Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn

Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn
Tad Williams

After getting repeatedly sidetracked, it is time to return to this mountainous bit of fantasy that I finished some time back. As promised in an earlier update, this post is a broader look at the entire trilogy, highlighting bits and pieces that I found interesting. It is not a proper review, but a collection of thoughts and reactions that built up in my overcrowded brain during the almost 3000 pages of story. I will mark spoiler territory accordingly, though we have probably passed the statute of limitations on that sort of thing. In fact, I may be the last SFF fan over 25 to read this.

Regardless, I should probably get review-esque language out of the way first. Lest anyone think that I didn’t like the series or am being overly critical, I will say first off that I enjoyed the books a great deal. I don’t believe I have read a better rendition of traditional epic fantasy. (Tolkien doesn’t count, because his is the original. Instead I am making comparisons to other post-LOTR high fantasy.) Williams hits all the right notes, supplies all the necessary heroes and villains, threatens the world in suitable fashion, and brings it all home at the end with good-hearted triumph. There is nothing subversive or ironic here, just young heroes coming of age, spunky princesses, unspeakable evil, and varying degrees of heroism. Not always my thing, but it clears the palate every once in a while.

Casually scouring the internet for reactions to this trilogy, I was surprised at how polarized the opinions are. I’m not sure I read anything that said, “This book is alright.” Instead, it was “THIS IS THE BEST FANTASY EVER YO!” or “holy crap, that was mind numbing and ponderous.” (Here, for example, or here.) It wasn’t usually the length that put people off, fantasy readers being who they are, but the pace. Not everyone, it seems, is willing to mosey with Tad. I guess I’m the opposite: long stuff is not generally my bag, but after a couple years’ worth of poly sci reading, slow is not an issue. (Recent reviews of, say, Kim Stanley Robinson ought to back up my assertions about slow moving stuff.) These biases laid out, it should be no surprise that I take some issue with the length of the whole thing (in particular the decision to smash what should have been volumes three and four together), but am content to mosey.

I’m willing to stay with an author for 3000 pages if (s)he has something to say that justifies the investment. For the most part, Williams keeps his end of the bargain. There are a few side stories that could be cut without any loss to the text (Rachel’s tale and the rescue in the Wran are two quick examples), but nothing is egregiously superfluous. Indeed, Williams manages to tie everything together in the end, without leaving any of a plethora of plot strands dangling. I was genuinely surprised at this and it demonstrates considerable narrative skill. Not everyone could juggle so much. The pace for me was a non-issue, though I was certainly aware of it. These books don’t follow the typical, Hollywood-style three act structure, with pace and tension increasing exponentially each page. It is more of a freight train experience, starting slowly and reaching cruising velocity relatively early on. Like the train though, there is a hidden inertia at work – 60 mph may not seem all that fast until one steps in front of 100 fully loaded boxcars moving at speed. Thus goes the trilogy, steadily barreling along without ever punching the afterburners. I should note that the only other Willams I have read, The War of the Flowers, moved in a similar way.

My earlier posts, indeed the whole reason I picked this set up in the first place, talked a bit about the Tolkien connection. I’ve mentioned some of these before, but the complete list of Tolkien references that I found includes: Eowyn, Gollum (twice), the Nazgul, Elves (of course), Dwarves (to a point), Helm’s Deep, Saruman’s factory, soul-sucking artifacts of power, the Paths of the Dead, and Sauron. More interesting is the way Williams transforms most of Europe into Osten Ard. Starting in the far north, we come across Vikings, Celts, the kingdom of Prester John, Rome, and at least one Italian city-state. The Catholic Church is in full effect as well, though the author is coy on how all the gods fit together. I have no idea if he chose this arrangement as a comment or critique of modern fantasy, but it is fun to think about.

I should mention that one crucial character set, Simon and Dr. Morgenes, owes much more to Star Wars than LOTR. Of course, Star Wars borrows heavily from Joseph Campbell, which is ultimately what Williams is mining, but Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan are the first to float up from my crowded subconscious. Simon in particular reminds me very much of Luke, though it takes Simon a lot longer to pull his head out. (Luke is awesome by Return of the Jedi; Simon is still saying stupid things at the end of the trilogy.) Simon finally grows into his destiny at the end, when the not-so-surprising twist hits, but this is to be expected. He mostly just needed to get laid, I think.

While we’re talking about Simon, we should probably glance at the end. This paragraph will contain massive spoilers. In looking at reactions to the trilogy, opinions about the ending are second only to the pace for divergence and controversy. The trick Williams plays with the swords is clever and unexpected, though it unnecessarily complicates the plot in ways that over-clever bad guys often do. What I really didn’t see coming was the sudden resolution that seemed all too easy. Pyrates, of course, got the horrible end that was telegraphed from early, early in the book, but the Storm King, unbreakable power and all, was undone by the simplest of means. (There was also the matter of a magical backstabbing and an arrow in the heart, but those were sideshows.) I can see what Williams is trying to get at, and I don’t think that this was some sort of deus ex machina, but Simon winning by refusing to hate (and Camaris too, for that matter) was a bit pat. This followed by, holy cow, Simon being the lost descendant of royalty. That said, points to the author for trying something different.

Spoilers are over. My last comment on the whole thing is a bit more flippant, but possibly relevant. Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn really needs to be subtitled A Guide to the Tunnels of Osten Ard. I don’t know why, but people in this series just can’t stop themselves from rooting around underground. The reader can’t spit without hitting somebody digging through tombs, lost in tunnels, exploring underground cities, eating slithering creatures and moss because there is no buffet in the dungeon, and more. With all the underground secret passageways, caves, and cities, it’s a miracle that the entire continent doesn’t collapse, like those sinkholes in Florida that randomly swallow houses. By book three I was hoping for either an automap feature to save the poor characters the trouble, or a grue to eat them all.

These comments don’t magically combine in the final paragraph to form any sort of profound statement about either the books themselves or the genre in particular. In many ways, the series is its own statement on the art of high fantasy, with Williams presenting his version of the ultimate epic. Quibbles about pacing and excessive spelunking aside, Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is awfully close to the platonic ideal. I feel as though I can go the rest of my life without reading another epic fantasy series, since it’s all likely to be downhill from here. (I probably will read another, and I doubt that everything, without exception, is worse, but one can swear off food after eating too much as well.) Maybe though, I will decide to read the shorter follow-ups to the books. Maybe Williams will find another story to tell and return to Osten Ard. Simon and crew will no doubt be patiently waiting for him.

Rating: The 1994 World Cup final between Brazil and Italy. Straight ahead, by the numbers stuff, but executed at the highest possible level. And very long.

To Green Angel Tower

To Green Angel Tower
Tad Williams

I have finally finished the last book of Memory, Sorrow and Thorn. My brain is still processing the entirety of it all; it doesn’t seem fair to post a lengthy examination until everything settles. At the same time, the reading list waits for no man, so I feel like I should say a few things about this before some other book takes over that space in my brain. Looking back over past writings, the questions I asked of Stone of Farewell are equally valid for To Green Angel Tower. With just a couple of adjustments, these should tide us over until I push out a more detailed reaction.

1. Is Simon still a pantywaist?
2. Does the third book maintain the momentum of the first two?
3. Does Williams wander off on too many tangents for his own good?
4. Can we still spot the ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien marauding o’er the land?
5. On a scale of Errrrghgh to Magically Fabulous, how does this hold up?

1. Surprisingly, yes. Much better by the end, of course, but he is still a surly teen. To Simon’s credit, he is usually only a donkey’s behind when the ladies are involved, so I guess we can forgive some of it.

2. If by “momentum” we mean a similar pace to the rest of the series, the answer must be yes. Even at the climax, I would still consider things to be stately rather than hurtling, but the inexorability of the prose does drag the reader along. I have to wonder whose idea it was to split this book into two parts, and whose idea it was to put them back together. Did the trilogy format have some magical power back then? Was it unthinkable to have four books? At over 1000 pages, and with a convenient break midway, this really should have been two separate volumes.

3. Well, to be honest, Williams pulls everything together at the end in a way I can only admire. Every Chekovian gun gets fired properly, every jot and tittle of the prophecies are fulfilled, and none of the characters are red herrings or filler. More than one side story could have been trimmed with no loss to the whole, but basically everyone has a reason for being there, a specific piece of the plot to carry out, and a proper resolution to the respective personal conundrum. I remain surprised that I can’t tease out more loose ends or irrelevant digressions.

4. Yes, and it gets stronger the closer we get to the cataclysmic battle. While Simon remains more Luke Skywalker than Frodo, Gollum analogues pop up, the swords weigh heavily on their bearers, something quite like the Nazgul appears, Saruman’s factories make an cameo, and so on. There are of course massive departures, distinctions, and elaborations, as well as liberal borrowing from other sources. Williams gets credit from me for his world building and plotting, because I feel like he owns these books fearlessly. The echoes are there though, and inescapable.

5. If I loved fantasy, I would love these books. If I was Younger Me, before I burned out on fantasy (oddly enough in the middle of this very trilogy), I would love these books. Older Cynical Me was impressed and moved by the series; I would recommend it without reservation. I’m a little too crusty to be enchanted by much, but I recognize quality when I see it and I admit to feeling a certain melancholy when I knew that I would never read about Simon, Miri, Josua and crew again. The fact that I get up more for spaceships and cyberpunk is not Willams’ fault, so I don’t ding him in my ratings. It’s the highest, epic-est of fantasy, for those who are into that sort of thing, but readers should expect sore arms and wrists unless they get an ebook edition. This sucker is heavy.

Deconstructing Tolkien

Deconstructing Tolkien: A Fundamental Analysis of the Lord of the Rings
Edward McFadden

This book is not what I expected. To a recovering academic, the title Deconstructing Tolkien: A Fundamental Analysis of the Lord of the Rings suggests certain things. While I am not a literature type, easily befuddled by discussions of lit theory, subtext, and symbolism, my political science background does mean that I tend to read things in certain ways. The intellectual toolkit once applied to economic reports and diplomatic incidents turns itself now upon science fiction. Thus, words like “deconstructing” and “fundamental analysis” make me expect a certain dry, probing dissection of the source material. Because McFadden declines to advance in this assumed line of attack, refugees from The Ivory Tower are left facing a basic question of criticism.

McFadden is an editor, not a professor, so he opens the text with a different set of tools. This is the bait and switch, as it were. He approaches Tolkien from the perspective of a fan and uses more of the editorial eye to unpack the stories. In some ways, this is unique and interesting, especially as he slips in other authors’ short stories between the analytical essays. I suspect that not everyone will appreciate McFadden’s attempt to trace lines of influence into and out of The Lord of the Rings, but it is certainly different. I most enjoyed the H.G. Wells story; in general the older works that McFadden supposes Tolkien drew on were more fun to read than later stories that obviously borrowed LOTR’s themes.

It is McFadden’s own essays that cause the consternation that worries away at my bosom. He tends to explain LOTR rather than analyze, if that can be a distinction with a difference. He manages at times to illuminate certain parts of the story, but often as not is writing opinion. There is much of what McFadden likes and dislikes, with less digging into meta-contextual ideas, the discourse of the time period, or fundamental world views. He proposes lessons to be drawn from the tale, virtues like loyalty and courage, but not what those indicate about Tolkien himself or the state of the genre at the time. McFadden tells us that Tolkien’s influence is daunting in fantasy, which it is, but does not trace themes and archetypes through modern fantasy.

What kills me is not that McFadden chose the path that he did, but that my reaction to that is so strong. In many ways this gets to the heart of literary criticism: am I to evaluate the book based on its stated goals and the accomplishment thereof, or on its potential? Or, to be blunter, do I let the author define his own success or do I get to do it for him? Deconstructing Tolkien succeeds at what McFadden wants it to do. For a certain reader at a certain time in his or her reading history, this is an ideal book. It opens up the first pages of the admittedly vast body of work on Tolkien, setting the reader on a path to a deeper reading of LOTR. A more discriminating reader, however, is going to walk away from the book disappointed. I wanted it to be more – more detailed, more demanding, more complex. I wanted Tolkien explained to me by an author with vastly more experience and wisdom than I have, to wit, someone with a PhD in lit theory rather than simply a fan.

In the end though, maybe it isn’t up to me to decide. McFadden never set out to write the book I wanted to read, so it doesn’t seem fair of me to judge him harshly for it. Taken in terms of his modest goals, the book is a modest success. Since I neither commissioned nor even paid for the book (it was a free promotional download somewhere), I probably don’t have any right to condemn it for not being what I thought it could have been. That is, I suppose, the eternal curse of the critic.

The Stone of Farewell

The Stone of Farewell
Tad Williams

Moving right along through both my epic fantasy fix and my 2013 reading goals, I have now finished volume two of Williams’ acclaimed and lengthy creation. Middle books being what they are, this post isn’t really the place to launch into an in-depth exploration of the series; instead this is more of a checkpoint, an appraisal of how far we have come and how much we have yet to travel. In particular, the following questions presented themselves as I started into the next 700 or so pages of Williams-ian adventure:

1. Is Simon still a pantywaist?

2. Does the second book maintain the momentum of the first?

3. Does Williams wander off on too many tangents for his own good?

4. Can we still spot the ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien marauding o’er the land?

5. On a scale of Errrrghgh to Magically Fabulous, how is this holding up?

And on to the answers.

1. Pretty much, yes. He’s getting better though, and starting to listen to other characters when they tell him to man up. He shows promise as things move forward, but I don’t expect him to ever be anything but completely hopeless with the ladies.

2. For the most part. Much like the first book, there is a certain ebb and flow to the pace that asks some patience of the reader. Williams isn’t doing anything crazy here, this isn’t James Joyce, but there are long periods where he is laying the groundwork for, presumably, later excitement. Even two thirds into the series I am still waiting for multiple payoffs.

3. It may still be too early to tell. That by itself is kind of frightening, but I won’t be able to answer this accurately until the very end. He lays down the terms of the debate quite clearly though – one man’s world building is another’s boredom. I just don’t know yet if there are too many side stories here, or if they will all tie together at the end, with each little bit a critical part of the interconnected whole. At the moment, I have a lurking suspicion that entire character arcs could be excised from the text without any great loss. I am willing to be persuaded however.

4. Yes, clearly. Aside from the whole Dark Lord bringing destruction to us all parts, it is primarily characters and places that I see. Eowyn is definitely present. Helm’s Deep as well, though it fell quite dramatically. Something eerily reminiscent of the Paths of the Dead goes down, and of course the whole Sithi thing is spot on for Tolkien’s elves. None of this is blatant of course, and Williams makes most of it his own, but the master’s shadow lies long upon the land.

5. Fairly well. There’s a lot of ground to cover in volume three, but that’s probably alright because he seems to have a massive page count to work with. If I was the author, I would be uneasy with the amount of heavy lifting yet to be done. There are many plot threads dangling and new characters still popping up at the end of volume two, all of which have to be straightened out in the space of a single book. I expect Williams brings it all off with flying colors, but the possibility of crashing and burning is very real. (I am assured by others that there is no such thing, but I think any astute reader in my position would agree with me.)

So onward we go. In fact, I am just about to download a copy of the final volume from the public library; we’ll know the final answer to all these questions and more in the next few days. It will certainly be exciting.

The Dragonbone Chair

The Dragonbone Chair
Tad Williams

I have been in a bit of an epic fantasy mood since a recent Lord of the Rings viewing, a mood not entirely sated by Red Moon and Black Mountain. I confirmed with my blog partner Jose that Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn is Tad Williams’ best work (“by a wide margin”), then picked up a copy of the first volume at Goodwill. I remember starting this series back when Williams first published the books, finishing two books before I ran out of fantasy steam. By the time the third volume was published, I had burned out on the genre and switched full time to science fiction. In the ensuing years I forgot almost everything about the unfinished trilogy; I might as well be reading them for the first time.

Things are probably best kicked off with a transcript of a chat I recently had with Jose:
Me: I’ve been reading Tad Williams. He likes to take his time.
Jose: Memory Sorrow and Thorn? Or Otherworld?
Me: The first.
Jose: Where are you?
Me: 1st book, almost half way, though everything I’ve read of his takes a couple hundred to get going.
Jose: The first book is reaaaallly slow.
Me: It’s good, and has moments of cant-put-it-down-ness, but the world building and character intros take forever.
Jose: Okay, 2nd and 3rd books basically are awesome and don’t stop the awesome until the end. 1st book is a slog until Seoman stops being so.. whiny. The book gets a ton better.
Me: He’s a pantywaist.
Jose: He turns into a fairly good main character.
Me: He’s like 14, so I understand and he has ADHD.
Jose: Also he kills a dragon.
Me: Cool.

That basically sums up how I felt about the beginning. Williams has never met a piece of exposition that he didn’t like, but it is at least quality exposition. There is a certain slow inexorability about the books; after a couple of fits and starts, the momentum picks up. The last quarter of the book is a headlong rush and a worthy pay off. Likewise, the main character, Simon, takes awhile to get his crap together. To be fair, you know who else was a pantywaist? Luke Skywalker. I have to cut the protagonists some slack when we’re deep into any sort of coming of age tale. (Why is it that all these stories have to be both coming of age and child of destiny stories? Why can’t it be an old dude of destiny? Or someone growing up who isn’t anything special?) Anyway, Tad Williams and his inertia will be no surprise to jaded readers.

This being fantasy from the 1980s, the Cthulu-esque Tolkien monster has his wriggling tentacles all over the book. It’s not as blatant as some, and Williams elaborates greatly on the basic themes, but the themes are there. Of course, some of these archetypes and plot points long predate Tolkien, but his interpretations have an undue influence that Williams cannot entirely escape. To his credit however, parts of traditional fantasy that don’t always get sufficient explanation are granted time on stage here. The ultimate evil has a reason for being evil, rather than just some random evil wizard. The kingdoms and alliances are logical, as is, to a point, the politics and economy underpinning them. The characters are rich and detailed. Astute readers will still be able to name check tropes and cliches though.

I will withhold further judgment for now, considering that two thirds of the story arc lies yet undiscovered. What magic lurks in the 1400 or so pages before me? Can Simon make the same transformation from tool to butt kicker that Luke does? Will the Olde World and its Magick continue to pass away in the face of Men and their technology? Will the treacherous bad guys die in suitably horrible ways? What about Love? I can guess the answer to these and other questions, but am excited to read about them anyway.

Rating: The first half of the first leg of a crucial Champions League match. Things are just getting started.

Red Moon and Black Mountain

Moldy Fantasy: Red Moon and Black Mountain
Joy Chant

Shortly before Christmas, Mrs. Pep developed a sudden interest in The Lord of the Rings. I got her the first DVD as a present, then the second and third as we powered through the trilogy on consecutive nights. This fired in me a long dormant craving for similar high fantasy, complete with prophecies, world-threatening evil, epic battles, and other trappings of Tolkien-esque stuff. I looked up a certain knock-off that I read in my youth, which shall remain un-named except to say that the remembered phrase “doughty Warrows” quickly turned it up, and was led through related posts to an article about the heretofore unknown Red Moon and Black Mountain. Intrigued, I checked the library, found an available copy, and added the slim volume to my pile.

I hope that the gentle hostess of the 2013 Vintage Sci-Fi Not-a-challenge will forgive the blatant trespass of high fantasy into her project, because this is definitely vintage. It also appears to have slipped into obscurity, despite being a prize-winning book in the early 1970s. Joy Chant has only written three other novels, leaving her work more or less unknown to the new generation of fantasy readers. Those that know the book seem to feel quite strongly about it though, with most reviews I found saying things like, “I loved this book as a child and it still holds its magic today.” I came to it in the context of Tolkien rip-offs, so my first impression was somewhat different. While I entered with slightly different expectations than its biggest fans may have held, that goes with most of fantasy for me and should be taken as a given. This is in many ways the quintessential Moldy Fantasy addition.

A certain amount of plot summary is necessary before diving into comparisons. Three English kids, Oliver, Nicholas, and Penelope, are magically transported into another world. They are split up, each finding themselves a part of the usual cataclysmic battle between good and evil. We get right to it, with battling eagles, spells of eternal winter, princesses held captive in towers, and noble horsemen on the plains. Oliver grows to be a man and a valiant warrior. The other two meet magical types and have adventures. After awhile, the forces of good gather in a white walled city to fend off the armies of the Evil Wizard. Select portions of the Battle of Pelennor Fields are reenacted. I won’t spoil the ending by revealing if Good ultimately triumphs over Evil.

There is a definite whiff of Middle Earth here, with appearances by Tom Bombadil, Arwen, Sauron, Minases Morgul and Tirith, and to an extent Rohan. To me though, it felt even closer to another iconic fantasy creation, Narnia. By shipping in three heroic children from contemporary England, Chant seems to be attempting a world with the depth of Middle Earth inside the framework C.S. Lewis used for his books. To her credit though, I think Chant ultimately makes the world her own. The horse people in particular are given a much bigger stage and consequently separate themselves from their literary forbears. Other parts have become fantasy convention enough to gloss over, especially great white cities, elves (or whatever passes for them), prophecies, and much more. It’s hard to know what is original and what is borrowed when tropes have progressed as much as they have.

In some ways, I am less interested in what this book stole than what was later stolen. If Weis and Hickman didn’t read this and make off with the concept of multiple, different colored moons affecting magic, I will eat my hat. Dragonlance adds a moon to better fit in with the D&D alignment system, but everything else is identical. I didn’t really notice anything else egregious, just the same tropes and conventions that snake their way through most fantasy. The scene where the Earth Mother walks through the battlefield, feet sinking into the ground and leaving new life in their wake gave me a massive flashback to Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke, though I have no idea if they are actually related. Certainly this is a book that lends itself to a Miyazaki production.

Not all is well of course, and I would be remiss if I didn’t grumble a little. The biggest complaint I have with the book is the combination of pacing and length. I have read that Chant built this world over years and years of personal imagining and storytelling; this is apparent from the start. The challenge for an author in this case is to somehow reveal the details and background while keeping the story moving along, a challenge exacerbated by word count limitations of the pre-doorstop fantasy era. Here, the author gives herself a couple hundred pages to lay out the world, bring our English children up to speed, establish the bona fides of the diabolical nemesis, and set up a world altering conflict. Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t always work. There are going to be trade offs when space is so limited, in this case the high drama of the conflict gets sacrificed in favor of world building. At the end of the book, we know a lot about the world and how it works, but the threat from the head bad dude never really feels urgent. There is much talk of how awful it would be if Good were to lose, but Good never loses anything, even its car keys.

Beyond this, I only have quibbles. Things are a bit overwrought, which is to be expected of the genre. There is a lot of dialog that would make me giggle were I to read aloud to my children. Chant has an odd hangup with Christianity throughout the book. Satan makes a cameo and Oliver displays an inexplainable loyalty to a religion with a fervor that far outstrips his connections with Merry Olde England. I’m not sure what the point of this is, since it is never shown as admirable per se, or even relevant, what with the other gods roaming about. I bring this up not as a glaring issue, just something that knocked me out of the story every time it popped up. The Tolkien flashbacks were the only other bits I found jarring, difficult as they are to ignore.

On the other hand, I remember reading the last twenty pages or so and thinking, “whatever faults I may find with the rest, this ending makes me forget them.” Something in the resolution feels right in a way that many books fail to achieve. Had I read this book at the impressionable age of twelve, I’m sure it would have bowled me over. It probably would have bowled me over now with an extra hundred pages to work with, a greater willingness to step away from God and Tolkien, and a more convincing threat from the dark forces. The characters and societies that get their chance in the narrative shine, but the spotlight is a bit uneven. Altogether though, Red Moon rises above its flaws and promises more and better goodies in the books that follow. Epic fantasy types should definitely seek this out, as well as anyone curious about how the genre has developed.

Rating: The 1970 Uruguay squad. They ended up fourth in one of the greatest World Cup tournaments ever, but remain overshadowed by Pele & Co. and largely forgotten.

The Guin Saga: The Leopard Mask

The Guin Saga: The Leopard Mask
Kurimoto Kaoru

While looking for something else entirely, I came across a link for Vertical Press, purveyor of Japanese books and manga. I hadn’t heard of them before, generally relying on Haikasoru for my Japanese translations, but was happy to see that Vertical also offers a smattering of fantasy. Not just any fantasy it appears, but no less than The Lord of the Rings of Japan. I was mildly shocked that I, Japanophile and SFF dork, was completely unaware of such a work, but these things happen. I went straight to the library and reserved myself a copy of the first volume of The Guin Saga, knowing that I could remain ignorant no longer and am honor bound to spread the word to all Two Dudes readers.

A wee bit of background searching turns up scant detail, mostly coming from manga message boards, but it is clear that said saga was intended from the start to run 100 volumes and ended up somewhere around 130. Each appears to be insanely popular, or at least popular enough to justify continuing publication, though the author passed away in 2009. I can only hope that she finished what she started. If not, the vengeful ghost of Robert Jordan will no doubt torment her until a suitable replacement author is found. As I have read not even 1/100th of the series, I can’t pass final judgment, but I will certainly sink my teeth into Volume 1.

The Guin Saga evades my initial attempts at analysis because the “Japanese LOTR” comparison is a complete non-starter. There is little of Japan evident in the first volume and the story bears no resemblance to Tolkien, instead owing its soul to pulps and low fantasy. I say that Japan is little evident for two reasons. First, because the world is more clearly built on stock Western fantasy settings than medieval Japan. Second, because the character interactions seem to lack the natural hierarchy and group consciousness of Japanese society. It is entirely possible that later volumes are more obviously Asian, especially because there is a lot less talking and a lot more doing in The Leopard Mask. Further, my ignorance of Japanese fairy tales could be masking a connection that is painfully obvious to other readers, while remaining invisible to me. Even if this is so, the book felt like it would be right at home next to Burroughs, de Camp, or Howard, more so than Miyazaki, Shiro, or the Haiksasoru crew. (Compare to the Nagatama series or Studio Ghibli productions.)

The story itself moves quickly and is soon completed. (This was probably a wise move by Kurimoto; it’s much easier to write a hundred 200 page novels than a hundred Wheel of Time or Malazan volumes.) We join the action already in progress, as two lovely and precious twins are repeatedly saved from awful fates by a warrior, Guin, who has a leopard mask surgically or magically attached to his face. Basically the three are thrust from rapidly peril to peril, with occasional nods to back story and context. I hesitate to call it “epic fantasy” because, at this point, the action is constrained to a few people and a small piece of real estate. Everything is competently done, with suitable moustachio twirling by the bad guys, amazing feats of derring-do by Guin, and hints of a glorious future for the twins.

The first five volumes of The Guin Saga comprise a single story arc, meaning that The Leopard Mask has marginal resolution at the end and is difficult to assess on its own. I am hesitant to pass judgment without reading further, but there are a few talking points remaining. The action is brisk and entertaining, with Guin dispatching his foes and generally being heroic. One hopes that Kurimoto reveals a bit more about why he has a leopard head within the next few volumes. The twins are a bit annoying, but I would hardly expect stoicism from most young adolescents who have watched their home kingdom razed, everyone they know killed, and death (or worse) being held at bay only through the efforts of a random guy with a leopard head. Sympathy aside though, I look forward to the day that the two fulfill whatever destiny awaits them and stop whining. Finally, I’m not wordsmith enough to explain this well, but there is an acceptable way to say that a warrior is a well-muscled, fine specimen and the young adults are attractive in a way that will someday blossom into stunning beauty, and there is a creepy way to say it. Kurimoto (and the translation) are firmly in the creepy camp. That, at least, is in keeping with certain predilections common in Kurimoto’s homeland.

And now, a verdict. I am curious, so I will continue through the first story arc or until I get bored. Volume 1 didn’t wow me, but neither did it disgust. If nothing else, I feel like I ought to report on this or risk turning in my Japan Nerd card. Later volumes apparently transform themselves into gay fanfic, but I wasn’t really planning on reading into the 90s anyway, so no loss. (Nothing against gay lit, just not my bag.) Interested readers can expect a report on Vols. 2-5 sometime in the future, but it is somewhat lower priority than other things in my life. Said readers are advised to not hold their collective breath.

Rating: The early rounds of the Emperor’s Cup. This is the time with all the small squads in Japanese football – the college teams, company teams, and regional division members – play each other as a prelude to the higher stakes late rounds. This rating may be subject to change.

A Shadow in Summer

A Shadow in Summer
Daniel Abraham

Long ago, I blocked out (but never finished writing) a story where a barely disguised me drove down to see a barely disguised friend, the two quietly broke off their relationship, and the guy meekly drove home without really defending himself or fighting for love. At the time, I scorned that character for being such a pansy. A few years and one nasty breakup later, I thought back on the story and decided that the character was worthy of admiration because he didn’t get worked up over things, accepted the inevitable, and didn’t waste his energy fighting for something so ephemeral as romance. I tell this not to wax poetic about my failed literary ambitions, but because one character in A Shadow in Summer recalled my own creation, bringing him to mind a decade or so since I last considered the guy. In some ways, these two are proxies for the book itself; younger me would probably be infuriated by a tale that declines to stride boldly forward, while an older and mellower me found a lot to like in this unconventional fantasy novel.

This interview is a good place to start. I knew nothing of Daniel Abraham until I read James S.A. Corey’s Leviathan Wakes. After that, I knew that he collaborates on blockbuster SF under inexplicable pen names and is part of the Albuquerque writers group in orbit around George R.R. Martin. (I am uncertain why New Mexico, of all places, is a fantasy hotbed. Is it perhaps the green chili cheeseburgers?) Now I know a bit more of his background and what he is trying to accomplish with The Long Price Quartet, of which A Shadow in Summer is the first volume. I was unsurprised to find out that much of what is off-kilter in the book is so by design, as Abraham is purposefully subverting fantasy tropes.

Following are some things I liked about the book. First on the list by a comfortable margin, Shadow is about economics. I realize that this makes me a particularly nefarious kind of nerd, but I really like stories that have a solid political economic base. Abraham’s book is what happens when magic meets Richard Rosecrance’s seminal The Rise of the Trading State. The city of Saraykeht is a trading state, which maintains its position and safety through economic power conferred by magic. The same magic can also protect the city, but its main purpose is to preserve Saraykeht’s competitive advantage in the cotton industry. Galt is a typical military state, maintaining its empire through conquest but dependent on Saraykeht and the other Summer Cities for goods. The core of the story is a Galtic attempt to undermine Saraykeht economically, a much more interesting tale than yet another campaign and siege. This is a forward thinking story, one that couldn’t have been written before contemporary Japan and Germany suggested an alternate path to world domination: buying everything.

Another thing I quite liked is the absence of destiny, prophecy, Chosen Youth, or any such nonsense. There are some people caught helplessly in the middle of the story, a few power players, some unexpected pressure points and pivots, but always, always agency. Each of the central characters chooses a path through the story, often constrained by the situation but never in the service of some overarching, mystical Plan. A couple of younger types come of age, some older characters confront the past, there is love both thwarted and successful. My favorite character, Otah, is mentioned above and acts as a stand in for my own creation, which in turn is a stand in for me. Not to say that Otah is meekly dumped by a woman, just that he has an oblique, idiosyncratic method to his decision making that I identify strongly with.

Finally, I enjoyed the ratio of world building to page count. While it is quite possible that the publisher split the Quartet into four solely to move more copies, Shadow recalls an older style of fantasy storytelling. It is not a long novel, so Abraham is forced to prune extraneous detail and concentrate the most important information into compact and efficient prose. We know from hints and tidbits that there are more Summer Cities, other Empires, and plenty to the world, but we are not party to anything not directly related to the story. We also see how the world works, as Abraham shows rather than tells. For example, The Cities are vaguely Asian, with some groups that resemble Shaolin or Zen in their training, and have a complex social hierarchy that is indicated in part by poses taken and gestures made during conversation. Abraham never explains these poses or describes them, merely states that characters are performing them. He can thus pack several pages of meaning into a short conversation, trusting the astute reader to infer and imagine the rest. 900 page volumes can be entertaining, but there is something to be said for brevity.

And now, in the “Not really a minus but definitely something I thought about” category, Shadow is very much fantasy in the David Brin definition of the word. (ie, looking back to a Golden Age rather than pressing forward into a Bright Future.) Magic is, of course, fading and kids these days just can’t conjure like they used to. Why is it that magic always has to be fading? Why can’t magic be constant, or possibly even getting better? What real life analog is there for magic constantly going away? (Someone might try to toss peak oil out there, or the loss of manufacturing sectors, but these are apples to oranges comparisons, not the least because “magic” is not a tangible substance made from decomposed dinosaur bones. On second thought, that’s a great premise for a novel.) There is also an obligatory scene where a character thinks back to the previous empire, where the ruler was strong and wise, the men good looking, and the children all above average. Midst all of the other trope subversion, I wonder why Abraham decided to keep this one.

A Shadow in Summer isn’t for anyone who requires Dark Lords and farmboys of royal lineage, nor fans of prancing woodlands elves and magical weapons of antiquity. It is not a thinly disguised Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Instead, Shadow is intelligent and ambiguous, without being depressing. Recommended for discerning fans of challenging fantasy who aren’t afraid to leave a few cliches behind.

Rating: Ruud Van Nistelrooy, a legendary goal poacher with a great name. He was efficient and predatory, lacking in wasteful flourish and a reliable source for goals.

Moldy Fantasy: The World of Tiers

The World of Tiers
Phillip Jose Farmer

When presented with the opportunity to read vintage, hardbound fantasy with gloriously impractical Boris Vallejo covers, I can think of few reasons to say no. Just such a chance awaited me at a recent library book sale, as all of the recent, popular books had long disappeared by the time I got there. All that remained were obscure titles published long ago by forgotten presses, likely unread since the Gerald Ford administration. I took one look at the impossibly muscled and very naked, but battle axe wielding warrior and maiden on the front of The World of Tiers and knew that we were destined to meet at that sale. As an added bonus, the author is none other than Phillip Jose Farmer, of whom I had heard much but not yet read. This, dear reader, is what Moldy Fantasy is all about.

The first cycle of The World of Tiers comprises five books, which were later gathered into the two volume compendium that I read. Between the cover art, the publication date, and the first chapter, Tiers gives every indication of being pulpy low fantasy. I fully expected Robert Wolff, our erstwhile hero, to be tramping around a clone of Barsoom or Gor. There is a surfeit of mighty thews, but Farmer also commits world building. We end up with something a bit more sophisticated and, dare I say, scientific than one initially expects. This is appropriate, seeing as how he wrote a foreword, but Tiers feels like low fantasy filtered through Roger Zelazny. The five books split neatly into two narrative arcs. Books one and two are collected into Volume One and feature Wolff, the Earthman who stumbles into the Tiers. The remaining three make up Volume Two and follow Wolff’s guide from the first book, Kickaha. Mr. K comes close to stealing the show in that book, something that Farmer was no doubt aware of. He rewards the nominal sidekick with a bigger part to play in the later books; this is probably a good call. Kickaha is impetuous and bold, Wolff, while admirable, is a bit square.

As for Farmer’s world building, what starts as typical low fantasy quickly spirals into something much weirder. Farmer’s “Lords,” powerful, godlike, humanoid beings, create their own pocket universes. Wolff tumbles into the Lord Jadawin’s universe, which is arranged in tiers. Books One and Three take place in this universe, Four is on Earth, and numbers Two and Five are in other Lord’s universes. Jadawin’s is the most fun because each tier is a completely different environment. There are Native American levels, High Middle Age levels, classical urban levels, and of course the Lord’s fortress. This allows for varied storytelling and a veritable cast of thousands. The other universes are less ambitious, but still mind blowing. Earth is, well, early 1970s Earth. It is perhaps no surprise that the fourth book was the least interesting. With all the talk of pocket universes, impossibly advanced technology, and occasional beam weapons, Tiers is clearly science fiction. Still, a lot of the action takes place in fantasy-like environments with swords and bows, plus there are those naked axe wielders on the covers, so we’ll just keep this in the Moldy Fantasy category for now. It is quite like McCafferey or Zelazny though, in the way that the story wanders in and out of genre.

There is a danger inherent in these Moldy Fantasy posts of the commentary foundering on the rocks of contextual ignorance. A gaggle of writers were active at the time – Bradbury, Ellison, Lieber, Vance to name a few – that I haven’t read sufficiently to highlight the dialogue occurring between them. I am just familiar enough to see that Farmer is part of the conversation without being able to follow all sides, so there are no doubt all sorts of little asides and influences that are going over my head. There’s really no way to fix this, except to read more moldy fantasy, so we’ll have to leave Farmer relatively unexamined for now.

Taken by themselves however, the Tiers novels hold up. There is a bit of residual sexism, despite what appear to be Farmer’s honest efforts to avoid it, and certain moments of plot convenience that are probably more a function of word count than narrative skill. Some parts of the series work better for me (Jadawin’s realm in its entirety) than others (Earth, long stretches in less interesting universes), but I imagine that individual mileage will vary. The books are far more creative and entertaining than I expected, so credit to the author for taking me by surprise. Farmer is from a different era, which may leave fans of contemporary fantasy cold; pace and style have changed drastically. Still, The World of Tiers is worth seeking out. Come for the naked axe warriors, stay for the crazy pocket universes.

Rating: Sven Goran-Eriksson. Like Kickaha, the dour Swede’s travels have covered the globe and taken him to far and obscure corners, to mixed results.

Debris

Debris
Jo Anderton

When looking for something off the beaten path, I can usually count on Angry Robot Books to deliver. They put out a lot of supernatural and/or urban fantasy, but also publish authors like Lavie Tidhar and Aliette de Bodard. I saw Debris first in their eARCs, then later at the library, and something about it piqued my curiosity. It promised to be urban science fantasy, with the potential to rise above cliché.

Immediate kudos go to Anderton for her world building. While there were noticeable echoes of other similar books, she managed to keep things fresh. The first place I thought of was New Crobuzon (China Mieville’s Perdido Street Station), though Movac-Under-Keeper is less grotesque. It also, while possessed of a certain European air, seems less Dickensian-ly British than a lot of the steampunk genre. I actually wouldn’t call Debris steampunk anyway, since a form of engineering magic is at the core of the story rather than boilers or Babbage computing machines. It is a part, however, of the ever growing subgenre of Industrial Revolution Fantasy, with its polluted cities, smoking factories, and Victorian technology. I’m guessing this subgenre was kicked off by Marxists writing fantasy wherein the protagonists fight for the means of production. (I’m only partially facetious with this description.)

This is not to say that Anderton is a Marxist, or at least not to the extent that Mieville, for example, or Eric Flint is. There is a standard level of hand wringing over plight of the huddled masses, the usual oppression from above, and even an oblique indictment of that portion of the middle class who spends too much energy maintaining their lifestyles to notice the suffering going on elsewhere. Nobody really pontificates or declaims though, which is probably just as well. As it is, I spent the first 100 pages or so fearing that this would be another “hero(ine) falls from position of wealth and power, discovers true self in poverty” story. Fortunately, it is not. That particular plot chestnut reached its pinnacle in Pohl and Kornbluth’s Space Merchants and doesn’t need to be touched again until somebody can dethrone that classic. Anderton wisely realizes that more fun is to be had elsewhere and steps onto a more interesting path.

No sooner did I mention the world building than things moved off in another direction. Returning, let’s look a bit more at what’s going on. Tanyana, our plucky heroine, is one who controls “pions.” Pions are all purpose building blocks, the electricity, cement, bytes, steam, and steel of her world. They are molded into buildings, sent throughout the city as power, and turned into almost computer-like objects. Not far into the story, an “accident” causes Tanyana to lose her control of pions and instead makes her into a collector, one who can see “debris.” Debris are the waste products of pion usage and must be cleaned up lest they overwhelm the system and shut down the city. Debris collectors are necessary outcasts, similar to the night soil collectors of Olde Japan. (Readers not familiar with night soil are welcome to google it. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t hang out with someone who spent all night surrounded by it either.) Needless to say, Tanyana’s life changes in many unpleasant ways.

I enjoyed Anderton’s creation. The pion-debris concept provides fertile ground for storytelling and broad flexibility for plot use. Need a 50 story building? Why not? Dingy, polluted ghetto? No problem. Debit cards? Sure. Crazy suits that turn arms into swords and are attached to bone ala the X-men’s Wolverine? In a proverbial jiffy. Her city is also well thought out, with its river, infrastructure and transportation systems, and mix of prosperous neighborhoods and slums. Two reviews I read take opposing views of the completeness of the city, betraying the critics’ respective areas of expertise: Here is a glowing portrait of the world, while this one wonders at the holes in Movac’s political economy. It takes a certain brain to notice and point out flaws in a fantasy world’s government or economic system; unfortunately, I have one. Still, there’s nothing particularly glaring here and most will be satisfied and engaged by the world. Everything beyond the city and the history behind Movac’s present are broadly hinted at, but the details have been left to later books to explore.

And later books there will be. The sequel is slated for this coming summer (2012) and Anderton has left, if not a cliffhanger, plenty of questions unresolved at the end of her first book. This is, I suppose, where my biggest quibbles with the book lie. The story starts out with a literal bang, quickly throwing Tanyana into the world of debris collection. It then feints down the narrative path already mentioned, before correcting itself and heading into conspiracy thriller territory. New plot lines emerge, some romance complications show up, and pretty soon the conspiracy is somewhat abandoned for crises, shadowy (and ineffective) resistance movements, and a prophecy. (?) Finally, near the end, some attempt is made at tying all the threads together, but it’s pretty obvious that we’re going to have to take Anderton at her word and settle for the inconclusive conclusion of the first book. Debris lacks a bit of grace at the end, but I will have to wait for the follow-up to pass full judgment on whether Anderton has things under control, or is spinning tales just slightly beyond her reach.

That said, the book was entertaining and original. Less flowery and demanding than Mieville, fewer brass knobs and goggles than steampunk, less smoggy London than Tidhar, and far more creative than stock fantasy, Debris is a good change of pace for anyone who’s had enough of broadswords or starships. It has the potential to open up into a rare, truly unique world, if Anderton can keep all of her juggling balls in the air through the sequels. Even if the series as a whole isn’t everything it could be, it will still be a worthwhile place to visit.

Rating: Hmm, how about Napoli? This is a team that fell from the highest of heights, albeit gradually, and is slowly working its way back to the top. The city is also famous for its garbage collection, or the lack thereof.