Category: fantasy

What We’re Reading (October 2019)

KC Winters

Since every good writer is always reading, we thought we’d share with some of you what we’re reading (and sometimes why).

Naamah’s Blessing (by Jacqueline Carey)

Since we’ve been making our way through the rest of the Kushiel series over the last several months, we’ve at last come to the final volume, in which Moirin must contend with the consequences of her previous actions. Though we’re not very far through it yet, there are already signs that this is going to break our hearts by the end. As always, Carey has a keen eye for sensual (and sexual detail), and you cannot help but feel yourself swept up in the grand adventure of it all.

The Ruin of Kings (by Jenn Lyons)

This was one of those 2019 fantasy releases that basically begged to be read. It’s quite compelling reading so far, though it does sometimes get a bit difficult to navigate the complex interweaving of temporalities that the author puts into play to tell her story. However, there is no doubt that she’s constructed a fascinating world for the story to inhabit, and the characters, particularly the hero, are compelling and sympathetic.

Oh, and did we mention that there are footnotes?

Lady Hotspur (by Tessa Gratton)

We both enjoyed Tessa Gratton’s debut adult novel The Queens of Innis Lear so much that when we saw that Lady Hotspur was soon to be available as an ARC we leapt at the chance. So far, it’s a delightful read, a bit lighter in tone than the very melancholy and at times rather dreary Queens. Based on the various plays that constitute Shakespeare’s Henriad, the book follows Prince Hal as he struggles with both his new position as heir to the throne and his feelings for Hotspur.

Though it’s still early going, we’re finding ourselves drawn into this story, and we especially dig the queering of the story, so that there is a decidedly erotic aspect to the relationship between Princess Hal and Lady Hotspur.

Marie Antoinette: The Journey (by Antonia Fraser)

Having finished Lady Fraser’s fascinating biography of the wives and mistresses of Louis XIV, we thought we’d turn to her famous biography of Marie Antoinette (the basis for Sophia Copola’s film of the same name). Fraser has a compellingly readable style and, unlike some other popular historians who seem to think that throwing a lot of material detail into a book is somehow illuminating, Fraser keeps the pace going and doesn’t allow her narrative to get too bogged down in detail. That being said, she does give us a fascinating and look at the glittering and dangerous court of Versailles, as well as the tortured politics of the period.

This is one of those books that is, at least in part, research for our projects, as one of the great nations of our fictional world, Troyeis, is based on France. We’re not quite sure yet how we might use this, but rest assured that it will come up at some point!

Royal Charles: Charles II and the Restoration (by Antonia Fraser)

This book, also written by Fraser, is a magisterial biography of King Charles II, who would go down in history as “The Merry Monarch.” We’re not really sure if any of this will come to play a part in the various tales that we’re in the process of telling, but that’s one of the great joys of reading of this sort. You never quite know when some little seed that’s been planted by your reading will end up bearing fruit.

So there you have it. The fantasy titles on this list will, we hope, find their way onto this blog in the form of a review, so stay tuned!

Fantasy Classics: “Naamah’s Curse” (by Jacqueline Carey)

KC Winters

Warning: Some spoilers follow.

I’ve now finished the second volume of Jacqueline Carey’s third trilogy, Naamah’s Curse. It probably goes without saying, but I really enjoyed this novel and I am, of course, hard at work reading the third.

The novel begins with Moirin setting out on her journey to catch up to her beloved Bao. Though she finds him, she is soon kidnapped and sent north into the vast country of Vralia. What follows is a series of adventures in which she meets a fanatical Yeshuite patriarch, his sensuous and sensitive nephew, a powerful witch who commands a deadly jewel, and a lord of assassins. Through it all, she must rely on her love of Bao to see her through, as well as her native powers and abilities.

Much as I wanted to savour this novel, to take my time and really lose myself in its sumptuous prose, as always I found myself pulled inexorably along by the story. Like its predecessors, it is largely episodic, in that Moirin goes from mishap to mishap, learning more about herself and about the world in which she lives with each iteration. Here, we learn more about the burgeoning power of Vralia, which has continued to grow in power and importance. In particular, we see that the vengeful patriarch has plans to use Moirin to launch a terrible crusade against Terre D’Ange. Given that I’ve often wondered how Carey’s world would look with a Christian nation, I found this development rather exciting and, while Moirin manages to circumvent the zealot’s efforts, it does suggest that there might yet be a confrontation between two of this world’s great powers. This storyline thus serves as a cautionary tale about the destructive power of religious zealotry and the reactionary condemnation of the pleasures of the body.

Like any unwilling epic heroine, Moirin finds herself caught up in forces and events much greater than she can at first imagine, and this is certainly the case when she pursues Bao into this world’s equivalent of the Himalayas. There she must confront a woman known as the Spider Queen, who has managed to take control of a powerful gem that has the power to command desire. There are echoes in this story of Phèdre’s journey into the heart of Drujan. Like her predecessor, Moirin finds herself faced with a truly dark magic, one that, while temporarily locally contained, has the potential to expand and damage the world. And, like her predecessor, she recognizes the fundamental humanity at the heart of this seemingly evil creature, showing us that even those who seem beyond the pale of comprehensibility have their own reasons (both good and bad) for doing what they do.

Much as I liked the stories about both Phèdre and Imriel, I identify with Moirin in ways that I never completely did in the case of the other heroes of the Kushiel saga. Moirin, for better or worse, gives her heart very quickly and easily to those with whom she comes into contact. Whether it is Bao (arguably her one true love) or any one of a dozen others, Moirin always gives freely of herself and of her gifts. Of course, this means that she frequently finds herself in scrapes that it takes quite a lot of effort to escape, but this is part of what makes her such a compelling and sympathetic hero. After all, it’s not necessarily a bad thing to give one’s love freely, even if the costs to oneself are frequently harsh and exacting.

Though the novel is largely full of joy, there are a few moments of genuine sadness, such as when Moirin hears that her beloved Jehanne has died in childbirth. Given that we have already been led to understand just how deeply she feels for the Queen of Terre D’Ange, this is a particularly devastating blow (the fact that it is delivered by the vengeful Vralian patriarch makes it all the more difficult to hear). This is one of those moments in the novel that is a profoundly human and universal one, as we are led to feel Moirin’s anguish that she wasn’t able to be there for the woman that she loved at the end of her life. The fact that Jehanne’s shade manages to visit her in her dreams only partially offsets the tragedy of this storyline, though it is rather nice seeing Moirin get at least a little bit of closure.

I have one minor complaint about the novel, and that it falls a little too much into the white savior narrative that is such a problematic aspect of the west’s relationship with the cultures of the east. In this case, Moirin’s disgust at the caste system that operates in this world’s equivalent of India/Nepal is, from a western perspective, understandable, as is the fact that she is the catalyst that sees the beginning of the undoing of the oppression of the untouchables. As gratifying as this is, however, I do think that we should be wary of these sorts of fantasies that allow western characters to be the primary catalyst for social change.

Despite those flaws, Naamah’s Curse is a stirring reflection on the power of desire to provide a balm to the human spirit. As always, Carey’s command of her prose is powerful, and the sex scenes in this book are even more intense and visceral than in the other installments of the series. However, the true emotional heart of the novel is the relationship between Bao and Moirin. Much as the Kushiel series shows the power of desire, it also shows us how much a part of the human condition love is, and how central it can be to the ultimate triumph of good over evil. Carey excels once again at making us feel just a little bit better about the world.

I have to say, though, that I’m approaching the final volume of this series with some trepidation. After all, it will mean the final farewell to this beautiful world and all of its enchanting mystique.

TV Review: Carnival Row: “Unaccompanied Fae” (S1, Ep. 6)

KC Winters

As all of you know, I’ve been growing more than a little impatient with Carnival Row and the snail’s pace at which it has, so far, seemed content to move. Thankfully, things have started to heat up in the sixth episode of the season, marking a turning point (or several) in the overall arc of the story.

In the episode, Mr. Agreus and Imogen attend an art auction, at which the Puck thoroughly humiliates some of Imogen’s enemies by outbidding them for a priceless piece of art, Rycroft is eventually arrested and accused of the murders, Vignette is imprisoned for attending a museum exhibit closed to Fae, and Jonah Breakspear and Sophie Longerbane form the beginning of an unusual political partnership.

To my mind, this episode marks the first time in the entire season that we’ve finally begun to feel some forward momentum with any of the storylines. Of course, Rycroft’s is the most significant, as this marks the moment when his own “friends” turn against him, both those in his personal life and those in the police department. It’s a useful reminder–if any were needed–about the brutally and violently xenophobic nature of the Burgue and its inhabitants. One begins to wish that there really were some dark god wakening in the bowels of the city, and that it will eventually rise up and destroy the humans who have already caused so much misery.

It also marks the first time that I began to feel myself become genuinely interested in the Imogen/Agreus storyline. Mostly, I suspect this is because there now feels to be at least a modicum of chemistry between them, both the characters and the actors. Though I’m still struggling to see exactly what the point of this relationship is–i.e,. how it connects to the other stories, if at all–but I will say that this important moment marks one of the few times that I found myself actually caring about what happened between the two of them.

And, of course, there is the poignant scene where Vignette discovers that her beloved library has been dismantled and reassembled in a museum. It’s a moving scene for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it reveals how it feels to be one of the colonized, forced to watch one’s sacred trust debased and rendered into nothing more than a commodity. To me, this might just be one of the most interesting moments of the series in terms of its critique of colonialism. One can hardly blame Vignette for her outburst of rage at the Burgue residents who so casually come in to view this sacred space, and the outrage is only made worse by the fact that she’s arrested.

I’m still a little frustrated by the Jonah/Sophie storyline. I’m honestly not sure why they haven’t made the two of them a more central part of the narrative, since there is a.) obvious chemistry between the characters and the actors; b.) Sophie is an amazing character and c.) it would help to up the political stakes of the story. One gets the sense that their relationship, and its political consequences will come to play a greater role in season 2.

Overall, I thought this was a much stronger episodes than most of its predecessors, and I cannot wait to see what lies in store in the ones to come.

TV Review: Carnival Row: “The Joining of Unlike Things” (S1, Ep. 4)

KC Winters

Warning: Spoilers ahead.

I finally got back into watching Carnival Row last night, so I wanted to share my thoughts on the fourth episode today before I attempt to watch the fifth tonight.

Having established the backstory between Vignette and Rycroft, the story switches back to the present day. Rycroft continues his investigation of the mysterious deaths plaguing the city, and he learns that the deaths might have been caused by an undead amalgam of various Fae creatures. Meanwhile, Vignette must contend with the politics of the Raven and in the process is responsible for the death of another member of the gang. Meanwhile, Imogen plots to attain the financial assistance of Puck Agreus, and Absalom Breakspear finally manages to regain his son.

The episode marked some significant developments in character development and helped to move some parts forward, though not quite enough for my taste. I’m still waiting to see why exactly I should care about Imogen and her impending destitution. Marchant does the most with what she’s been given in the script, but I can honestly say that I find this particular storyline the most tedious to get through. Similarly, while I find the Puck Agreus fascinating as a character, as of yet the show hasn’t developed him enough for me to either understand exactly what his arc is nor why I should.

Now, in terms of both Rycroft and Vignette, things are a little better.

One gets the sense that Vignette’s forced killing of one of the other members of the Raven is going to have significant consequences on her development as a character. Unlike almost everyone else in the Burgue–Fae and human alike–she has managed so far to cling to some vestige of her moral compass. This, however, seems to be changing. Vignette is a bit of a loose canon, devoid of the things that once allowed her to understand her place in the world. And, of course, it’s pretty clear that she still loves Rycroft, and one gets the feeling that he may hold the key to her ultimate salvation.

For me, the highlight of this episode was twofold. One, the advancement of the Chancellor plot, in which the Absalom’s son is finally recovered from his captivity and the son’s realization that his mother was responsible for his kidnapping. The means in which this is revealed–he recognizes the sound of her heels clicking on stone–was, I think, one of the finest scenes the series has yet produced. And, of course, Jared Harris is always a pleasure to watch; I just wish the show would give him a bit more time to stretch his wings and help us to understand what makes him (and his wife Piety) really tick.

The other highlight was Rycroft’s encounter with the creature that is probably responsible for all of the murders, as well as the revelation that it is in all likelihood a golem fashioned of dead Fae. The scene with the haruspex, in which he has to provide his seed in order for her to work the magic to create a similar creature, is both disturbing and oddly sensual. This is one of the few times that we’ve seen the workings of magic in this world, and hopefully this means that we’ll see more in the future.

My major complaint with Carnival Row remains the same as it has from the beginning. While I can see some connections among the various disconnected storylines, the series hasn’t done a great deal so far to bring them together into any kind of coherent whole. For the most part, it can’t quite seem to decide which of them is the most important, and so it’s a little difficult to get emotionally invested in any character other than the primary duo of Rycroft/Vignette.

Overall, this was a satisfying episode, though I am starting to wonder just how much of the many mysteries that it has put into play it is going to satisfactorily solve by the time that the season ends.

Book Review: “The Rage of Dragons” (by Evan Winter)

KC Winters

Warning: Some spoilers for the novel ahead.

When I saw The Rage of Dragons sitting on the front table at Barnes and Noble some time ago and read the description on the jacket, I knew at once that I had to read it. So, I checked it out from my local library, sat down to read it, and found myself totally entranced. From beginning to end, the book is a ruthless–and at times brutal–exploration of the destructive (and redemptive) power of vengeance set in a world that teeters on the brink of absolute destruction.

When his father is killed at the order of the one of a villainous and callous noble, Tau swears that he will overcome his common blood and upbringing and become the greatest swordsman who ever lived. After he devotes himself to a life of the sword, he finds his loyalties–both political and personal–tested as he unwittingly becomes part of a much grander, and more dangerous, plot than he ever imagined.

The Rage of Dragons is epic fantasy in the vein of Brandon Sanderson, with a complex magic system and a hero who must work through significant trauma. While there is, of course, some attention paid to politics and the doings of the great, for most of the novel we are immersed in Tau’s world, which largely revolves around his training and the brutality that it entails. It thus also fits squarely within that tradition of epic fantasy that emphasizes the gory and violent side of the hero’s journey, and there were a few times when I had to put the novel down to give myself a breather from the unrelenting violence. This is not to say that A Rage of Dragons totally ignores the higher, more noble aspects of the epic tradition, only that it tends to access them through an emphasis on the redemptive power of violent action.

Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Tau is an unpleasant character, but he is definitely one that is sometimes difficult to like. I don’t think this would have been such a significant issue in the book if we’d been given some other characters’ point of view but, for better or worse, the vast majority of the novel is told from Tau’s perspective. This isn’t necessarily a problem, but it does mean that we don’t always get a macro-view of the events that are taking place in this fully-detailed world.

The novel is something of a slow burn, for while it reaches a crisis point quite quickly in the beginning, large swathes of the middle are dedicated to the grueling training that Tau undergoes as he attempts to exceed the limitations imposed by his lower-caste birth. These scenes are definitely not for the faint of heart, as Winter spares no detail his depiction of the brutality of this world. Sometimes, it’a a trifle difficult not to feel overwhelmed, both by the unrelenting depictions of violence in all of its forms and by the relentlessness of Tau’s suffering. That being said, by the time the novel really starts to heat up toward the end, you’ll find that you won’t be able to put it down. Indeed, the novel has one of the best-written climaxes that I’ve read in recent years.

For all of that, The Rage of Dragons does use Tau to show us the fundamental injustices of this world. For most men and women, Tau included (at first, at least), it is almost impossible to move beyond the limitations imposed by caste. While those in power insist that this is to help the Omehi people as a whole survive, Tau’s story reveals just how rotten and unjust the system has become and it leads one to wonder just how noble the Nobles truly are (the answer, I would venture to say, is not very much at all).

As with any great fantasy, The Rage of Dragons uses the hero’s journey to shine a light on issues that are significantly vaster and more complicated than one individual character. In this case, we are asked to think about one of the most uncomfortable (and, I daresay, intractable) issues facing the contemporary world: colonialism and its aftermath. The world of the novel is one in which the Omehi have, for centuries, sought to bring the hedeni (the “savages”) to heel, with increasingly limited results. This is a world that is confronted by a seemingly never-ending war, with a magic system–including a control of dragons–that is essentially dangerous and, quite possibly, destructive.

If I have one minor complaint, it’s that we don’t get the perspective of any of the absolutely fascinating and powerful female characters. While many of them–including Tau’s beloved, Zuri–do great things throughout the novel, we only rarely get their point of view. When we do, however, they crackle with intensity, and so I hope that Winter weaves in more female perspectives in sequel volumes.

By the end of the novel, things are in a state of unrest, and Tau has yet to recover from the wounds (both physical and psychological) that he has endured during the course of the novel. The entire realm has been plunged into chaos and bloodshed, a fragile peace between the hedeni and the Omehi has been shattered by the treachery of nobles. At this point, it remains to be seen whether Tau will be able to overcome his own limitations to become the savior of his country and his queen. There is definitely a lot of room for further plot and character development in the sequel volumes and I, for one, simply cannot wait to read them.

Winter joins a remarkable group of young writers of color who are broadening the parameters of epic fantasy. Given how racially problematic (and sometimes outright racist) the genre has historically been, these men and women are embarking on bold new journeys that challenge us to rethink our assumptions about what stories epic fantasy can and should be telling.

The Rage of Dragons marks an extraordinary debut from an extraordinarily talented new voice in fantasy.

TV Review: Carnival Row: “Kingdoms of the Moon” (S1, Ep. 3)

KC Winters

Warning: Some spoilers for the episode follow.

The third episode of Amazon’s original series Carnival Row marks rather a departure from the episodes preceding it, as it takes us back in time to learn of how Vignette and Rycroft first met and fell in love. Though they forge a powerful bond in the midst of terrible war and suffering in Vignette’s homeland, ultimately Rycroft chooses to lie to her about his death, in the hopes that in doing so he can spare her heartache and perhaps save her life. She, of course, not only sees this as a profound betrayal of their love, but also points out to him that, had he but trusted their feelings and love for one another, they could have spent the preceding years building a future together rather than suffering loneliness and (in her case) despair.

In my opinion, this was the strongest episode so far, precisely because it remained focused on the two main leads and their burgeoning relationship. In fact, I wouldn’t have minded seeing at least one more episode treat us to this backstory, since it’s clear that the two leads have a great deal of chemistry and that the story is, in some ways, at the heart of the series as a whole. I’m sincerely hoping that the two of them end up getting back together, which seems to be the endpoint of their respective stories.

Indeed, the episode’s revelation that Rycroft is in fact half-Fae substantially raises the stakes of the story, since we now know that he has something to hide. For the first time since the series began, we really get to see a bit of what makes him tick. Of course, we’ve gotten some glimpses of that in earlier episodes, but now we know why he has such an enduring sympathy with the Fae, even though doing so puts him in marked opposition to many of his fellows among the police.

The episode also reveals a tiny bit more about the Pact, the enemy of the Fae that has, so far, lurked at the corners of the narrative. Though that doesn’t change a great deal here, we do nevertheless learn a bit more about them: that they are also not human (and may in fact be of the same blood, even if those that we see appear quite human) and that they are technologically advanced enough to have airships and machine guns (indeed, their appearance near the end of the episode is quite chilling).

We also get a tiny glimmer of understanding of how the humans and the Fae regard one another. It’s clear that the latter are significantly older than the former, even if humanity has managed to attain more technological marvels than their non-human counterparts. One gets the sense that it is the Fae’s antiquity that at least in part explains humans’ antipathy toward them, for it’s well-known that humanity loves to destroy what it can’t (or won’t) properly understand on its own terms.

Overall, I thought this episode marked a significant improvement over the ones that preceded it, in large part because it focused so much on two characters whose arcs have clear stakes. In fact, I think that it’s multitudinous plot lines are one of the series’ weaknesses. It’s fine for an a sprawling story like this to have many different characters and points of view, but you have to give us enough of them to grow and develop and make us care about them, and I’m afraid the series just hasn’t done that so far. For that matter, it really hasn’t given us much of an understanding of the precise political stakes of what’s going on, mostly because the Chancellor Absalom (the always-excellent Jared Harris) has had so little screen time to stretch his wings.

Hopefully, the next five episodes will tell us a lot more about the way that the political winds are blowing and provide answers to at least some of the questions that these first few episodes have raised. If not, then I have the unfortunate suspicion that I am going to grow very bored of this series, and that really does seem a shame, considering it’s very intriguing premise and strong cast.

So, here’s to another episode!

Fantasy Classics: “Kushiel’s Mercy” (by Jacqueline Carey)

KC Winters

Note: Some spoilers follow.

And so we come at last to the conclusion of Imriel’s story arc, and what a journey it’s been, full of heartache and dark magic, soaring passion and dark despair, political turmoil and emotional despair. Kushiel’s Mercy begins with Imriel and Sidonie, illicit lovers, opening up to everyone about their love for one another. This, obviously, does not sit well with Sidonie’s mother Queen Ysandre, nor with many peers of the realm, many of whom cannot quite let go of the fact that his mother Melisande cost the lives of many of their families and friends with her acts of treason. Thus, to clear his name and earn the right to marry her, he plans to bring her at last to justice. Unfortunately, matters become significantly more complicated when both Sidonie and the entire City of Elua are placed under a malignant spell by the Carthaginians, and Imriel must do everything in his power–even consulting his mother–to save everyone and everything he loves.

The novel moves at amazingly fast pace while at the same time keeping us ensnared in its narrative twists and coils. It’s one of those books that, once you start reading it, you find yourself pulled inescapably onward. Part of this, certainly, has to do with the intense relationship between Sidonie and Imriel. Carey has a true gift for conveying the power of emotions and for doing so while also emphasizing the sexual side of human relationships. In my opinion, she’s one of the few authors to truly rival Anne Rice in her ability to convey both the fiery sizzle and smoky sensuousness of the act of sex.

The characters, of course, are all the ones that we love, as well as a few (most notably the Carthaginians) that we come to truly hate for what they have done to the people that we have come to care about through the course of this series. Imriel in particular has really grown on me. While I’m not sure that he’ll ever have quite the same place in my heart as his foster-mother Phèdre, there’s no doubt that he is a good man simply trying to live the best life that he can. It’s thus uniquely rewarding to see him finally earn his heart’s desire and wed Sidonie at the end.

If I have one complaint, it’s that we didn’t get the chance to see Melisande one last time after Imriel and Sidonie’s return to the City of Elua. I held out hope there at the end that she might make a surreptitious appearance at their wedding, perhaps in disguise, but alas my hopes were foiled. Still, her reunion with Imriel is touchingly understated and, in a bit of delicious irony, it’s actually her machinations that ultimately prove essential to saving the land that she almost brought to its knees (twice). And, what’s more, these scenes in the novel prove once and for all that, monstrous as she may be in many ways, Melisande is not completely evil, that even in her heart there is still the possibility for love.

Personally, I found this to be by far my favourite of the three books devoted to Imriel. As the story pounded toward its conclusion, I literally felt my pulse getting faster, as Imriel races to try to save the City of Elua from the depths of absolute madness. There were even times where I was uncertain whether all of the main characters were going to survive, until I remembered that I wasn’t reading Game of Thrones.

In fact, I am always pleasantly surprised by how intensely these books believe in the essential goodness of humanity. Kushiel’s Mercy, like its predecessors, takes great pains to show that, even in the darkest of times, there is still something that’s worth believing and worth fighting for. Even though it has become rather popular in fantasy to emphasize the essential darkness and rottenness at the heart of most men and women, Carey’s books seem to take to heart the most important precept of Blessed Elua: “Love as thou wilt.” As a result, you emerge from Kushiel’s Mercy feeling a great deal of optimism. If even a character like Melisande can experience redemption, then who among us is truly doomed?

This isn’t to say that the novel doesn’t have its fair share of villainy, for there is no doubt that the cunning Carthaginians are rapacious and evil, particularly the primary villains. What’s more, this novel takes us into some truly dark places as far as magic goes, which has been true of the last several volumes. Though there isn’t one clear magic system that governs this entire world, it still lives and breathes with its own grounded reality, and you find yourself believing utterly in its workings. And, believe me, these enchantments sometimes become quite intense indeed (how else to describe an spell that ensnares an entire city?)

Kushiel’s Mercy is about many things: about the ability of love to triumph over all, of the strain of loyalty; of the complex (and often fraught) relationship between desire and duty. It is also a fitting conclusion to the story arc that began so long ago with Phédre and Joscelin attempting to save their beloved country from the machinations of those who would see her brought low. Somehow, Jacqueline Carey manages to make it all come together into a seamless whole, one that, like a good sexual romp, leaves you completely satisfied and yet emotionally exhausted. What more could you ask from a book?

Having finished the two trilogies dealing with Phèdre and Imriel, it’s time now to turn to one of the descendants of Sidonie’s sister Alais. While I’m looking forward to more adventures set in this world, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was sad to leave behind the characters that I have come to know and love so dearly.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and so I look forward to reading the next trilogy.

TV Review: Carnival Row (S1, Ep. 1: “Some Dark God Wakes”

KC Winters

When I first saw the trailers for Amazon’s new original series Carnival Row, I admit I was intrigued. I don’t normally watch or read a great deal of steam punk–which was what this series appeared to be–but something about it called to me. And, since I’ve been impatiently awaiting the arrival of the new television adaptation of His Dark Materials, I figured I might as well give this a try.

I’m glad I did.

The majority of the first episode takes place in the city known as the Burgue and primarily centers on Constable Rycroft Philostrate (Orlando Bloom), who investigates a series of unsolved assaults and murders, and his Fae wife Vignette Stonemoss (Cara Delevingne), whom he abandoned, who has come to the city as well. Together, they each find that the world that they thought they knew is altogether more dangerous and deadly. By the end of the episode, the entire city of the Burgue seems on the edge of multiple catastrophes: political, social, and perhaps even cosmological.

Both Bloom and Delevingne turn in solid performances, and I found myself liking both characters and wanting to know more about them (though it is very unfair that Bloom continues to age so damn well). There are also some very entertaining secondary characters, though most of these (with the possible exception of Jared Harris’s Chancellor Absalom Breakspear) remain at the margins of the narrative rather than its center. However, it’s clear that each of them is a part of the skein that the series is weaving.

Generically, Carnival Row is some strange amalgam of film noir, fantasy, steam punk, and dark fantasy. Somehow, though, it manages to bring all of these together into a fairly cohesive story (at least, as of the first episode). “Some Dark God” does a great deal to set the stage and to introduce us to this world. The Fae are a group that have been exploited by colonial powers for their own benefit and, abandoned by their former allies, they are brutally oppressed by a sinister group known as the Pact. The episode reveals just enough of this backstory, as well as its political and social ramifications in the Burgue, to leave the viewer wanting more.

Of course, it is not lost on me that the film has a great deal of contemporary relevance, given that one of the central issues is the influx of immigrants from a country that was exploited by colonial overlords and then left to its own devices. At times, the allegory is a little too on-the-nose, and I’m sure that this will alienate some viewers. However, sometimes it’s necessary for fantasy to hold up a mirror to our own flaws, no matter how ugly and unseemly they might be, no matter how difficult they may be for us to really want to deal with. “Some Dark God Wakes” does a good job of that, though I do hope that it gets a little more sophisticated in future episodes.

Indeed, there are some signs of that already since, by the end of the episode, some new wrinkles have been thrown into the mix, and we’re left wondering if, just possibly, there is indeed, as the title suggests, a dark force at work that is greater and more sinister than anyone realizes. I’m always up for some cosmological conflict, and that is definitely one thing that fantasy as a genre and a mode of storytelling can accomplish better than almost any other form of literature.

Overall, I thought that the first episode was a fine introduction to the world that Carnival Row has taken as its setting. It’s just one more illustration that Amazon has committed to building up its fantasy offerings. Fortunately, the first season only has eight episodes, so hopefully that means that it will be able to keep its narrative threads in order.

Stay tuned for my next review of the series, coming soon!

Book Review: “A Time of Blood” (by John Gwynne)

KC Winters

Warning: Some spoilers follow.

It is a time of great darkness and unrest in the Banished Lands.

Bleda, the young warrior of the Sirak, struggles with his feelings for the half-Ben-Elim-half-human Riv, even as she contends with the consequences of her revealed heritage. The warrior Drem escapes from the horrors of the north, only to find that the battle has just begun. And, on the other side of the battle, the sorceress and priestess Fritha attempts to gain her vengeance against Drem and against those that betrayed her and cost her the life of her child.

As with its predecessor, the action here is non-stop. The novel picks up right where its predecessor leaves off, and we follow the characters as they all perform their parts in the forthcoming clash between the Ben-Elim and the Kadoshim. We witness their trials and their victories, watch men and women killed brutally in battle and, by the end of the novel, we feel as if we have endured all of this with the characters. Part of t his has to do with Gwynne’s impeccable eye for good pacing, but just as much stems from the fact that he manages to imbue each of his characters with their own individual traits and perspectives that make them worthy of our respect.

If anything, this installment in the series is even bleaker than its predecessor, with our heroes caught in terrible situations by the end, with hope nowhere in sight. More than that, though, the novel does at times stray into the horrific, particularly when we see the many experiments that Fritha conducts on those who have fallen into her clutches. Though the novel doesn’t go into too much detail about the actual process by which she creates new hybrid creatures from the dismembered parts of old ones, the results of such things are frightening enough.

Despite her barbaric experiments, A Time of Blood allows us inside Fritha’s head for large parts of the story. Through the novel, we learn a lot about her backstory, and it is finally explained why it is that she bears the Ben-Elim such a powerful grudge and why she remains so determined to see them destroyed. Given how we have already seen how unbending Ben-Elim justice can be, and how willing they are to sacrifice the lives of those humans who are supposedly under their protection, one can see why she would be so willing to turn her considerable military and magical talents against them. That being said, she still commits some truly heinous acts throughout the story, and though we may come closer to understanding her and her motives, but it is also true that we continue to regard her with horror and fascinated revulsion.

Given how ably A Time of Blood delves into the psychology and motivations of one of its main antagonists, I was also particularly struck by the ways in which the novel explores the themes of identity and loyalty. All of the characters, good and bad alike, contend with the demands placed upon them by their particular social situations. All of them bear the scars of their pasts, and each and every one–even, perhaps especially Fritha–has seen the sorts of loss that would have broken a lesser being.

And, of course, their identities tie in with their loyalties, and Riv in particular feels the bite of this as she has to decide whether her identity as a halfbreed means that she should identify more with the Ben-Elim or with her human counterparts. And given the fact that the Ben-Elim are either notoriously unbending and puritanical (as is the case with Lord Protector Israfil) or cunning and disloyal (as is the case with Kol), it’s easy to understand why she would feel so conflicted.

For there is thus no question that both the Kadoshim and the Ben-Elim are deeply flawed, the former because of their lust to destroy everything in their path, the latter because of their puritanical belief that theirs is the only way to gain an understanding of the workings of Elyon, the one who created all. Nothing illustrates this more than the way in which the two groups treat their half-human progeny. While the Ben-Elim almost unanimously regard such hybrids as an abomination, the Kadoshim regard them with something akin to love, even if they also see them as yet another piece in their eventual game to destroy their enemies. In the end, it’s hard to say which side has the right of it, and that is part of the novel’s sinister genius.

Having now finished two books in Of Blood and Bone, I’m struck again by the gritty darkness that is a hallmark of this world. Gwynne doesn’t shy away from the brutality and intensity of battle. There are numerous descriptions of violence (so this may not be suitable for you if that isn’t your thing), but they don’t feel gratuitous. Instead, they feel like the hallmarks of a grim world that always teeters on the brink of destruction. One has to be hard to live in these lands. As a result, A Time of Blood, like its predecessors, feels very akin to the epics of the ancient north.

A Time of Blood does an excellent job of avoiding the pitfalls of second book syndrome. The plot-lines established in the first novel have moved forward in ways that make sense, and the state has been set for the climactic battle that will, it can be hoped, decide the fate of the Banished Lands. Given how many of the characters that I loved from The Faithful and the Fallen met their deaths in the last book, I’m not terribly hopeful that many of the characters from this one will survive this climactic battle but, as the old saying goes, hope springs eternal.

There’s only one drawback to loving a book so much that you finish it in two days: you have to wait several months for the concluding volume to be released!

Book Review: “A Time of Dread” (by John Gwynne)

KC Winters

As soon as I began reading John Gwynne’s series The Faithful and the Fallen, I fell in love. This was epic fantasy in the finest old tradition, full of nobility and heroism, tragedy and sacrifice. As with all good books, I felt a little devastated at the end, knowing that a truly great fantasy saga had come to an end.

I was, needless to say, very excited indeed to see that he was at work on a sequel series, one that takes place roughly a hundred years later. So excited, in fact, that I was actually able to finish the book in just a few days after receiving it in the mail.

A Time of Dread focuses on four characters: the Bleda, a hostage taken to ensure his mother’s good behaviour; Riv, a hot-headed young woman struggling to become a warrior; Drem, a young man with a mysterious past who lives with his father; and Sig, a giantess and one of the few who can still remember the days of the first series of novels. Each of them finds themselves caught up in the dark times in which they live.

The Banished Lands have changed a great deal since the days when Corban was the Bright Star, struggling against the Black Sun and the forces of the demon lord Asroth. The Ben-Elim, seemingly humanity’s saviours, have turned into brutal dictators. Led by the Lord Protector Israfil and his faithful retainers, they enforce a puritanical rule on all who live under their dominion. Meanwhile, their sworn enemies the Kadoshim are decimated but far from defeated, and they have begun to scheme and plot for their return. Led by their chieftain Gulla, they plan to finish what Asroth began.

The novel is a little more tightly focused than its predecessors, due in part both to the more limited number of characters and the very different world they inhabit. The novel explores what happens after the ending of a traditional epic fantasy, in which the forces of good have managed to defeat those of evil. In Gwynne’s universe, the battle against the forces of darkness is never truly over, for it always tends to regroup, determined to launch a fresh assault. Throughout the novel, all four of the characters must contend with the fact that the stability and rules that have governed the world for over a century are coming to an end.

In many ways, A Time of Dread reminds me a bit of what Tolkien had envisioned as a sequel to The Lord of the Rings, in which men fell once more into dark and sinister designs, with cults rising up and children playing at Orcs. In this new, unsettling, and often quite terrifying world that Gwynne has crafted, men become beasts, humans and their angelic counterparts breed, and everything seems to teeter on a knife’s edge.

The characters are, of course, a little old-fashioned in their heroism. I say that not as a criticism but instead to highlight how refreshing it is to see women and men in a fantasy novel who aren’t completely idiots or shits (I’m looking at you, GRRM). Although there are elements of grimdark in Gwynne’s work–it is called A Time of Dread, after all–the novel never seems to lose sight of the fundamental humanity and nobility at the heart of its characters. These are people that you can actually cheer for and like, ones that you can suffer with, whose joys and sorrows that you can share.

One of the things that I’ve loved about Gwynne’s work is the fact that his heroines are as kickass as the heroes. These are women who know how to hold their own and who can fight just as well as any of the men (and often better). Sig the giantess was probably my favourite character in the entire book, but Riv is definitely a close second. Like any good epic heroine, she has her own journey to take, and there are things about her that set her apart from her fellows, though the most important of those remain unrevealed until almost the very end.

And, of course, no review of Gwynne’s book would be complete without mentioning the crows. Rab the albino is one of the novel’s more rascally characters, and it’s good to see that the wily crow from the original series is both still alive and has managed to produce a rather large and unruly flock of descendants. This particular character, while only tangential to the narrative, offers a moment of brightness and levity to an otherwise very dark setting.

All in all, I really quite enjoyed this new outing from Gwynne. I do feel it is worth noting, though, that this is an incredibly violent and visceral world. While this may not be to everyone’s taste, I do think that it is true to the world-building that he established in his previous series. The Banished Lands are not a place for the weak, and it takes a great deal of strength and violence just to stay alive for another day.

Generically, Of Blood and Bone feels a bit more like a rousing adventure yarn than a sprawling epic, and to me that’s just fine. Gwynne is someone who has a firm grasp of his story and the best way in which to tell it. Reading this, you almost get the sense that you are living in the midst of one of the great tales of the ancient north, full of monster and bitter ice, blood and steel and dark magic, with just a bit of Christian lore (there are angels and demons, after all) thrown into the mix to make things interesting. I can guarantee you that there is not one moment in this novel that is at all boring. It keeps you riveted from the first page to the last, and it leaves you panting for more.

I’m already hard at work reading the follow-up, A Time of Blood, and I love it already. Stay tuned for my review!