“A Druid Born” is an uplifting tale of adventure and self-discovery, told from the point of view of a young chieftan’s daughter, Regan. Narrated from a first-person perspective, we follow Regan as she faces personal challenges and learns about herself and her blossoming abilities. Magic is present mildly throughout the story, in the form of shamanistic rites, visions, or herbal remedies.

For its target audience, this novel will be quite a treat. The writing is competent and solid, and the pages fly by. Unlike many books for younger readers, it does not come off as juvenile, but maintains a dignified maturity that is refreshing. The subject matter and events are mostly personal in nature, and include the kinds of things that young readers might themselves be facing: conflict with the wishes of parents, and changes brought about by approaching adulthood. In contrast to the book’s title, there is very little that is dark, and nothing I’d call disturbing. The drama is dealt with gently, with a responsible eye toward impressionable readers.

Druidic culture is lightly showcased, and there is a flavor of Celtic life throughout. At times I wanted to see more of this, however, as it felt like the author was only scratching the surface of a deeper ability she has in this regard.

The bond between mother and daughter is central, and is presented in a way that may be particularly appealing to young female readers. Regan’s family situation in the story is a little unusual, and her desire to be close to the spirit of her mother becomes an important part of her quest.

There are a few drawbacks worth mentioning. Foremost is the shortness of the book. The text comprises what would only be two or three chapters in similar novels. A dedicated reader would require only a couple of afternoons to finish the short novel. Though meant for less experienced readers, it seemed that more could have been written. The language, as well, seemed a touch too simple. Perhaps this is simply due to my bias as an adult reader.

Also, I found the characters to be slightly shallow and underdeveloped. Given the few pages to work with, it’s to be expected, perhaps. Additionally, there are some minor anachronisms which pop out here and there – unlikely references to real-world places and history that pulled me out of the story as I read. These were only slight distractions, however.

Additionally, the first-person perspective has a way of narrowing the story. It decreases the potential for characters other than Regan to be interesting, and detracts a little bit from tension that might exist otherwise – we know nothing bad will happen to Regan, because she’s retelling the story for us.

The book finishes on an optimistic note, as Regan completes her journey ready to take on the world and her approaching womanhood. “A Druid Born” very much has the feel of a motivational work. It was a pleasant, if brief, read, and one which I would not hesitate to recommend to readers aged 10-16.

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.

We awaken with Tynan Llywelyn from a hundred year's Sleep. Tynan is no Rip Van Winkle, however, but a powerful vampire who is not eager to return to the vampire community who shunned him. The world that greets him is vastly different than what he left behind. Society has crumbled and humanity is being controlled by a domineering techno-government called the Tyst. A small group of rebels, the Phuree, are fighting back as best they can. The Phuree have taken a radical step in allying themselves with the Predators who feed off them - the vampires. Tynan finds himself embroiled in a power struggle between vampire and human players alike.

I knew I was in for an incredible read when I became captivated by the Acknowledgments page. Ms. Faust's talents as a wordsmith far surpass anything I have read in some time. Her depiction of vampires is a delicious exquisiteness that at times had me running my tongue over my teeth to insure fangs had not appeared! She creates these beings with a deft hand, stitching common myths together with her singularly modern twist, providing a seamless and completely believable existence.

Next to such thoroughly real characters, the Tyst and Phuree pale by comparison. The Tyst are nameless and faceless; although characters are mentioned we never really get to know them. These are the Big Bad Guys, yet they seem completely untouchable and almost nonexistent. The Phuree are also a bit out of reach. Teirnan, their leader, and his sister Khanna are stereotypical and rather predictable. They appear small and ineffective somehow. This book is the first in a series, however, so perhaps the next installment will focus more on the other characters. If Faust can bring them to reality as she has her vampires, this will be a knockdown-dragout favorite!

The overall sensation of the story is very focused on Tynan, his tough and (unusual for the Living Dead) his emotions. In fact, Tynan's emotions are a pivotal point of the entire storyline. Faust captured his moral writhing quite well. He is struggling with a moral crisis, one that led him to abandon his Dark Brethren and sink into Eternal Sleep. But his despair only kept him for one hundred years, not forever. With prose the texture of deep velvet, Faust draws us down to the depths of a story as old as fear, as dark as sin, and as deep as Satan's heart. The lines between friend and foe are re-drawn. She captures desperate obsession and hunger, outlining each with the passion for existence that burns in all beings.

In spite of a lack of character development in some areas, I was very impressed with Gabrielle Faust and Eternal Vigilance. I eagerly devoured the book from cover to cover in one sitting and felt bereft when I was finished. This is not an airy-fairy, "rescue the damsel"-type of story. Gritty and dark, readers will begin to understand the "un"life of a vampire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tick, an introverted and intelligent young man suddenly receives a mysterious letter. By opening it, Tick launches himself on an adventure of a lifetime. Each subsequent letter holds a quirky and sometimes humorous clue, promising Tick danger if he continues and harm to others if he quits. Intrigued and compelled, he pursues each clue vigorously in spite of the risk involved. The mysterious clues drag him across the country and introduce him to a spitfire Italian girl and an all-American jock from California. Banding together, the trio commits to seeing the mystery through.

At the root of it all are concepts of time and reality, the forces that bind and drive creation. In The Thirteenth Reality, Tick discovers more than one reality exists. Life as he knows it continues in Reality Prime while as many as thirteen other Earths continue on different planes of existence. If this seems overwhelming, don’t worry. Dashner lays out his concept of parallel realities in a manner young readers can understand. Even the basis of quantum physics, aka kyoopy, becomes approachable!

I enjoy how Dashner portrays Tick’s relationship with his family. Too many times, parents are viewed as either the idiot contingency or the evil overseers. Not here. Tick’s sisters drive him nuts but he still obviously loves them. Tick’s dad is a wonderful character that supports and trusts him even though this means letting go of his little boy. In a world where Tick is often a target, at home he is safe and loved. Maybe that isn’t realistic, but who said fantasy had to be reality? Perhaps a little wishful thinking would do us all some good.

I liked this story. There are a few classic aspects that walk on stage, but these are presented in a fresh and believable manner. The evil witch (dressed in lemon), a giant with a quasi-Cockney accent, a dwarf as round as he is tall, mechanistic magic that blurs the line between technology and fantasy; all delivered in wrapping paper designed by Dashner himself. He writes in bold colors, splashing strong characters across the pages who demand your attention (and sometimes your fear).

This isn’t a sweet little fairy tale, bad things happen and our hero is faced with tough decisions. Dashner quietly leads his readers from an odd mystery into a hair-raising quest complete with flesh-eating monsters. As odd as some of the scenes are, though, the entire thing holds together. This is definitely a book young readers should sample.

Sorceress is a familiar combination of romance, prophecy and quest in a medieval setting. Our heroine Bryanna is guided by a dead woman in her quest to fulfill a prophecy and save a child she has never met.

Bryanna must travel the farthest corners of Wales in search of these stones. She is joined along the way by Gavin, a childhood friend who is now a fugitive wanted for theft and murder. She is also followed by a dark and threatening presence.




I found Sorceress to be formulaic and melodramatic. I also found it to be an entertaining tale. The author is adept at setting a scene and creating a sense of place without meandering off into long descriptive passages. Although the quest takes nearly a year, the book’s pacing and the mystery of each stone’s location kept me turning the pages.


The characters are distinctive if archetypal. Bryanna is not just a pretty redhead, she is a flame-haired, emerald-eyed beauty. She is smart, but would rather ride horses than embroider cloths. Gavin is not just a handsome man, but a dark-haired, muscular rogue. He is a bastard (by birth not disposition) who had a damn good reason for killing a man and stealing a horse.


There are sexually explicit scenes, but they didn’t seem unnecessarily drawn out and didn’t dominate the story-telling. (The following is one of the tamer scenes.)




As my rating indicates, I found Sorceress by Lisa Jackson a solid read with the few minor criticisms already mentioned. If the passage I just quoted makes you wince, roll your eyes, or similarly express displeasure, you may rate this book considerably lower. On the other hand, if you read that passage and want to know where it leads (in addition, of course, in wanting to know where the stones are hidden), you will probably find Sorceress an entertaining read.


{The edition I read was an uncorrected proof. Also, I did not know at the time I read it that Sorceress is the final book in a trilogy (after Impostress and Temptress), but it stands well enough on its own.}

I am a huge sword and sorcery fan. I grew up reading the mythical stories of Howard’s Conan , Moorcock’s Elric , Leiber’s Fafhrd and The Gray Mouser , and Moore’s Jirel of Joiry . The staging of drama, romance and high adventure set in a fantastic land have always held a special part in my heart—journeys started quietly that end up shaping the future of man. And above all others, I hold David Gemmell in the highest regard.

Like all quests, this one begins with a search. While all quests have different beginnings, they all inevitably have the same outcome; the quest becomes more of a journey to within—to the soul. The journey in Quest For Lost Souls begins with a young boy named Kiall and his journey to rescue a hopeless love and how through the power of his simple kindness, a whole world is changed and destinies fulfilled. Along the way, he encounters the heroes of Bel-azar, the city which was at the center of the last battle fought against the Nadir armies led by Tenaka Khan, the hero of The King Beyond The Gate . Years have passed since that epic battle of Bel-azar and the surviving heroes begin to question why Tenaka Khan allowed them to live, and why he named them the ghosts-yet-to-be. They will travel protecting Kiall to the heart of the Nadir territory and confront Tenaka Khan’s son Jungir who is now khan after his father’s death.

What I have always loved about Gemmell’s books is his overly didactic writing style like the beating of war drums. His action sequences move from point to point, his characters always driving the plot. Some may see this as his having a limited vocabulary, which leads to many of his stories seemingly ripped from one another. Still, what some may see as a weakness, I see as a strength.

Many of Gemmell’s books deal with the theme of love, mainly the folly of love; how love can destroy and bring down the strongest of men to children. Despite this, Gemmell also liked to look at the redemptive power of love; how love can change otherwise ordinary men to heroes—farmers to legends, carpenters to saviors. And with that, Quest For Lost Heroes is really all about love—familial, lustful, innocent and heart breaking.

Gemmell is a master storyteller. However, my fascination with Gemmell’s work is not just because of his thrilling stories and epic struggles. No, my fascination with Gemmell lies with the humanity he brings to his work. Gemmell has that rare ability that not many of his peers have—the ability to show the humanity of life through pain and horror. How the deepest of pains can be strength and how even in the darkest times heroes can exist.

I remember first reading Gemmell’s seminal work Legend when I was a kid. I was young, naïve and lost like most people become at some point in their lives. What I found within those pages was hope. As time passes and I grow older, I find myself remembering the moments spent reading Gemmell’s works, works littered with heroes far past their prime—too old, too lost, too jaded—yet no matter how difficult their lives are and no matter how hard they fight it, they are heroes. And when people need help, they are there. Not because they want to, not because it’ll change the world, but because they must, because it’s what’s right.

One of the many things I have taken away from Gemmell is that one man can change the world—how one man can “matter.” To be a better person, not because you want glory, but because it’s what’s right.

A life-lesson told through a tale of sword and sorcery? What more can anyone ask for?

A disclosure : I readily see the faults of many Gemmell books, but the sub-genre sword and sorcery is my first love and like any first love, we forget the faults and only see the beauty. However, without that love I can see how these stories may seem hackneyed, misogynistic and repetitive and I fully understand if anyone has those views.

Quest For Lost Heroes is a fine addition to the growing Drenai saga mythos and I happily recommend it.

If you liked this also check out: All of Gemmell’s works, Jirel of Joiry , Conan , Usagi Yojimbo , and Dostoevsky.

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.

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!

I was introduced to Jonathan Carroll through the insistence of two strangers. I’m not known to listen to people, indeed I’m a scoffer, but they wanted to be called Wiz and Grub – and since those are of my two favorite things to do I thought they may have been on to something. You add that one knew the Condor Man uniform on sight and the other had reading list that peaked curiosity itself (not just my own) and you had the beginnings of a recommendation that would be followed through. Some years – and what seems like a couple lifetimes later – Jonathan Carroll is one of those authors whose books I buy. That may seem anticlimactic, but Carroll is one of, and perhaps the first writer who went on that list of “all I need to know is that the book is out” authors. I don’t need to know what it’s about, I don’t need to know where or when it takes place, I don’t need to know if it’s called fantasy, mystery, horror or science fiction – because such questions, such words, cannot contain Carroll. Instead Carroll carries Liza’s bucket of pandora paint adding a stroke with a brush here, there and where.

Frannie McCabe is the chief of police in Crane’s View, New York a town he grew up in and the town he’d happily die in if given the chance, not that death was something that was on his mind until the death of an odd dog that he took in at his office. A dog that like McCabe has the marks of a creature that lived – not just existed – and upon its death he took it upon himself to bury ‘Old Vertue”. A small town, a veteran sheriff, a dead dog – it has the makings of a western or a bad country song. At an rate, the death of the dog, the disappearance of a couple in his town, a girl found dead in the school bathroom, his step-daughter’s new tattoo disappearing - the aroma of change in the air would set McCabe on a whimsical story where he will attempt to connect dots while retracing his steps. Like time travel stories? How about a story that captures the scent of American Pie? About love, family, a coming of age story and a going of age story. When you don’t have to meet yourself to disrupt the space-time continuum, but you may have to hang out with him and perhaps more than anything it presents the idea that there would be value in asking your prior self – a unique individual – questions to see the actions of that person and learn something is not just a cog in the present cumulative. If one could point at a fault there is a point where you think McCabe is going nowhere, where Carroll couldn’t seem to bring a conclusion big enough to pay-off everything he introduced. It may even seem – in reflection – a great opportunity for a more than quaint fictional work without Science Fiction and Fantasy elements missed. What I think actually occurs is that we see a reasonable and competent man by most standards completely functioning as a man we would rationally think would in an irrational – a magical - situation. So many times in fiction we are shown protagonists who become so by acclimating themselves, to rise to the occasion. To become something they aren’t and never were – something nobody could possibly be. In many cases there may be fall to overcome as well, but routinely we are described this relying on our preconditioned acceptance of this due to exposure in rather flat fiction. Carroll does not stumble in tying up The Wooden Sea, Frannie does, and related to that the end of such experiences are not end of eras in any way a calendar would understand. The Science Fiction element – a universal awakening – is so over the top for the a Sheriff of an escapist-alcove American town that you can feel the gravity of just how beyond being simply odd or disconcerting such situation would be. You would attack this how you know how – with McCabe, the experiences of a hell raiser as a child, a Vietnam Vet, a veteran of couple of marriages, who lives a more than stable life and now respected in the town he once was once ‘that kid’ of. Frannie is a man who had gone through his ‘cycle’ only to be thrown into something bigger. It is not because he does not have the qualities to identify him as heroic; it is that rarely do we describe the day-to-day, handle shit as it happens manner as such. He is not offered a mantle, he is, when looking back on his life a man with an understanding of service and what we have is a man who doesn’t have all the answers, indeed he doesn’t even know all the questions. For the fantastic to have an effect, you have to establish a base that we recognize and Carroll nails the towns so many of us live(ed) in. Where reputations matter, where people never seem to get away from – and if they do, everybody can recite you the specifics of it. Where downtown is distinguishable only because it has been always been called that, where you’re Smith’s daughter or boy. Where I certainly have no interest in going to such a place now, perhaps the person I will be one day will. It is in such places that America really resides:

From the beginning Carroll confounds us and it’s not just a mysterious 3-legged dog – man’s best friend – that enters his life. We are introduced to McCabe spouting one-liners, a wife and step-child showing up at the job with jibes and apparent issues and instead of getting a fractured soul, another broken cop getting by on booze – he did keep his smokes – that lives only to confound the world set against him we get a happy man, a loving husband, a pillar of the community, and man who is where he wants to be. We find a man not looking for anything, but not to the extreme of a man who fears what he may find – he has found what he wants. We are shown choices we can believe. What would you make god do to prove his power? What would you learn if you observed your father when he wasn’t at the moment being your father? What would you want to tell him? In the midst of events of global, and even universal gravity, McCabe is in his hood and confronting these opportunities as if they were what really mattered. So many times, we are told the world is worth saving in fiction, even if grudgingly, and in The Wooden Sea we see why McCabe’s world is. More than that, I’m not a reader who views it as a requirement of the author to make me root for the protagonist of a story to enjoy it, indeed even in my most get-along-gang of moods it’s still a quality that I can’t completely reconcile as not being a least a little slow, but obviously that isn’t to say such stories don’t often represent the best fiction has to offer and one would find it hard not to find some part of McCabe’s journey that is not relatable, that doesn’t at least brush up against something you carry.

The Wooden Sea shares characteristics with others Carroll books in that he rarely puts a new spin on genre conventions it just always seems like his is the right one we had yet to see, as if others were suddenly a heart beat off, a turn of phrase too early, a sentiment missed. There is also a clarity to Carroll’s work that I think is rather distinct. The Wooden Sea’s brand of wonder is one that questions what you see, feel and believe but never what you are actually reading. In fiction we are sometimes – I think – too enamored with stylistic conceit, and I while I agree with Hal Duncan in that style is substance in literature – but Carroll’s style somehow morphs into what should be fashion at the moment of reading instead of vying for next. I always marvel most at writers who are able to present several stories – many completely different thematically and even in tone –that don’t take away from one another in the absence of recognition. When I interviewed the wonderful Kelly Link she spoke of stories that could be read and reveal something new – a story that grows – and The Wooden Sea leaves more trees to climb, more secrets submerged.

The Wooden Sea is perhaps not Carroll’s most recommended work, but is still a notable chapter in the body of work of somebody who is in the argument of being the most noteworthy American Fantasist today.

So take a ride on a bicycle, grab an oar and watch yourself fly.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

Stirling is the author of the Nantucket series and Emberverse series of books that have now become collectively known as the Novels of the Change. Not having read those previous six books, I can only surmise, based on my reading of The Sunrise Lands, that “The Change” occurred in our world sometime around 1998 which somehow took away electrical power and nearly all other technology effectively negating the advances of the last two hundred or so years.


The Sunrise Lands begins twenty two years after the Change during which a generation of children have been born and raised, and are completely adapted to this new way of survival, of life. The United States is divided into several different political factions, each self-governed and quite unique. Most conspicuously, there is the Clan MacKenzie that harkens back to the ways of old Gaelic culture with their pagan religion, plaid kilts, and affected brogues. The Portland Protective Association, a society emulating seventeenth century England, a former Army officer now in command of his own sizeable military force seeking to reunite the United States and known as Mr. President, and the Church Universal and Triumphant, a religious cult with aims of uniting the country under the rule of their own Prophet.


A stranger arrives at Clan McKenzie in his search for the Sword of the Lady that he must bring back to Nantucket, a place of some unusual happenings. This sword turns out to actually be Rudi, the son of the clan's High Priestess. With a few trusted friend, Rudi sets off from Oregon to cross the country with this man, Ingolf Vogeleer.


One of Ingolf’s first impressions of Clan McKenzie:

From here, the novel explores the different societies that have emerged since the Change. A great deal of attention is given to how people have adapted to living without power, how they raise and gather food, how they arm and defend themselves, the cultural traditions and religions they observe. Much of the story telling is dedicated to describing the military powers and political strategies employed. However, my attention tended to wander during these parts as they read more like reference material. Stirling has quite the eye for detail, be it in the description of a late supper or the maneuvers of soldiers on the battlefield. But yet again, I often found these descriptive passages interrupted the flow of the story, and I tended to skim through these paragraphs to get back to the story.


Rudi’s half-sisters introducing themselves to General Thurston, also known as the President:




The Sunrise Lands starts off in an exciting flurry of mystery and action, then shifts down to a more leisurely pace as the group travels across the country. At the end, the status quo is once again shaken up, and just as my interest has been reignited, I’m left hanging without any resolution. It would seem that The Sunrise Lands is meant more as a stepping stone to bridge the gap between the books of the Nantucket and Emberverse series and the planned novels for the Change series.

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

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

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

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

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

In Last Dragon, J.M. McDermott strips the fat from the bones of epic quest-driven fantasy, then dresses up the resulting skeleton of story in layer upon layer of fragmented and elliptical narrative. The fit of this literary garb on the somewhat typical fantasy understory isn't perfect; indeed, when the reading is done we may feel that the clothes have no emperor -- or rather, empress, as we shall see. But the sheer pleasure the novel infuses the process of reading with, the way it trusts readers to engage deeply and carefully, makes Last Dragon a book that may be equally enjoyable to epic fantasy fans looking for something different and challenging, and to readers who enjoy challenges and who had all but given up on epic fantasy's ability to provide them.

In the most immediate layer of McDermott's multilayered story, elderly Empress Zhan of the Alamedan Empire lies on her deathbed, writing (and by the end, dictating) her memories as letters to her exiled lover Esumi. This layer of memories, of the role of then-teenage Zhan and her companions in the empire's birth decades previous, form the bulk of the novel. And behind Zhan's tale, in rumor, inference and overheard snatches of conversation, is the story of one of Zhan's companions: Adel, daughter by birth and by marriage to the dragon-slaying proconsuls of the city-state of Proliux; paladin in service to the Last Dragon of Rhianna, enemy of Proliux; now returned to Proliux after Rhianna's conquest by the mercenaries of Proliux and the dragon's death. When young Zhan and her uncle Seth, newly-minted village shaman, travel from their village far in the unmapped North to Proliux on the trail of a murderer, it is their chance meeting with Adel that sets in motion the rise of a world empire and Zhan's rise as its empress -- fueled by Adel's recognition that Zhan and Seth's purpose may align with her own.

 

This story in all its layers we must piece together from a highly fragmented narrative. The age and ill health of Empress Zhan send her thoughts skittering across time and place: Zhan's recounting of meeting Adel for the first time triggers an earlier memory of Zhan meeting her sensei; remembering a conversation between Seth and his lover Korinyes triggers a memory of Zhan's own lover Esumi. McDermott uses these free associations to make Last Dragon wonderfully organic and human, while still maintaining a controlled narrative thrust by manipulating our need to make Story out of the fragments. Each memory fragment, each unit of story, is brief, ranging from a few lines to a few pages. By varying the length, the subject matter, and the density of each of these units, like the panel arrangements of a comic book, McDermott brings to the surface the rhythm and pacing found in all good writing. Brief fragments become capable of remarkable emotional power, as when Zhan breaks off her memory of the city of Proliux to write, starkly on a page of its own:

 

And we understand that this may refer equally to both Zhan's past and to her present circumstances.

Last Dragon relies on the reader to not only put the pieces of story together, but to fill in often crucial missing pieces. Very little is baldly stated. The novel assumes that we know -- Esumi as a citizen of his world, we as readers of epic fantasy -- what it is to stop at an inn, walk in a medieval city, travel over a mountain pass, to enter a dragon's cave. These details of setting are skimmed over. Characterization is oblique, densely conveyed via word and gesture, and must be unpacked, deciphered. This deciphering is crucial because Zhan is not -- should not be -- certain about several aspects of her account. In these cases, Zhan recounts the evidence she possesses, and allows us to draw our own conclusions based on what understanding we have gleaned of her companions.

With this uncertainty of story, as well as the novel's fragmentation, its use of a secondary point of view, and with its abiding sense of regret, Last Dragon marks itself as belonging to that millennial class of fiction that deconstructs the category epic fantasy that flooded bookstore shelves in the last decades of the previous century. What's unique about Last Dragon is that it deconstructs not through realism, recursion, or irony, but by taking the familiar epic mode seriously as literature, showing how bloated and unfantastic it has become by reducing it via literary technique to the bare essentials. Indeed the book displays a post-modern self-consciousness of what it is doing.

 

Like most genre deconstructions, what Last Dragon does not do is construct anything truly new in place of the deconstructed. There is at times a disconnect between the newness of the post-modern literary techniques used and the relatively straightforward, normalized fantasy story that they conceal. The techniques promise a challenge; the familiarity of the story means that the gaps and uncertainties can be filled with our pre-existing knowledge of epic fantasy tropes, without requiring us to imagine much of anything new. The challenge of the book is thus closer to the procedural, fill-in-the-blanks challenge of a game like sudoku than the subversive challenge to the imagination that fantasy can imbue Story with. Last Dragon's story, like most generic fantasy, still has Justice as its central motif with dramatic parameters along a sliding scale of duty and pragmatism; its journey is still described by a roadmap of fidelity and infidelities (not just marital); the conflict is still one of martial conquest and still between nations treated largely as monocultures, a people tempered by constant conflict and the natural environment versus a more urban techno-economic nation grown overconfident by its conquests; nobles are still universally oily, plotting politicians; the orphan teen does still rise (all unwitting) to a position of authority; the people with the darkest skin still do organize themselves into tribes associated with animals and the pale-skinned people do still conquer the world (although to be fair, McDermott does some interesting things with race: it is the white-skinned people who are the "barbarians," the brown-skinned the "civilized" -- one darker-skinned character looks with pity on pale-skinned Zhan, thinking her a victim of a deformity).

Most of the time, McDermott succeeds in his balancing act of using enough technique to camouflage yet not so much that the act of reading feels artificial. When he falters -- particularly towards the book's end when several new coats of technique are rapidly slapped on -- the book feels too much like an exercise in just how obfuscated the standard fantasy story can be made. The unreliability of Zhan's narration is established by no fewer than nine different factors in the text: from her fading memory; to a plant the companions burned for warmth that was known to cause odd "demon dreams"; to the belief in the Southern lands that you become that which you kill. Depending on how we read the novel through these filters of uncertainty, the story we search for and in our searching create -- the who-did-what-and-for-what-reasons -- may take one of several forms (McDermott signals the author's preferred interpretation through the book's title). Yet given the choice between these familiar fantasy variants, it doesn't much matter what the real story is: it is the uncertainty of what the story is that is thought-provoking, not the story itself.

If its story does not linger in the mind for all the reasons we might hope, the written form of Last Dragon certainly brings pleasure to the act of reading for all the right reasons. Its call for our participation in assembling a story from the novel's brief fragments and long silences reminds us why we read, makes plain the interactivity that is at the heart of reading's entertainment. Last Dragon literalizes our impulse to Story, to construct narratives out of our memories and circumstances. It is an easy book to enjoy because there's so little else like it, because its flaws are largely de rigueur in fantasy while its many good qualities are so uncommon. McDermott may not precisely breathe new life into old bones, but he does animate epic fantasy into a capable golem that will hold the light for us so long as we have the pages open, that we may read.

-- Matt Denault

Brandon Mull ups the stakes in this third installment of the Fablehaven series. Things are looking bad for Fablehaven. The artifact protected there is gone and all over the world secret refuges for magical creatures are collapsing in disarray.

Grip of the Shadow Plague picks up right where Rise of the Evening Star, book two, left off. After defeating one enemy and unveiling a traitor, Kendra and Seth plunge into the international world of magic. As Kendra travels to another refuge to locate an artifact of incredible strength, Seth faces another attack at Fablehaven. The creatures there are turning, not falling into evil like the fairies previously but actually turning into shadow - evolving into powerful and more threatening forms never seen before. Even those creatures known to be resistant to falling are changing and infecting those around them.

This is by no means a capstone to Mull’s series, but a continuation of the adventures of Seth and Kendra that lives up to the high standards he set with his first two books. Brandon Mull takes it up another notch with this one. Seth and Kendra face decisions that have no clear cut answer, carrying more weight and responsibility than before. There is a sense of growth and maturity in both characters, of the two of them coming into their own in regards to their talents and abilities. This is one aspect I truly enjoy about these stories. Seth and Kendra are not static characters, but are growing and developing as people.

Mull’s gifts as an author are obvious as he develops this story, carrying the tale forwards as he both widens the scope of the magical world and fills in back story that satisfies our curiosity and piques our interest. Once again Mull highlights doing the right thing, but for both Kendra and Seth the right thing isn’t so obvious anymore. Much like real life, issues are no longer clearly marked black and white and the repercussions for making a wrong move are devastating.

This is a book for young readers, but it will do more for them than just entertain. They will be encouraged to think and examine the situations, challenge them to agree or disagree with what the characters choose. Well-crafted, there are no weak points or shaky aspects to this book. From cover to cover, readers will fall into the world of Fablehaven and never want to leave.

The story begins with an attack by winged monstrosities known as thraik; an attack that ultimately leaves the young Tildi Summerbee completely bereft of her family. Being a seventeen year old female, the elders of her community decide that marriage is in her best interests. Tildi has other ideas, and decides quickly that a magician’s apprenticeship awarded to one of her brothers would be a much more desirable and interesting future. And, thus, Tildi becomes the unexpected apprentice.


Tildi paid no attention. All she could see was her second brother, Pierin, at bay against a towering thraik that dipped and bobbed at him, lashing out with its claws. She ran to help him. She fetched up short, nearly falling over an outflung arm. The battle had claimed casualties. Her eyes filled with tears as she recognized them. Jinny, an older woman who had lived on the farm since Tildi’s father was a boy, lay dead on the ground with her throat gashed to the backbone. Nevil, the dairyman’s boy, was huddled in a tight ball, rocking and sobbing with pain. Tildi couldn’t see what was wrong with him, but there was a lot of blood. She dithered for a moment, wondering whether to help him, but the thraik seemed to be ignoring him. Pierin needed her.


An Unexpected Apprentice takes place in a fantastical world that is populated by humans, elves, dwarves, smallfolk (like Tildi), centaurs, and more. The future of this world is threatened by the re-emergence of the Great Book. Written by the Shining Ones, the book contains the runes of every object in the world. If an object’s rune is known, it is possible to alter it. The book, though, has come to be possessed by someone who appears to have evil intentions and could use this knowledge to destroy the entire world. And, thus, a party of elves, dwarves , centaurs and Tildi (since the book calls to her yet she seems to possess a greater immunity to its influence) is formed to reclaim the book and ensure the future of the world.


This story has a very familiar plot with very familiar characters. It doesn’t deviate from the standard quest formula except to make the small farm boy hero a heroine. The numerous parallels to The Lord of the Rings would appear to be intentional. However, while reading An Unexpected Apprentice, I never felt a sense of impending doom or even some tension concerning the fate of the small party. For the most part, the story is told from the vantage point of Tildi, through her internal ruminations and observations, which often made it difficult for me to become involved in the story. Several incidences in the book further compounded my lack of interest due to their implausibility. Such as one scene during the parties’ search for the Great Book, the book's possessor brings down a terrible winter storm to thwart them. Edynn, the centuries old and wise elven wizard, admits to the others:


Edynn bowed her head. “Friends, I am sorry. I apologize for my weakness. I did not foresee that our quarry would use the book against us. More fool I.” Indeed.


An Unexpected Apprentice by Jody Lynn Nye may find a more appreciative audience among those looking for the familiar, a high fantasy tale that doesn’t stray from the basics.