Book review: The Heroes by Joe Abercrombie; Long Live the King

 Abercrombie is the king of this kind of thing; showing the horror and fear and blood of pre-modern battle, with a human face. Indeed, with many human faces. He draws character superbly, with very few good guys or bad guys but shades of grey, for the most part people who are making decisions for a mix of reasons selfish and altruistic, noble and venal, wise and stupid.

Here, in the continuation of stories in the same world as his First Law trilogy, we focus on a battle between the Northmen and the Union, three blood-soaked days surrounding the taking of a more-or-less strategic hill. While the set-up could be classic Generic Fantasy - the Union sees itself as civilised, some meld between the empires of Rome and Britain, and the Northmen are the classic Viking/Saxon rough-hewn hard men, a loose alliance of carls and named men seeking battle-glory - but Abercrombie gives many of his POV characters a depth and complexity that makes it far more real.

On the Union side we have Bremer dan Gorst, former royal guard who has thrown himself into constant training, haunted both by his disgrace and his infatuation with his commander's daughter.

That young woman, Finree, smart and ambitious to advance herself through the only means available: her brave, noble and slightly stupid husband.

Corporal Tunny, veteran soldier, far more interested in theft and fleecing his fellows at cards than glory in battle.

For the North, Calder is the younger son of the man who first united the North as something approaching a nation; he knows he isn't brave or strong, but is handsome, clever and ambitious.

Curnden Craw, seen by many as the most honest man in the North.

Beck, a young man fresh from his farm, seeking to match the tales of glory told by the father whose sword he carries.

Along with these POV characters are a host of others, some drawn deeply others merely sketched, but Abercrombie has the skill to make each seem fully fleshed. While there are complete sociopaths (Caul Shivers who has the ability to instil terror into anyone with his calm, cold, menace, the brothers Deep and Shallow, a psychopathic Abbot and Costello double act) most characters clearly act through a mix of motivations, a tension between self-interest and the Right Thing.

The other great skill the author has is in plotting; as shown in the first book in the series, The Blade Itself, he exults in blindsiding the reader, writing in such a way as makes it impossible to predict who will come out on top - without this feeling like a cheap conjuring trick.

The plotting of this book is lesser than the previous one, although that is understandable both in the scope of this volume being over the course of this single battle and Best Served Cold being the finest book of his I've yet read. While these volumes don't follow on directly as did the original trilogy, there is clearly a throughline (Gorst and others appeared in the previous book, while Calder along with Black Dow, Wonderful and several more are veterans of the adventures of the Bloody Nine, who is referenced not infrequently) and the ending appears to set up a return to the the Southern Border. I am very much looking forward to what comes next.

To close, I wish again to praise the reading by Steven Pacey. For his pacing and intonation and differentiation of character, he is an absolute master. For each of the myriad of characters he gives a distinct, individual and utterly believable reading - mostly various British accents, ranging from posh Union men to Yorkshire and Scotland, a couple of rough East End-types (including Deep, who he give an excellent Michael Caine impression), to Calder and his brother Scale, who have distinctly different Welch voices. The single sour point is an unfortunate confluence of Pacey's pronunciation with an authorial quirk. In putting the emphasis on the second syllable of the word "grimace" -gri-MACE, rather than how I say and think the word, GRIM-uss - this does draw attention to the fact that Abercrombie somewhat overuses it. However, the fact that this is the worst I can say should also speak volumes.

Book review: The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin: Not Quite the Sum of Its Parts

It's taken me a while to get around to this review, as I've really needed to cogitate on how I felt about this book.

I really loved aspects of this novel - quite a few aspects, actually - but overall I liked rather than loved the book as a whole, and it's taken me some thought as to work out why.

First off, the things I really liked: I loved the characterisation. I loved the premise. I loved the way Jemisin played with tropes - especially the Lovecraftian aspects, a thing that is very much in the zeitgeist at the moment with Lovecraft Country and Victor LaValle and others. I loved the social commentary, even when it was far from subtle (the whiteness of the Enemy and the threat of gentrification chasing out the "real New Yorkers". The whole problem with Staten Island being part of New York, but separated - more because of White Flight and racism than a stretch of water.

But there was something that, for me, prevented the whole from coming together satisfactorily. I know it is the beginning of a series (although it follows on from the excellent short story The City Born Great) so that may be part of my issue with the structure, but it still seemed somehow lacking.

This book is very much a love-letter to New York City, to its resilience and culture and vibrancy, to its melting pot invention, its ability to absorb all comers and make them New Yorkers whilst allowing that diversity to add to its strength (not unique to NYC, of course; London is very much the modern prototype of this kind of metropolis).

I listened to the audiobook and must give a mention to the performer, Robin Miles. This is simply one of the finest readings of a book I have ever encountered, a full performance of character and subtlety and strength, aided by some superb production with the barest use of effects and music.

I may well amend this review - the book is clearly staying with me - and may well listen to or read it again before the next instalment.

Book review: Sixteen Ways to Defend a Walled City by KJ Parker: Grimdark with jokes

I’ve been reading Tom Holt since Expecting Someone Taller in the early 90s, and KJ Parker since stumbling across the Shadow trilogy in the 2000s, and wasn’t aware for a long time that the latter was a pseudonym for the former - or, to be more contemporaneous, that many people suspected KJ Parker was a pseudonym for a well-known writer, and there was quite heated discussion within the community as to their identity.




Not that I’d have been that interested - I’ve always been more interested in the work than the personalities behind it - but I don’t think I’d ever have linked the authors. Holt’s funny, frenetic, while learned and very English style seemed (to me) to bear very little relation to Parker’s dark, foreboding, intricately-plotted tales of individuals fighting fate and obsession to a level that changed the course of nations. Indeed, it didn’t even occur to me to compare the two until a friend mentioned the potential connection.




I mention this because this is the first KJ Parker book I’ve read that has been written since the connection has been acknowledged, and I don’t think it can be coincidental that, in many places, this seems like a blending of the two styles. Mixed in with the story of the military engineer colonel, a former slave and displaced person who has risen through the ranks of an imperial army due to his skill and knowledge but is no soldier, much of the tone is comic; Orhan ( the protagonist in question ) from the start feels out of his depth, apparently muddling through a situation where disasters seem to be multiplying exponentially. The difference in tone to the Scavenger and Engineer books, with their pace driven by the protagonists’ obsession and friction between destiny and self-determinism, could hardly be more marked.




Early on, I confess that this tone kept my opinion lower than it might have been - I’m certainly not against levity in grimdark fantasy ( the master of this is Joe Abercrombie who can take you from belly laughs to stark horror and back again in the space of a few pages ), so perhaps the fault was in my own comparing of the evident clash of styles.



Soon enough, however, I found myself entirely carried forward with the story. Orhan and his regiment of engineers find themselves at the capital city of the mighty Robur empire ( there are many references to classical Greece, Imperial Rome, Constantinople - and I’m sure others I missed ) just as things seem to be falling apart, and Orhan may be the only hope of saving it. Or at least saving the city. Or at least saving his friends. Or at least saving himself.




The tale is pure KJ Parker - overwhelming odds, intricate and surprising plotting, moral ambiguity, incredible detail on technologies of carpentry and metallurgy and siege-craft without detracting from the story - shot through with humour, almost entirely based on the fact that we see it all from the point of view of a character with both too little belief in his own brilliance and the knowledge - or arrogance - that only he can save the day.




On top of which, because Parker/Holt is a very good writer, we have multiple themes of privilege - sexism and racism, especially based around the fact that Orhan is a “milk-face” northerner, facing prejudice and legal restrictions amongst the dark-skinned Robur ( especially due to a scene at a drinking fountain, I’m confident that this is purely an artistic choice and definitely not some “whites are the real oppressed people!” shtick. This shouldn’t even need saying, but have you seen the world? ) and, especially, the meaning of loyalty and friendship and belonging.




Perhaps secondary characters are well-sketched rather than fully formed, although this can be excused as the whole book is from Orhan’s first-person viewpoint - and the author cleverly plays with our expectations when we find he has, indeed, been dictating the story to a scribe - but this is a fine example of modern fantasy, exciting and referential and thought-provoking. I reckon any expectation of style is entirely on me and, frankly, it must be pretty bloody difficult to keep up the level of grimness from the earlier KJ Parker trilogies.

Story review: Clover by Charlie Jane Anders: Transformation, luck & beauty

This is an utterly beautiful little story, a perfectly worked gem. A mostly black cat is gifted to a young couple with the promise it will bring luck, and things seem to go well - not miraculously well, but a steady streak of progress in their respective professions. Nine years later, to the day, another cat is delivered as a companion for the first. The first cat, Berkeley, doesn't seem to take to Clover and this disruption begins to reverse the good fortune of the previous years.



Charlie Jane Anders give this a fairy tale cadence throughout, which works perfectly. The unexpected gift of cats from strange men is odd, but within the tone this is not too strange to be accepted. Perhaps it is the cats, but there are hints of Murakami and, perhaps, Charles de Lint.



The tale itself is simple, that of a couple facing the ups and downs of life together, the one from whom we get the POV questioning himself when things go awry and paralysed with fear, unable to communicate. What makes it sparkle is that handling of tone and detail; the characters are minimally but artfully sketched with small details, and is the world. This is clearly a fantasy tale - as I say, a fairy story, with strange people delivering cats that (may) grant luck and may not be cats at all - but the brushed mise en scene suggests a world that is barely tomorrow - increased displacement of refugees, violence and intolerance. Actually, as it was published in 2016, perhaps we are in that tomorrow.



The whole is filled with compassion and flair and magic. We are left with lose threads but this is fine as they are part of the richness of the tapestry, and an acceptance that not having magical, external luck is simply normal life. If that maneki neko actually was any more than a placebo after all.



I see that the story is marked as All the Birds in the Sky 1.5. I've had that on my shelf for awhile, so I think it is due a read.




Original review at goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2673995901

Book Review: Voices (Annals of the Western Shore 2) by Ursula K le Guin

Le Guin is rightly famed for her novels of the late 1960s and the 1970s such as the Earthsea books, The Dispossessed, The Left Hand of Darkness, but she has never let up and has been a force in science fiction, fantasy and indeed literature for almost 60 years now. This, the middle volume of the Annals of the Western Shore, shows just why; she writes prose as lucid and powerful as almost any writer I can think of, characters that walk the line between tale-tellers archetype and fully three dimensional human beings, and infuses the whole with a humanity and relevance that is breathtaking. She writes great stories that are made epic by the inclusion of a meaning that is apparent but never heavy handed, that never overwhelms the tale but lifts it.



Voices finds a great, ancient city of learning that has been subjugated for seventeen years by a foreign power whose singular god considers any other deities to be demons and any books or writing blasphemy, and a girl - child of a violation during the invasion - who has grown up tending the remains of a secret library and is witness to, and instrumental in, a great change.



As wonderful as the first volume, Gifts, leaving me a little sad that there is only one book remaining.

Book Review: The Rook by Daniel O'Malley

I started off rather enjoying this, but it frankly became a something of a slog. The setting is a present-day Britain where, within the government, there exists a shadowy organisation known as the Checquy. It has existed for many centuries and is made up of ‘talented’ individuals, usually recruited as infants and raised to serve and protect the British Isles. Think X-Men meets Charles Stross’ Laundry Files meets Harry Potter.


We start with Myfanwy Thomas coming to with no memory, surrounded by bodies, in a London park. At least, the letter in her pocket tells her that’s who she is - or, rather, that is the identity of the body she inhabits. This missive and the trail of information she follows are written by the ‘real’ Thomas, a highly placed administrator at the organisation, who has received several telling prophecies that she is to die and her body is to be re-inhabited by another. What’s more, it is another member of the Checquy ruling elite who is responsible.


This is an intriguing idea, a nice fantastical twist on the venerable DOA motif; the crime has already been committed, and the first person narrator is trying to find the perpetrator. And it starts well enough, building the new Myfanwy’s character, with all it’s unmoored uncertainty as she struggles to fit into this life at the same time as investigating the ongoing crime - because, of course, her predecessor’s obliteration is part of a grander scheme.


This was one of the first sour notes. Once she begins to interact with the other members of the organisation, with all their strange powers and arcane knowledge, people  barely bat an eye at her sudden change of character. These are people who know there are individuals and organisations with powers exotic and powerful and multifarious, but don’t consider that this highly-placed officer might have been replaced by an imposter? However, I reinforced my willing suspension of disbelief and rejoined the ride.


Unfortunately, my perseverance wasn’t rewarded. While there are many excellent ideas embedded within the story, it needed more thought and, quite honestly, a good deal more editing. Increasingly problematic are the notes left by the original Rook Thomas for the replacement; the original purpose of these is to guide her substitute with the information she has managed to glean prior to her own ‘murder’. As this seems to be building toward something the reader can’t help but think “why not just skip ahead and find out what’s going on?” but then the author begins to pad these epistles out with stories of Thomas background which, while arguably interesting backstory, are entirely inappropriate and act as massive info dumps, a terrible example of the writer feeling the need to show their working.


I confess that I started skim reading, also encouraged by a tonal monotony and the fact that the writing just wasn’t executed well enough to carry the whole thing off. When a big action scene and reveal  left me yawning I knew I wasn’t going to continue with the series. There’s definitely potential here, but the whole needed tightening up.


Originally posted on Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2070889433

Book review: The Secret Books of Paradys volume 3, The book of the Dead by Tanith Lee: Book of the Meh

I will argue that, at her best, Tanith Lee is in the same league of Gothic writing as Angela Carter; multilayered fictions about sexuality and possession and identity, built of startling imagery and metaphor. Unfortunately, The Book of the Dead, the third quarter of the Paradys cycle, is a long, long way from her best.


There are many problems with this book. Paradys, that shadow Paris where vampires and shapeshifters and magic roil beneath the surface, a main character throughout the previous stories, is barely present. Most of the tales here are barely connected to it and, even in those that are, it is the flimsiest of painted backdrops. The stories themselves are generally weak, feeling throwaway and somehow unready, and not even saved by forming together into any sort of thread as had the tales in the previous volumes. The protagonists seem to be involved for no good reason - these are not tragedies where a character brings doom upon themselves by their own greed or recklessness or malice or hubris, more they feel like failed attempts to try for a kind of Lovecraftian random universe - and often the stakes are so low and the motivations so pointless that it is to no effect.


For example, in the story Morcara’s Room we start with an interesting set up. A young woman grows up unusually strong and sure of herself for the time period, self-assured and dominant and, being an only child, inherits the estate. She dresses how she chooses and selects her lovers with impunity. Her downfall occurs the first time a man spurns her, although we are simply told this, not shown it, and in such passing detail that her reaction - to shut herself in a tower chamber and commit suicide - is so melodramatically over the top as to be absurd, even in context of a gothic tale. To compound matters, this is merely the backstory; in the present a traveller comes to the estate to find an elderly brother and sister living in the house, who tell him this story - of their ancestor, her death, that there was a warning on the door “all who enter will die” and the servant who broke down the door fell down the stairs and broke his neck. The cursed tower has been sealed for many years (after a subsequent death for which the siblings bear some guilt) and the denouement is this rather arrogant interloper stating that this was not a curse but a simple statement of fact: all who enter the tower room will die, because everyone dies in the end. The whole thing reads like some very early gothic story you’d study in a literature class and you’d have to give a pass because the once-original ideas had become cliche.


Indeed, each of the stories feels as though Lee is trying her hand at a different era of horror writing, without really committing to it. The segment Lost in the World finds a man obsessed with obscure travel writings of a previous century journeying to Africa to try and locate the hidden valley they mention, finding it, being trapped, and (spoiler) being killed by one of the pterosaurs that inhabit it - although the final image here of his aerial view of what he had taken as a huge, ruined temple is a nice idea, the story as a whole is disjointed and messy, and reads like bad Lovecraft, complete with period casual racism.


Definitely a highly disappointing effort, and I’d probably have chucked this part way through had it not been multiple tales. I hope the final part of the Secret Book of Paradys, The Book of the Mad, finishes on a higher note.

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Review originally posted at goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/261183065

Book review: Lyonesse by Jack Vance - a Mythic Fairytale of High Fantasy

Aside from the Dying Earth books, I’ve not read much Jack Vance. Which is odd, as I do adore those, the complexity and richness of the language, the sly wit and dark humour, the anti-heroes so well rendered. Lyonesse is a quite different beast. In some ways it feels far more of a traditional fantasy than the much earlier tales of Cugel the clever and Turjan and Chun the Unavoidable. It is definitely more of a true novel; most of the Dying Earth books are portmanteau made up of episodic short stories, while this is a distinct single tale.


The novel is set in several of the divided kingdoms of the Elder Isles, placed south of Ireland and north of Iberia, roughly where the Bay of Biscay becomes the Atlantic Ocean proper, as shown with a truly terrible map. We gather from the setting and occasional footnotes that this is where so many of the myths of Europe originate; this is Atlantis and Hy-Brasil and the Fairy Isles.


It did take me a little while to find my feet, for a couple of reasons. It wasn’t initially clear to me where this Atlantean land in which the tale unfolds was situated in time; the language and mores felt largely like those of the late middle ages (or, at any rate, with that Arthurian feel of the late middle ages from which much high fantasy takes its tone) but the references did not truly help to place it anywhere - or, rather, anywhen. It is stated that the founding family of one kingdom are also of the line that gave rise to Arthur Pendragon, although this seems to have been some time before. There is a Christian missionary, and reference is stated to the power of the church of Rome. It is, I think, deliberately vague and anachronistic, and it cased to be an issue once I was in caught up in the story.


Also early on, I had a problem with some changes of tone. At the outset the authorial voice is recognisably high fantasy, and becomes somewhat mythic or fairytale at points, but then we have a sudden shift into a rather dry chapter of historical and political exposition, before returning to the fairytale fantasy tone. Not long after this, however, I saw how the separate sections began to come together and that they were threads weaving into a greater tapestry. Vance does this quite superbly, introducing what appear to be obvious directions for the plot (obvious because of the fairytale fantasy inflection of the writing) only to immediately subvert them - and then call back much later on with an unforeseen payoff.


The characters are somewhere between mythic archetypes and actual people, something brought out by the habit of several of the magicians of the books splitting off from themselves scions, or sub-personalities, which begin as an aspect of the original but quickly develop their own characteristics.


For perhaps the first quarter of the book I was enjoying Lyonesse and thought it fine but, by the halfway point, I began to see why this is considered one of the great works of fantasy.

Review: Feng Shui: Action Movie Roleplaying

As with most roleplayers, I first encountered the games in my early teens and via D&D. This would have been about 1983 or 84, with the red box set of D&D Basic Rules, then the blue Expert Rules. Our group very much took to heart the concept that these rules were a framework, a guideline - now take it and make it your own! While we did buy supplements and Dragon magazine, our fertile imaginations and bottomless appetite for movies and books in the fantasy, sci-fi and horror genres meant we were more than willing to build (and shoehorn) our own ideas into this basic architecture.


I also played with another group of friends (I’m not sure why the two didn’t really mix, it was just one of those things). This group was less adventurous; we played different games - largely Rolemaster and Paranoia and boardgames - but stuck more within the strictures of the given rules. This was also the group where you didn’t get too attached to your character-  perhaps unsurprisingly given the systems, mortality was fierce - while in my D&D group we would run characters and their relationships for years. Of course, both groups split when we reached college age and went our separate ways..


It was some years before I found another group of like-minded friends (I had considered going to one of the local game shops and seeing about joining a group, but gaming had for me always been quite a personal, intimate thing). This group, still going these <harrumph> years later, with some changes, had a much wider experience of games than I did and introduced me to some wonders, and we discovered many more together (one of the rules of gaming: never start to tot up how much you’ve spent on rulebooks…) and one that was an utter revelation was Feng Shui by a man who shall forever be known as The Mighty Robin D. Laws.


The subtitle “Action Movie Roleplaying” tells you much of what you need to know about this game. It is specifically the Hong Kong action movie genre of John Woo, Jackie Chan and Tsui Hark, although you can easily adjust it to fit Schwarzenegger movies, Indiana Jones or The Transporter. The main point is that it is Heroic; the characters are typically Big Damn arse-kicking Heroes who can leap off balconies firing a gun in each hand, punch opponents through walls and drive high octane cars down narrow streets at ridiculous speeds.


And it works brilliantly, due to Laws’ superb design. The basic mechanic is stunningly simple. Eschewing the multiplicity of dice I have come to know and love (the old joke is that you out a roleplayer by saying “would you hand me that d6?”) Feng Shui uses two six-sided dice of different colours, a good dice (positive) and a bad dice (negative), added on to a skill/characteristic rating (if you know what I’m talking about, you’re a roleplayer; if not, don’t worry about it). What really works is the level at which this is pitched; as I say, the characters are Heroes, they don’t need to worry about fighting with ordinary minions! This is accomplished by the simple expedient that Mooks (as they are designated here), generally the kind fodder the Big Bad will throw at the heroes to keep them occupied, tend to come in squads of six and each individual is taken out wit a single point of damage - so picture Jackie Chan running through a factory, knocking bad guys from gantries as they try to mob him. This is further enhanced by advantages that the game calls shticks, special abilities of an almost (or sometimes literally, depending on the character type) magical nature. For instance, the common one of never having to reload a weapon or, one of my favourites, the rather more tricky running up the stream of bullets coming toward you to attack your opponent.


However, the real revelation for me was a step beyond that injunction in the original D&D to make these rules your own, and that is the encouragement to use description and inventiveness within the game by giving bonuses for descriptiveness, resourcefulness and imagination - along with penalties for being dull or repetitive. Example: in a firefight you can get away with saying “I take aim and shoot” a couple of times, but if you don’t try harder the Director (as the gamesmaster is called) should start to penalise you. Adding some description will counter this, and maybe give a minor bonus (“I leap over the bar for cover, blazing away with an automatic pistol in each hand”) and particularly good/descriptive/crazy ideas should earn you better bonuses (shooting down a chandelier onto a group of mooks, sliding on your back along a stream of lantern oil someone is about to set on fire while shooting, or simply punching/tripping/throwing one enemy into a pile of others. Just use your imagination, or steal from your favourite action films.


The beam of celestial light hit me in my first session playing this game. We were in a New Year parade in Kowloon when it is attacked by Triad goons/terrorists/whatever (I forget the details). My character (a fairly bog-standard Martial Arts Cop, one of the basic archetypes) was on the edge of the parade and I asked if there was a nearby lamppost or pillar I could use to swing around, kick some bad guys in the face and continue to boost up over the parade. Simon, the director, looked me squarely in the face and said “If you need there to be, there is.” Of course: movie logic!


Of course, there is the danger with this that either the players will just be too silly in their inventiveness, of the Director will expect and demand ever increasing invention to avoid penalties, but that is partly where the trust and cohesion of a good roleplaying group comes into things. In any game, the gamemaster (or Director, DM, storyteller, etc) has to set the tone and expectations, usually implicitly but occasionally explicitly, and the players let him or her know whether they are onboard. Roleplaying is a unique form or communal storytelling where each participant adjusts and makes room and reacts and accommodates to move the story forward.


This game was my introduction to the work of (The Mighty) Robin D. Laws, for my money one of the great game designers and writers and someone who has continued to work on games that foreground the storytelling above rulemastery aspects of gaming, while having systems that support and give structure - Nexus, The Dying Earth, the flexible Gumshoe system. I’ve left much out of this review - the setting and background, the influence of magic (this is primarily based on Hong Kong cinema, don’t forget, so we’re not just talking martial arts and gunfights!) but, if you haven’t yet, you should get it, get together with a group of like-minded friends, some wine and beer and chips and dips, and have yourself a real good time. In fact, 2nd edition has recently come out and I’ve not got it yet. Ah, so many games, so little time....