing the Victorian fussiness and the “ladies of the night” with finesse. Her addition of the Transitives, shape shifters, serves to add a different twist on the activities of Jack the Ripper. Ripperologists, fear not, this is not an attempt to lay to rest the identity of that cruel fiend. Jack does, however, have a place in the plot (as readers will find out for themselves).

Sojourn was a wonderful adventure, full of unexpected twists and turns. I encourage you, Reader, to experience this time trip for yourself.

Gavril faces his deepest fear-that he cannot exist without his Drakhoul. His comfortable life was turned upside down in the first book of this trilogy with the appearance of a smoky presence that wrapped around him and invaded his being. The Drakhoul, a dark and demanding creature, promised strength beyond reckoning and breathed sulfur into Gavril’s soul. This power came with a heavy price, however. Gavril sustained physical changes without and within, his body changing into a dragon with the appetite of a vampire. Unable to face living as a monster, Gavril throws off his familiar with the help of Kiukiu and looks forward to living as a human again. Unfortunately, without the power of the Drakhoul to protect his people, Gavril is taken prisoner and Eugene proclaims himself Emperor of all he surveys.

Ms. Ash blazes through her descriptions of people. As the second book in the series entitled The Tears of Artamon, Prisoner of the Iron Tower is Act II of a three act play. There are many characters and most seem to be playing more than one role. Attempting to identify the alliances made and betrayed can leave one breathless. Like a typical second act, life seems dark for our hero Gavril and the countries fighting for independence.

I enjoyed this one more than the first, which is a bit unusual. The author seems to delve deeper into the primary characters, making them real. Readers see into the mind of Eugene, the self-proclaimed Emperor of New Rossiyan. He is not a flat, all-out bad guy but is very human, a contradiction. The loving father, afraid to emotionally embrace his new wife because the loss of the first was so painful. This alongside of the imperious ruler who demands instant groveling, paranoid about all around him and whose dreams consist of all he sees bowing to him. Readers sense that if Astasia and Eugene could just communicate better, a love could blossom that could heal the agony in his heart.

However, the character development of Eugene is balanced by a frenetic bouncing between other characters, shifting the focus so much I became a bit frustrated. I wanted the story to land in one place and develop more. I think she attempted to do too much here, trying to balance the story of Eugene as a budding emperor with the rebellion in the south and the destruction of Gavril’s country in the north. On top of all this is the search to understand the Drakhoul and his kind, to control or banish him forever. The story dashes one way and then swerves the other, like the daemon-dragon of the tale. Reader, beware! Ms. Ash invests effort in creating her characters only to pitch them off a cliff for the sake of the story. My hope is Sarah Ash will resolve this story effectively in book three of The Tears of Artamon, The Children of the Serpent Gate.

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.

Aliens are living among us. Not the freaky, slimy type of aliens depicted in Men in Black but humanoid beings with abilities beyond us. Each faction, the Greens and the Grays, are refugees from the same world and believe the other group was destroyed. They sought asylum in New York along with millions of other refugees that flooded Ellis Island during the early 20th century. The fragile peace that existed when each thought they were alone while hiding among the human population is now threatened when the Greens stumble upon the Grays.

Roger and Caroline Whittier, a run-of-the-mill human couple, find themselves thrust into the midst of this conflict when they stumble upon young Melanthe Green running for her life. Factions working for peace between the two groups have decided on a strategy to appease everyone. Unfortunately for Melanthe, this strategy is that a Peace Child will be sacrificed - her. The Whittier’s efforts to help her bring each of them out of their self-imposed yuppiedom and challenge their beliefs about each other.

This is not a story about aliens, per se, nor is it the usual space opera that I have come to associate with Timothy Zahn. The focus is really on diplomacy and groups of different types of people getting along with each other. (Although a little twist is thrown in at the end, which I refuse to go into as it would be a spoiler.) Regardless, there are plenty of explosions and shootings, conspiracy and cloak-and-dagger, to reassure me that Mr. Zahn didn’t stray too far afield.

While there are many characters in this book, almost too many, Mr. Zahn still finds time to develop the main ones. I like that Roger Whittier is completely normal yet finds this tremendous strength in himself to do amazing things, even so far as to attempt to broker a peace deal with all the grace and dignity of a UN diplomat (think Jimmy Stuart, here). I admire Caroline for trusting herself, pushing to do the right thing and daring to care for someone who is very different from herself. Most of all, I enjoyed how the two of them are thrust out of the doldrums of their relationship and learn to understand how the other one thinks. In fact, of all the books I have read lately, this one strikes me as having the potential to make a very good movie.

I enjoyed this book because it is different from anything I have read lately. Mr. Zahn has an ability to keep the pace of the story climbing throughout, making it difficult to set the book down until you are finished. I really thought his concept about the Greens and the Grays being . . . Oops, almost forgot - can’t give anything away! I know I will read this book again. Well done, Mr. Zahn.

Mercedes Lackey fans will thoroughly enjoy this fun escapade into turn-of-the-century England. Reserved for the Cat follows along with the Elemental Masters stories, which focus on magicians in the real world pictured in historical settings. We meet Ninette, an orphan in Paris who is gifted with the ability to capture her audience with her ballet dancing. As a young woman without proper lineage, her options for a future were limited to washerwoman (and die young), a prostitute on the street (and die even earlier), or catch the eye of a wealthy older man with her dancing abilities and live in relative ease. With her mother’s firm instruction, Ninette plunges into the life of a dedicated ballerina focusing on catching that wealthy old man.

These plans fall awry and she stumbles into the world of magic as she is rescued by a talking cat. Thomas, the cat, leads her to Elemental Masters involved in the theater with the idea of establishing her as a known ballerina in England. Of course, the plans of mice (er, cats) and men don’t always happen as intended. Ninette discovers the world of magic contains more than good, thoughtful Masters.

This is typical Mercedes Lackey, pushing the envelope of social acceptability regarding female roles in society. She brings a modern day perspective to the historical issues of women’s’ rights. She deals with the everyday struggle women faced simply to survive and the unalterable dependence they had on the male figures in their lives.

Within these social issues, however, lies a truly enjoyable tale. I find Ms. Lackey’s Elemental Masters series a true frolic into fantasy and Reserved for the Cat is no exception. Witty and dry, the magic in her books is always so believable, as are her characters. This is a great book, made to enjoy during these snowy days of December. Curl up under a blanket and enjoy Reserved for the Cat. Then look up the other marvelous tales published by Mercedes Lackey. There are too many to list here. Trust me - you will find your time well spent!

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.

We revisit Kendra and her brother Seth as Brandon Mull takes the story a bit deeper in Rise of the Evening Star, the second book in the Fablehaven series. In the first book of the Fablehaven series, Kendra and Seth meet magic face-to-face at the refuge run by their grandparents. Here in the second book, magic comes to meet them in their very normal, non-magical lives at school and home.

Kendra is beginning to realize that when you touch magic, it also touches you. She has to face some realities in her life, such as how magic has changed who she is. Seth, who had a terrible time staying out of trouble in the last book, struggles again. But this time, he faces earning back the trust of his family. They do this while facing a mysterious creature that will frighten you to death, and a global conspiracy that is wanting to release magical creatures into the world. To tell you more would reveal too much of the storyline. Trust me, it’s worth it to read the book for yourself!

Brandon Mull has raised the level of danger and broaden the scope of the story in his second installment of the Fablehaven series. Risks are greater and the choices aren’t as clearly marked as “good” and “bad”. The players here aren’t just the inhabitants of Fablehaven, but includes others on a far-reaching global scale. The plot is twisty and at times very hard to predict, which is something I crave in any story.

Once again, this book will appeal to a variety of readers. The writing is superb, with a plot whimsical enough to keep the attention of young readers but deep enough to satisfy the older ones. As with the first book, Mr. Mull has added an addendum containing discussion questions that push young readers to look deeper than the surface of the plot.

From award-winning author Robin McKinley, creator of The Blue Sword and The Hero and the Crown, comes a story completely different from anything she has written to date. Readers find themselves in the modern world, firmly entrenched in modern times somewhere in the mountains at Smokehill National Park, a wildlife refuge for some very wild creatures indeed.

Jake, son of the scientist who helps to run the refuge, takes us back in time to relate his adventures with Lois the dragon. Lois is a real dragon, mind you, Draco australiensis, the only true breed of dragon. Only D. australiensis breathes fire and can fly. Other breeds assumed to be dragons, such as Draco chinensis (the bearded and colorful Chinese dragon), are also kept at Smokehill because tourists are willing to pay to see them. Tourist dollars are what keep Smokehill open and provide funding to maintain the refuge for the real dragons. Unfortunately tourists are also at the root of Jake’s problem, as the reader soon finds out. Well, tourists and the government, because apparently rescuing dragons is completely and totally against the law.

The story is told from a first person point of view and the readers are taken deep within the mind of Jake as he catalogs his adventures with Lois, the baby dragon he rescues and basically adopts. This causes the story to ramble at times, mainly because of the extreme exhaustion caused by being responsible for an illegal orphan that requires twenty-four/seven supervision.

Robin McKinley is a master of her chosen art form. With a comment here and a phrase there, she builds a belief that dragons can exist in our modern world. Jake’s voice is strong and clear, his emotions raw and uncovered. He is telling the story from the present and looking back at the past, so he has a running commentary on himself and others and doesn’t hold back his criticisms.

While the rambling adds to the veracity of the tale, I began to weary of the constant interruption in the flow of the story. McKinley introduced me to a delicious form of fantasy writing with her previous works and I came to Dragonhaven with some preconceived notions about her writing. I was forced to throw those notions out the window. This is not a romantic dragon story with wizards, billowing capes, and flashing swords. This is a coming of age story, where a boy is challenged to do what is right even though it isn’t romantic or even fun.

All of that aside, while I felt disappointed in the style of the book I still finished it. I feel this is a tribute to Ms. McKinley as a writer, in that she could still keep my attention engaged even though the story wasn’t what I expected. This may not be my favorite dragon story but I feel the book will appeal to readers, especially to young readers.

Kendra and her brother Seth know next to nothing about their grandparents, mainly that they never want to spend time with their grandchildren. So when the kids have to spend two and a half weeks with the inhospitable couple, they are less than excited. Driving up to their house is daunting, as signs reading “Beware of .12 Gauge” and “Violators Will Be Persecuted” are boldly staked along the road. Looks can be deceiving, though, as Kendra and Seth learn over and over again in this delightful adventure about magic.

What if the magical creatures were able to survive the Industrial Revolution, two world wars, and several overseas armed conflicts? What if fairies, unlike hobbits, didn’t fade away or take a ship to some faraway land? Where would they go? They would go to Fablehaven, a refuge from the modern world that both protects the magical from humanity and vice versa. The grandparents are the “gamekeepers” of this refuge, tending after the magical creatures and maintaining the protective boundaries around Fablehaven.

Of course, no adventure is complete without the bad guys and this story definitely has it’s share. There is a troll and imps, a witch and a demon, naiads and even fairies that aren’t completely innocent. This is one theme of the story; that which is beautiful is not necessarily good. Other themes touched on are resisting temptation, fulfilling responsibility and following the rules. The children face consequences for their decisions throughout the book, some of which are very unpleasant. The storyline is deceptively simple, but artfully weaves these universal truths within itself so that the book does not read like one huge “Aesop Fable”.

In this day of a headlong rush to quench the thirst of young readers for fantasy fodder, finding a well-written book is difficult. This is one of the reasons Fablehaven is so rewarding. Enjoyable and whimsical, readers meet the usual magical species but the story overall contains a very modern practicality. In an unusual addition, the author has added discussion questions at the end to challenge young readers to do more than just read the words. Readers are asked to think about why the characters make their choices or if they would do the same. This adds to the flexibility of the book, making it just as valuable to the classroom teacher as to a librarian or parent. Best of all, young readers will enjoy reading for the pure pleasure of escaping to a world that just might exist after all.

I thoroughly enjoyed every page of this book. Even though it is aimed at young readers, the writing is so well done I was still satisfied. I am very impressed with this debut novel from Brandon Mull. He has already published a second volume to the Fablehaven story. Stay tuned for a review of Fablehaven #2, Rise of the Evening Star. These are definitely books worth reading!

The genre that today is labeled "fantasy" on the shelves of your local bookseller and library (or the links of your favored e-tailer) is made up of many different literary traditions. There are the mythological and the swashbuckling, the gothic and the fable, the folk tale and the fairy tale. It is to this last group that Od Magic most clearly belongs. Eschewing any pretense of realism or grittiness, detailed settings or characters, Patricia McKillip's latest novel is a modern fairy tale that uses exquisite language and powerful, primal symbolism to convey something as unfashionable as a moral message -- as well as a strong serving of magic.

Four hundred years ago, the wizard-giantess Od saved the Kingdom of Numis. In return, Od was granted royal cooperation in setting up a school for magic in Numis' capital city of Kelior. Over the centuries, however, royal cooperation has turned into royal control: wizard students now are taught a tightly prescribed curriculum of only those skills deemed useful in maintaining the Kingdom. Od herself has long been absent, and unschooled wizards and wizardry outside the curriculum are considered dangerous and outlawed. Says Yar, one of the school's teachers:

Introduced into this tightly controlled system is Brenden Vetch, hired to maintain the school's gardens by the seemingly-immortal Od during her wanderings. Vetch has taught himself the quiet magic of listening to the plants and animals of his remote mountain home, although his gift shows hints of deeper, stronger power.

The idea of a school of magic figures prominently in Od Magic, but this is not a "magic school" book in the sense of a Harry Potter or even of Le Guin's Earthsea books -- though the latter are a closer match in both tone and theme. The perspective here is not that of students learning, but rather of the teachers and administrators responsible for what is learned. What is magic, Od Magic asks; how can something that is highly individual and unrepeatable, something outside the scientific method and rationality, best be taught? Indeed, can magic be taught at all with mere words, and what is the purpose of the attempt?

One often gets the feeling when reading a book that the author is attempting to describe, in an impartial, journalistic sort of way, a movie they are seeing in their mind. McKillip in contrast is one of our foremost authors who specialize in using language to actively aid in telling a story. This is a story about magic, and McKillip here deploys all the magic that language is capable of. There is a high concentration of metaphor and simile, the magic of transformation and transmutation. There are, within sentences, small jumps in time and scale, the magic of translocation. There are lists, as of spell components; there are repetition, assonance ("wooden foot form on the floorboards") and onomatopoeia, the chants and incantations of magic. The words used in the story themselves change as the story progresses, indicating its transformation: "wonder" is a word used sparingly throughout the early portions of the book, but is repeated noticeably in the final few chapters. Word by word, sentence by sentence, we are always aware we're being told a story about magic, and we are always very thankful to be in such good hands.

McKillip's style of storytelling creates a sense of narrative distance typical of fairy tale and fable: we are always aware that we're being told a story. This is also reflected in the characters and characterizations. While Brenden Vetch is a "framing character" -- the book begins and ends with him -- the story follows a hot potato format, character A meeting character B who we then follow until they mention character C who takes over the narrative, and so forth. The style is somewhat akin to that used by George R.R. Martin in his Song of Ice and Fire, each chapter being told from the point of view of one of a pool of characters. However, this being a single volume of slightly over 300 pages, we're given the opportunity to know the characters in far less well-rounded detail than in Martin's books. Rather, like a Cinderella or a Hansel, we come to know the characters through the conflicts and concerns they embody.

Thus we have Brenden Vetch, the apolitical innocent with an affinity for nature; he unknowingly becomes a focus of conflict within the overly political, overly controlled city of Kelior. The other focus is the entertainer and illusionist (and perhaps, practitioner of outlawed magic) Tyramin and his beautiful daughter/assistant Mistral, come to Kelior for reasons unknown. The arrival of both in the city initiates a chain of fear, investigation, and discovery for the other characters: Yar, the restless teacher who sees in Brenden an echo of his younger self; his lover Ceta, torn between care for Yar and her ties to the Kingdom; Ceta's cousin Valoren, graduate of the magic school and now magical advisor to King Galin; the Princess Sulys, caught between an arranged marriage to Valoren and her own secret knowledge that seems linked to Tyramin; the watch captain Arneth, forced to choose between law and love in his investigation of Tyramin and Mistral. Unlike many fantasy books there is no "evil" here to be overcome; fear due to ignorance, complacency and misguided good intentions are the enemy. They are all the more terrifying and inexorable because we can recognize them as primal forces within ourselves.

The settings of the book, too, have the simple, primal force of fairy tale. No attempt is made to situate the Kingdom of Numis in time or space; its history as we know it begins and ends with Od's involvement. In the Kingdom are Kelior, the civilized and socialized City, and the surrounding countryside, the Natural, the Untamed and Unknown. Within the City are the Castle, the seat of authority; the School, where knowledge and rules are transmitted (and which lies in the shadow of the Castle); the House (only one is ever described), a place of sanctuary and intimacy; and the Twilight Quarter, the walled-off forbidden area of the city that comes alive only at night, full of delightful entertainments and -- via commerce symbolized by port and warehouse -- repository of all outside ideas.

The characters mix and mingle in these settings, numerous separate stories and goals entwining by the end into a single purpose. As with any fairy tale, there is a moral to Od Magic, involving the dangers of valuing something too much for utilitarian reasons and not enough for what it is in itself. There is some uneasiness in the story here -- anyone not a believer will likely remain unconvinced, and anyone already a believer may at times find some of the simplified characterizations to be preaching too loudly to the choir. McKillip's lovely prose always saves the day in such instances, however. The words carry us along and remind us that this is a fairy tale; although the characters are at times not three-dimensional enough to be recognizable as real people, they do in fairy tale fashion represent true-to-life emotions and points of view. And Od Magic never aims to be real, only to be true.

Only at the end of the book does this aim seem to falter somewhat: on the surface at least, the ending shares more with a light-hearted Disney adaptation of a fairy tale than the sort of tales originally collected by the Brothers Grimm or penned by Hans Christian Andersen. And yet, a second look (and a look inward) show an ending with a good number of complexities. Words do become inadequate at the end, and what is unsaid becomes as important as what is said. How many people find what they set out looking for by story's end? How many get what they deserve? How much is truly resolved? Against the popular endings of the day -- "people get what they deserve" and "bad things can happen to normal people" -- McKillip here posits a third ending. To the extent that Od Magic is able to answer its question, "what does magic do when it is freed?," a large part of the answer seems to be that being open to the possibilities of magic, of delight and wonder, is to be open to the possibility -- although by no means the certainty -- of forgiveness, grace and a second chance.

Those who are open to such an ending in all its glorious oddity and magic, those who are willing to do the work, will likely enjoy Od Magic.

-- Matt Denault

Guy Gavriel Kay, most notably known for Tigana and The Last Light of the Sun, gives the world another captivating novel, Ysabel, his tenth to date. It's set in the present day in the southern part of France, but still focuses largely on historical fantasy.

Ned Marriner and his father, an award-winning photographer, are setting up for a photo shoot in the Saint-Saveur Cathedral of Aix-en-Provence, a historically ancient structure that is marveled at for its beautiful architecture. During the slow and intricate setup, Ned wanders away, only to run into a girl his age and a man who's seemingly ageless. This man is searching for something. Both these strangers will change Ned's life instantly, as will what Ned discovers located in the tunnels below the church. Unknowingly, Ned will play a part to an ancient game of love, life, and death, and all those around him will be drawn in as well.

Let's be straightforward for once: I really enjoyed this book.

Ysabel has, by far, the most engaging dialogue I've ever come across. There's wit and humor and honesty and emotion in it, each character acting their age and showing it by simply how they talk. At first, I worried that Ned would simply be a character left to the shadows, but he turned out to be anything but that. It's very clear how much he grows as a character by viewing his interactions with his family and friends; though he's only 15 or so, he's responsible without coming across as too old. He's young, flirtatious, joking half the time, but still knows when to take things serious.

The plot starts out a little slow, and for the first few chapters I couldn't even tell I was reading a genre book; it could've been by Dan Brown (though written a lot better) for all I knew. But once the plot picks up, it really picks up. Cadell and Phelan, two Celtic deities (or something of that sort) that stir up most of the trouble, are villainous but not entirely evil. There are many times I found myself sympathizing with Cadell and the fact that he suffers for ages, never reaching a true moment of contentment. Their powers and abilities are clearly the fantasy bit, but never seem jarring.

Guy Gavriel Kay is somehow able to bring a family together from all different parts of the world and still, the book continues on naturally. Each family member shines on their own levels, showcasing off distinct and lifelike personalities. The pacing is superb, the hint of a countdown helping to push certain characters forward and give that sense of unease when the time really starts to diminish. The culmination of everything at the end, with Ned at the forefront, is worth the buildup. Though I had guessed the ending somewhat early, I was very pleased to see how it played out.

As the year winds down (and even though this won't be officially out until February 2007), I'm not afraid to claim this as one of my favorite reads of 2006. It's captivating, fun, intense, and all around a great and original adventure brimming with fun characters that come just as alive as the history they unravel does. Buy it the day it comes out. Really. I insist.

In my review of Door Number Three I commented on how polished that novel was and how it didn't read like a debut novel. That same observation applies here as well, perhaps even more so. The Gift was 22 years in the making and the time invested shows on every page. The Gift is so beautifully written that you can randomly open up to any page, pick a paragraph, begin reading and be amazed at the prose.

The Gift opens on a ship that is stuck in the water waiting out the night for the wind to pick up again. The ship recently picked up a Teller who is allowed free passage on any ship under the Kings order. We find ourselves thrown into a tense situation that we know nothing about. Here is a part of that opening. It clearly evocates the tension onboard if not the immediate cause of it:

In this haunting disquiet moment we are presented with a mystery, we want to know more about the woman and we will but not until the very end. In order to pass the night The Teller proceeds to tell the crew a tale. The tale is of course the novel we are reading. The Teller introduces us to our three main characters and a bevy of supporting characters. We learn of the magician who is so bent on learning his craft that he becomes twisted and falls under the control of a dark creature named Tomen giving up his name in the process and becoming The Usher, a dark conduit for Tomen. We learn of a young king who is deaf, his call for a cure and the reward that it holds and how The Usher cures the king and curses him at the same time. Lastly we learn of the boy Tim, the woodcutter’s son, whose parents are killed by The Usher, who saves the king and becomes his most trusted friend. Tim and the King will form a bond and make it their goal to destroy The Usher.

Like other great novels The Gift is a story that doesn’t summarize well. The Gift is not your standard fantasy quest that romps through an alien world. Like The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, The Gift is a story about stories. The story being told is embedded with nested stories. Most important to the tale being told is the symbiotic relationship it shares with the nested stories. Nothing is off hand and everything serves a purpose, you may be faced with a mystery or a dilemma late in the story whose solution might be had in what was mistaken for a throwaway story much earlier in the novel. The story is intricate and further readings (much like Door Number Three) give clues to the story and force you to appreciate there placement. Not only is it complex but it is enjoyable and compulsively readable.

Marathon runners and other athletes always strive to finish stronger then they start. Its sound advice that has broad applications. At some point late in the telling of the tale The Teller informs the crew that things are about to get scary. It’s at this point that the story really kicks in the gear. The individual threads of the story converge and O'Leary's already formidable story telling strengths conspire to make sure you're sockless. The ending of this book is one of my all time favorites, it’s that powerful. The story of the dead women is told and there is a final set of revelations that is startling. The final third of the book explicitly ventures into science fiction territory though the characters aren’t aware of it since the technology that's present for them is indistinguishable from the magic. In fact looking back those science fiction elements have been in place the entire time. I think I even picked up on a reference to Door Number Three buried in there that I missed the first couple of times.

My biggest fear in reviewing this book was that after so enthusiastically praising Door Number Three my comments here would seem subdued in comparison. I'm just as exited about this book as the other and can’t praise or recommend it enough. As good of a book as Door Number Three is, in many ways The Gift is superior. But it's hard to compare the two as they are two entirely different tales. If you are a fan of Fantasy then you owe it to yourself to read this book.

This is brilliant fiction first and a brilliant fantasy second. As I said before I sincerely hope that Mr. O'Leary has more stories to share. If he has to let future stories gestate for another couple of decades that’s OK, just drop us a line every once in a while to let us know you're still out there.

Mr. O’Leary you've have assured yourself a place at the table of those who are on the vanguard of the movement that’s been brewing for 30 years to stretch Fantasy to its furthest limits and carry it and us into the future. The seat is empty but the "reserved" placard will always be there for you, gathering dust, awaiting your return.


-Brian Lindenmuth