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!

Book Review: “The Queens of Innis Lear” (by Tessa Gratton)

KC Winters

I’ve been meaning to read this book for quite a while now. I first saw in the new release section at B&N and though that it sounded like a compelling read.

Boy, I was not wrong.

The Queens of Innis Lear is a high fantasy reimagining of Shakespeare’s tragedy King Lear. Lear is, in this tale, the king of the isle of Innis Lear, utterly devoted to the worship of the stars, so much so that he has forbidden the old forms of magic that once gave the island life. When he command his three daughters–Gaela, Regan, and Elia–to tell him how much they love him, he is enraged when his youngest doesn’t flatter him and he banishes her from his kingdom. In doing so, he sets in motion a chain of events that will tear both the island and his family apart.

The book crackles with a rather strange poetic mystery, and I found myself drawn in with every page. Gratton has a true gift with her prose, one unlike almost anything else I’ve read recently. It’s at times beautiful and yet also unsettling, a fitting means of conveying the profound unease that drives the novel’s plot. Just as Innis Lear struggles under the tyrannical rule of Lear and his fanatical devotion to the stars, so the very prose of the novel struggles under the titanic forces of personal loyalty and betrayal as each of the major characters tries to break free of the ties of destiny and obligation that constantly circumscribe their actions.

The novel is a very dark retelling, which is appropriate, considering that the original play is a tragedy. All of the major characters are significantly flawed, some more than others. In fact, I frequently found myself disliking most, if not all, of the major characters at some point, and while some might find this a bit of a turnoff, I actually found it refreshing. The world that Gratton has created is a harsh and unforgiving one, and this is especially true of Innis Lear. One of the key conflicts of the novel is between the cold destiny of the stars and the more earth-driven magic that is native to the isle, and each of the characters struggles (often with fatal results) with some aspect of this dichotomy.

The women of the novel are, it should be said, incredibly powerful, though each manifests it somewhat differently. Gaela, the eldest, attempts to forge herself into a weapon with which she can rule the isle as its king, while her sister Regan (to whom she is bound by ties deeper than they share with anyone else) is more attuned to the powers of the island. And Elia, once her father’s favourite, must try to strike a balance between the competing forces of her life. What I found particularly compelling about the novel was the fact that all three of them are distinctly non-white, since their mother was from a part of this fictional world that is non-European.

There is no question, however, that the most compelling character is Ban. Like his Shakespearean predecessor, Ban is tortured because of his status as a bastard. Whereas his father has always lavished his love and attention on Ban’s younger brother Rory, Ban has always wanted to be something greater. As clever and crafty as he is, and as talented as he is at harnessing the power of magic, he is always condemned to play a secondary role in the life of those around him. Even his mother, Brona the witch, seems to have other priorities. Like the greatest tragic characters of Shakespeare, Ban is fundamentally broken, and his tragedy is that he realizes this and can do little or nothing to change it. As a result, he sees himself as something of an agent of creative destruction, and while we may rightly regard many of his actions as despicable and sometimes cruel, he does have something of a point.

The world-building throughout the novel decent. One gets the sense that this is a fully fleshed-out world, but much of it remains off-stage. For much of the novel, the action takes place both on the isle of Innis Lear and the country of Aremoria (analogues of the original play’s England and France). Though there are mentions of other countries such as the Third Kingdom (the birthplace of Lear’s wife Dalat and Kayo the Oak Earl), there isn’t much said about them.

In that sense, The Queens of Innis Lear is driven much more by its characters. It’s a searing look at the consequences of fanaticism and unbending adherence to principles over people. Each of the characters, from the highest to the lowest, finds himself or herself caught up in forces that they can barely name or control, each weighed down by the pasts of family and of nation. And, while the novel has a substantially happier ending than the play upon which it is based, we are still left feeling a sense of melancholia at how much has been lost, and we are left to wonder whether Elia will ever fully recover from the destruction that has torn apart everything that she held dear.

The brilliance of The Queens of Innis Lear lies in its ability to seamlessly weave together the Shakespearean and fantastic elements into a coherent whole. One can see the glimmers of the original play in many aspects of it, even as one can marvel at the way that Gratton has bent it into a new shape. This says a great deal not only about the strengths of the novel on its own, but also about Gratton as a storyteller. To be able to take such a famous story and remake it into something terrifying and visceral and beautiful is the mark of a very gifted writer indeed.

It’s already been announced that Gratton has written another fantasy reimagining of Shakespeare, titled Lady Hotspur. Given how much I enjoyed this novel, I can’t wait to what Gratton has in store for us!

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

tjwest3

Having finished the original Kushiel series, I found myself longing to immerse myself again in that fascinating and sensual world. I’d tried once before to read the next three volumes in the series, which focus on Imriel, but for some reason just couldn’t get into them as much. This time around, however, I’ve found myself irresistibly drawn to Imriel’s story.

Imriel de la Courcel is a haunted youth. His mother is the most reviled traitor that Terre D’Ange has ever known, and though he tries to be good, the expectations of his fellow nobles (and their scheming) makes it tremendously difficult, if not impossible. When he travels to the ancient and weary city of Tiberium, he finds himself drawn into the clutches of the delicious and erotic noblewoman Claudia Fulvia, who is herself part of the Guild of the Nameless, a sinister group of manipulators. Ultimately, he has to confront his destiny and his responsibilities as a Prince of the Blood.

Part of the pleasure of the novel stems from the way in which Carey manages to make Imriel a fully-fledged character in his own right. This is not, in other words, a re-tread of Phedre’s story, but an entirely different narrative with different stakes and consequences for what happens. Imriel is haunted by his memories from his time as a prisoner of the Mahrkagir in DarÅ¡anga, as well as by the legacy of treason left behind by his mother. A great deal of the novel, then, revolves around his desire to be good, to overcome the darkest parts of his past and try to forge his own destiny.

But he is also haunted by something much deeper than that. Though he would rather it were not so, he is a member of the Shahrizai, and as such he has the power and legacy of Kushiel running through his veins. One of the most compelling (and disturbing) parts of the novel occurs when he grabs Phédre by the wrist and, upon seeing the flash of desire go through her eyes, knows that he must get away or risk destroying the genuine love and affection he has for her. As she always does, Carey ably demonstrates the complex, and sometimes contradictory, impulses that govern our actions and our feelings.

While he hopes to find some measure of peace and understanding Tiberium, the opposite turns out to be true as he is drawn first into the orbit of the noblewoman Claudia Fulvia and then into a war involving a minor city-state and, most startling of all, a ghost who inhabits his friend Lucius. The sequences in the city-state of Lucca are at once gritty and terrifying, a testament to Carey’s unique ability to draw us into a scene, whether it’s in the bedroom or on the battlefield.

As was the case with the first three volumes of this series, Carey has a phenomenal ability to capture the beauty and the terror of sexual desire. Imriel is driven by forces that he can barely understand, and the blood of Kushiel beats in his veins. Try as he might to escape this legacy, he finds that sometimes it is better to accept the flaws in one’s nature and to learn to use one’s scars as an opportunity for growth. Kushiel’s Scion demonstrates the extent to which we are shaped by our past experiences and traumas, even as we must also not let them completely confine and define us.

And, of course, hanging over all of this is the shadow of Melisande, Imriel’s beautiful, deadly mother. By this point, we know that she has come to be revered in some parts of Caerdicca Unitas as nothing less than a goddess, and Melisande, with her insightful eye for the main chance, has done little or nothing to discourage this belief and has instead used it to her advantage. It remains to be seen whether Imriel will have the chance to confront her and demand the justice that has long been denied.

By the end of the novel, there are still many things left unresolved, and it remains to be seen how Imriel will continue dealing with the legacy of his mother’s betrayals and his own obligations as a member of the royal family. I can’t wait to see what awaits him in the next volume of the series.

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

KC Winters

The third novel in Jacqueline Carey’s trilogy about the adventures of the courtesan Phédre picks up ten years after the events of Kushiel’s Chosen. In that time, she has struggled to find the key to releasing her beloved childhood companion Hyacinthe from his forced apprenticeship to the Master of the Straits. In the novel, Phédre must go on two separate but related quests: to save Imriel (son of her enemy and lover Melisande) and to find the Name of God that will enable her to free Hyacinthe. In both instances, she will find herself plunged into ancient and dark places, and she will have to give up a great deal in the process.

As with the earlier two entries, Carey conjures up her world with meticulous detail. We are introduced here to the land of DarÅ¡anga, whose ruler, the Mahrkagir, practices a perverted form of Zoroastrianism and in doing so hopes to bring about the corruption of the world by the evil Angra Mainyu. We also journey deep into the heart of Carey’s fictional Africa, to the kingdom of Saba, whose residents have remained cut off from the outside world and who have in their custody the keeping of the Ark of the Covenant.

While the earlier books in the series certainly went to some dark places, in this novel Carey takes this to new levels. The sinister realm of DarÅ¡anga, ruled over by the mad Mahrkagir, is one of the most compellingly written sequences in any recent fantasy. Carey immerses us in the despair and madness that Phédre endures as she struggles to survive in this world, ad she helps us to see the extent to which the fate of the entire world hinges on her ability to see to it that the ravenous, destructive force of Angra Mainyu isn’t unleashed on the rest of the world. Though she eventually succeeds, one gets the feeling that the damage that has been done will scar all of the characters for the rest of their lives.

Kushiel’s Avatar shows us the extent to which actions have consequences that often go beyond the immediate future. Melisande’s treachery has earned her the harsh mercy of Kushiel, and though it is unfortunate that the innocent Imriel must bear the brunt of his justice, it is also somewhat fitting. What better way to demonstrate the extent of Kushiel’s cruel mercies than by sending an innocent into the very heart of darkness itself? Indeed, had Melisande not done what she had in her own ruthless pursuit of power, it is entirely possible that the ultimate forces of the void would have swept all before them.

All of this feeds into the novel’s epic ambitions. Indeed, Kushiel’s Avatar comes closest to fitting within the narrative conventions of the epic. Here, the consequences of the story are not just about the politics and fates of a nation–though that is still part of the background–but of the very gods themselves. As their chosen avatar, it is up to Phédre to avert a catastrophe.

Kushiel’s Avatar is also about the terrible choices that one must frequently make on the journey to salvation. From the deeply personal–such as Phédre and Hyactinthe deciding that they cannot, in the end, become a couple–to the Phédre decision to embrace the darkness at the heart of DarÅ¡anga, these are the times that try the souls of our heroes. None of these choices are easy, and though the novel does have a happy ending, it also makes it clear that no one–not Phédre, not Joscelin, not Imriel, not Hyacinthe–will emerge unscathed from the things that they have endured. There are some wounds that never fully heal, and all one can do is embrace the small joys that life still brings.

I very much enjoyed Kushiel’s Avatar, and the novel once again demonstrates the extent to which Carey definitely deserves her accolades as one of the finest writers of fantasy working today. Her ability to do new things with the epic fantasy genre, particularly her lush prose and explicit sexuality, really does set her apart from almost anyone else working with the form. I can’t wait to see what the next books hold, as we switch from Phédre’s journeys to those of Imriel, the boy born of traitors and saved from the ultimate darkness.

Book Review: “The Lost Queen” (by Signe Pike)

KC Winters

It’s not easy writing a book that offers a new, fresh, and exciting take on the Arthurian legend. After all, it’s one of the most famous legends in the history of English literature. Somehow, though, Signe Pike has managed to do so, and The Lost Queen is an absolute triumph of storytelling.

Languoreth is the daughter of a powerful Scottish king, and her foremost ambition is to be a Wisdom Keeper, one of a select group of men (and a very few women) tasked with maintaining their ancient religion. That fate, however, has been decreed for her brother Lailoken, while she is destined to marry a powerful prince and help bring stability to her world. Though she does ultimately wed a man for the good of her kingdom, her heart will always belong to the dark and brooding Maelgwn, a warrior whose fate lies to the south.

Throughout the book, Languoreth comes across as a fierce and proud woman determined to seize what bits of happiness she can, despite the limits placed upon her because of both her sex and her status. As the daughter of a king and the brother of a man destined to be a Wise One himself, she knows that she has a duty to perform to her people, yet she is also not afraid to follow her own heart when it suits her. The novel allows us to see inside her mind as she struggles to maintain a balance between her own personal desires and the people she has sworn to protect.

I’ve heard some say that The Lost Queen is the new Mists of Avalon, without all of the ugly baggage of Marion Zimmer Bradley, and I think there’s something to that comparison. The Lost Queen depicts a world on the brink of great social, cultural, and political change, as zealous Christians like Mungo will not rest until they have brought the entire edifice of the ancient way crumbling to the ground. Laguoreth, as a passionate believer in the old religion, attempts to keep the Christian forces at bay, even while she also has to accept that politics sometimes makes personal satisfaction in matters of faith impossible. The Lost Queen is full of evocative scenes in which Languoreth immerses herself in the sensual spirituality of her ancestors.

It’s also a world in which the force of arms is often the only thing standing between the remnants of the British tribes and the hordes of Saxons that seem poised to sweep across the island and make it their own. In Pike’s telling, the Pendragon (which here is a title rather than a surname per se), is headquartered near Hadrian’s Wall, where he leads a group of warriors that are descendants of the Sarmatians brought to Britain by the Romans. It’s an interesting theory, and there’s no doubt that Pike paints this world in bright and vivid colors. She’s one of those exceptional historical fiction authors who can, through her exquisite prose, conjure up the experience of living in a particular historical period.

That being said, I’m not entirely sure that I buy the idea that the real Arthurian legends took place in Scotland, though Pyke does make a compelling case for that notion in her author’s note. It’s a fascinating way of looking at the legends of King Arthur, and if nothing else it makes us look anew at these legends and the men and women who inhabit them.

As fascinating as the politics, are, however, the book is essentially about relationships. Languroeth’s fiery passions draw you in and don’t let you go, from the first page to the last. You yearn with her as she encounters Maelgwn, and you weep with her as she realizes that she must choose duty over her own desire. While you may not always agree with what she does–she’s not a flawless heroine, by any means–Pike at least allows you to understand her desires and motivations.

Having now finished The Lost Queen, I’m finding that I’m very excited indeed for the next volume, which is due out in 2020. I daresay that we are in for a treat, and that Pike is fated to become one of the most respected authors of women’s historical fiction writing today.

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

tjwest3

It’s a very rare thing for an author to follow up a delicious first novel with a sequel that is just as satisfying.

Well, Jacqueline Carey has done it, giving us Kushiel’s Chosen.

The novel picks up right after the end of the previous one, where Phédre attempts to discover the whereabouts of the traitor Melisande Shahrizai, the woman who very nearly brought about the end of the kingdom of Terre D’Ange. In the process, she encounters not only the viper’s nest of Serenissima, but also falls in with a pirate, a priestess, and a terrible confrontation with her own guilt. In the end, Phédre must come close to sacrificing everything she holds dear to save the country she loves.

Melisande continues to be one of the most compelling, exquisite, and yet utterly repelling creations in all of fantasy literature. Her cunning and her utter ruthlessness draw the reader as much as they do Phédre, and while it is very easy to hate her, you can’t help but admire her absolute willingness and ability to do whatever she has to do gain power for herself. However, it would be inaccurate to say that Melisande is amoral; rather, it is that she lives by her own rules. As she says to Phedre, Elua and his Companions care little for politics.

Though the fraught and deadly connection between Phédre and Melisande is one of the novel’s (and the series’) most compelling aspects, that between Joscelin and Phèdre is arguably the more complex and meaningful. They have the grave misfortune of being diametrically opposed in terms of their temperaments: Phèdre, an anguisette who experiences pain as pleasure, he a renounced Cassiline who cannot help but love her but can’t bear the thought of hurting her. Carey keeps the two of them balanced on an exquisite edge of conflict, even while reassuring us that they do, in fact, love one another.

I’ve always had a particular penchant for fantasy that works at the crossroads of historical fantasy and traditional fantasy. It’s a surprisingly rare type, and rarer still to find someone who does it with skill. Carey manages to create a world that lives and breathes with the same vibrancy as our own. These are nations that have their own complex histories and mythologies, their own ways of being in the world. More than just a colorful backdrop, they also determine how the various characters interact, both with one another and with their environments. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

Serenissima is definitely the standout in this novel, for Carey manages to find creative ways around the dilemma posed by this world’s lack of Christianity as a hegemonic faith. Instead, the people of this world’s Venice worship Asherat and Baal Jupiter. What’s so startling about it is how right it feels for the world that she’s created and how seamlessly she twines together a culture that is very much that of Renaissance Venice with a faith that probably seems strange to us. And, as it turns out, that faith has an important role to play in the affairs of kingdoms.

If Kushiel’s Dart was about the power to triumph after tremendous adversity, Kushiel’s Chosen is about the power of the gods to influence our lives, and about the sacrifices that we must sometimes make in order to see to it that the greater good is served. Phèdre may have her flaws–most notably in her inability to do away with Melisande–but she is an honorable woman, one who loves her country and her queen dearly and deeply. However, she also recognizes that her actions (and inactions) have brought about the deaths of many and, however, well-intentioned she might be, she still must contend with the moral burden this places on her soul.

Overall, Kushiel’s Chosen is a finely crafted and exquisite follow-up to Kushiel’s Dart. With its intricate (one might even go so far as to say baroque) plot, erotic and sensuous prose, and vividly detailed world-building, it somehow manages to be a coherent work of erotic epic fantasy. Somehow, Carey manages to make us feel the depths of despair and the joy of triumph, and at the end, you emerge as satisfied as one of Phèdre’s patrons.

Who could ask for more?

Fantasy Classics: “Arrows of the Queen” (by Mercedes Lackey)

KC Winters

KC here. For quite a while now I’ve been been wanting to make my way through Mercedes Lackey’s “Valdemar” series. Since Kellen has already read many of the entries in the series, I’ll be in charge of blogging about this extraordinary world as I make my way through the books in the series, beginning with Arrows of the Queen.

Arrows of the Queen focuses on the young woman Talia. Raised among the puritanical and repressive Holderkin, she is raised to believe that she will never be anything more than a man’s wife. Fortunately for her, she is rescued by a Companion, one of the mystical beings–in the shape of a white horse–that mark her as a Herald, one of those sworn to serve the monarch. By the end of the novel, Talia has come to accept her place among the Heralds, as well as her position as the Queen’s Own.

There’s something uniquely pleasurable about a fantasy novel that doesn’t try to take on too much, that simply wants to tell a good story in a lean and fast-paced volume. Lackey’s prose is smooth and swift, and the book’s primary focus on Talia’s feelings and actions (with occasional forays into other characters with whom she interacts). This limited perspective keeps the action tightly-focused, without the sort of plot meanderings that all too frequently trip up other, larger fantasy offerings.

Don’t get me wrong: there is plenty of action and intrigue, as well. At this early point in the trilogy, however, much of the greater context of the kingdom and its troubles sits ominously in the background. It is only toward the middle of the novel that Talia becomes directly involved with the darker currents of the kingdom, particularly as takes the young princess Elspeth in hand and attempts to make her into the kind of woman that can be Chosen by a Companion and thus become queen. It’s thus clear from the beginning that Talia has a very grand destiny in front of her, one that may well change the entire course of the kingdom’s history.

One of the most refreshing things about Lackey’s Valdemar series is that it includes same-sex relationships that are as rich and developed as any of the heterosexual ones. While Talia herself is not a queer character, she is surrounded by several who are, and even at this early stage it is clear that Vanyel, one of the most important characters in the Valdemar mythos, had a man as his lifelong companion. On a broader level, I would even argue that Talia’s narrative as a whole emphasizes the very queer value of a chosen family, the idea that, when one’s biological family casts one out, it is possible to find emotional fulfillment with others of one’s own choosing. Indeed, as Talia’s time at the Collegium makes clear, the bonds forged in such a setting can be just as, if not more, fulfilling than the ones dictated by biology.

Relatedly, Lackey has an almost uncanny ability to wrench pathos from even secondary characters. There’s an emotional authenticity about many of the books in the Valdemar series that’s awfully rare in epic fantasy. Her characters are at once extremely strong and yet also exceedingly vulnerable, and this makes them very human. As a result, it’s almost impossible not to find yourself cheering for them and becoming intimately involved with their fates.

And, of course, no review of a Valdemar book would be complete without mentioning the Companions. Though the concept of magical horses might seem a bit trite to some, in Lackey’s capable hands they become a key part of the world, and the intense emotional bond that develops between Heralds and their Companions, especially that between Talia and Rolan, forms the backbone of the entire narrative. It takes a rare talent to make talking horses seem so natural, but luckily that perfectly describes Mercedes Lackey.

All in all, I very much enjoyed Arrows of the Queen. I know that I am just beginning on my journey through this enchanted world, but I am very excited indeed about working my way through Lackey’s prodigious corpus. Stay tuned for my future reviews, and thanks for reading!

Fantasy Classics: Kushiel’s Dart (by Jacqueline Carey)

KC Winters

Continuing on with my reviews of classics of fantasy literature, I’m turning my attention to the Kushiel series of books by Jacqueline Carey. The books, which were published throughout the 2000s and 2010s, have a (well-earned) reputation for managing to really do something new and exciting within the genre of epic fantasy. Combining elements of historical fiction, epic fantasy, and erotica, the series of books explores various issues related to politics, power, and desire.

Young woman Phédre is marked by a red mote in her eye known as Kushiel’s Dart, a sign that she is blessed (or cursed) to feel pain as pleasure. Sold into a form of indentured servitude by her impoverished parents, she eventually enters the sevice of the noble Delaunay, she quickly becomes adept in the art of politics and the bedchamber. Betrayed by the clever and cruel noblewoman Melisande, Phedre finds herself among the barbarian Skaldi and must use all of her resources–emotional, sexual, intellectual–to save her homeland and everything she holds dear from the relentless tide of invasion.

The world that Carey has created is as rich and textured as our own, and this often gives the novel the feeling of a historical novel as much as it is a fantasy one. This world has a history similar to ours, with a powerful empire that once ruled much of this world’s Europe, though here it is called Tiberium rather than Rome. Phèdre and her friends and loved ones live in a France-esque country called Terre ‘Dange, a land populated by the descendants of the demigod Elua and his companion angels. As our heroine journeys to various spots on the map, Carey immerses us in these worlds; even the barbarian Skaldi, who want to conquer the land of Terre d’Ange are painted in thoroughly human colours.

The plot is also very textured, sometimes to such an extent that it can be difficult to tell exactly what’s going on. To some degree, of course, this is a reflection of the Machiavellian intentions of the various characters, particularly Delaunay and Melisande; while the former wants to preserve the rule of the current royal house, the latter wants to seize the throne for herself. Each plays a

For all of its texture and length (this is epic fantasy, after all), the plot still moves at a lightning pace, moving us through the various pieces of the puzzle at top speed while also periodically slowing down to focus on the human aspect of the story. This allows Carey to explore the heights of triumph and the absolute depths of despair, and there are no characters in the book that are either completely evil or completely good. Even Melisande, the books ruthless villainess, is not entirely evil, and it is the magnificent complexity of her character (and Phèdre’s fraught relationship with her) that stands as one of the novel’s most important threads and, I would argue, its thematic and emotional center.

In terms of style, Jacqueline Carey has a tremendous command of language. There are only a handful of writers I can think of who manage to capture the sensuous and the erotic in a way that doesn’t come across as trite and cliche. The closest comparison I can think of is Anne Rice, who was also able to combine the historical and the fantastical through rich prose and imaginative world-building. And, like Rice, this book manages to straddle the line between hardcore and narrative fiction, and this gives the book a sensuous frisson that is unlike almost anything else that I’ve read. Thus, while there are very (sometimes very graphic) descriptions of sex, they are key to the plot rather than titillating in and of themselves.

Kushiel’s Dart is one of those very few novels that I’ve actually read more than once. It’s truly intoxicating in all of the best ways, immersing us in a world that lives and breathes, filled with all of the complexity and ambiguity of everyday life. Indeed, it stands as one of the primary inspirations for our own series, and while we cannot hope to achieve the heights of Carey’s own magnificent books, we hope we can at least come close.

Stay tuned for our review of the sequel, Kushiel’s Chosen!

Book Review: “The Fall of Shannara: The Stiehl Assassin” (by Terry Brooks)

KC Winters

Note: Some plot spoilers like ahead!

When it comes to the giants of fantasy, Terry Brooks is right up there with the greats. His book The Sword of Shannara, as well as the sprawling series that it spawned, helped nudge fantasy into the realm of financially viable genre rather than an idle curiosity. Now, 40-odd years later, we are coming to the chronological end of the Shannara saga, and the Four Lands stand on the precipice of catastrophe. The Skaar have invaded and are engaged in a tense standoff with the powerful Federation. However, new Ard Rhys Drisker Arc has a plan to (hopefully) avert the all-out war that seems inevitable, but to see it to completion he must enlist the aid of the Kaynin siblings, the boy Shea Ohmsford, the warrior Dar Leah, and the Elven prince Brecon Elessedil. Even then, his efforts might yet be thwarted by the villainous Druid Clizia Porse, who wants to see the Druid Order remade under her own aegis.

The novel moves at an amazingly brisk pace, drawing you along for the ride and leaving you a little breathless at the end. For all of that, the characters (as Shannara characters always do) still have a little time to live and breathe, to bring us into their own inner lives. And, unlike some fantasy authors–who only give us the perspectives of the good guys–Brooks gives us both the heroes and the villains. And, let me tell you, he is most definitely not afraid of killing off some significant characters.

In The Stiehl Assassin we also get to see some parts of the world that have remained unexplored. With a few exceptions, most of the stories set in the Shannara universe have taken place in the Four Lands or Four-Lands-adjacent. As part of the company is sent on a specific mission to the land of the Skaar, we get to see some of the lands they encounter along the way. At this point, those revelations have been fascinating but not terribly illuminating, but I have no doubt that will change in the fourth installment (and let’s hope that we actually get to see the land of the Skaar itself!)

Now, as to the villain of the piece: not since Shadea a’Ru have we seen a villain as cunning and cruel as Clizia Porse, a woman willing to sacrifice a great deal on the altar of her own ambition. However, Brooks does a great job of showing us that, beneath the ruthlessness, there is just a glimmer that she is something more than just a villain. She seems to have an idea that, if she is given control of the Druids, that she will be able to make the world a better one than the one she found. Of course, the lengths to which she is willing to go to do that–including acts of truly horrific violence–give the lie to whatever more noble ambitions she might have.

I have to admit that the best part of the novel for me was the appearance of Grianne Ohmsford at the Hadeshorn. Canny readers will recall that she was banished to the Forbidding at the end of the Dark Heritage of Shannara trilogy. Now, it seems that she is angling to find a way back into the Four Lands from which was banished. This, I think, is an eminently good thing for, as many people pointed out at the time, having her banished to the Forbidding seemed an awfully anticlimactic way to resolve her evolution as a character. She’s always been one of Brooks’s most fascinating creations, and I very much look forward to seeing how this storyline wraps up. Considering that, at novel’s end, Drisker has been dispatched by Clizia into the Forbidding, it’s virtually guaranteed that we’ll get to see Grianne in the next book.

What really stood out to me as I read this book, however, was how Brooks has started to expand the range of issues that he is willing to tackle through his fiction. While all of his books have always had deep philosophical themes–particularly focused on the environment–in this new quartet of novels we’ve really seen him diving deep into the question of colonialism. Are the Skaar justified in their invasion, given that their own home has become increasingly uninhabitable as a result of climate change? If not, what should the residents do about it? There are, of course, no easy answers to these questions. As in the real world, so in our best fictions.

The genius of the novel lies in its ability to weave together this larger question with the larger issue of magic vs. science that has been a prime motivator for the plots of many of the previous entries in the Shannara series. Now, it might just be that it is only through a cooperation between these two seemingly opposing forces that the world as it has come to be understood can be saved. Whether it will be successful, or whether the people of the Four Lands and the Skaar will lead each other toward mutual oblivion is still very much up in the air. One thing is for certain, though: nothing about the world that we have come to know and love will ever be the same.

So, now we stand at the brink of the end of an era. While Brooks has said that he will continue writing Shannara books that are set in previous eras, “The Fall of Shannara” will mark the chronological end of the saga. I’m still not sure that I’m ready to say goodbye, but at the very least we can say that it’s been a great run, and we are all very lucky indeed to have had such a great story for so many years. Somehow, by some alchemy, Brooks has managed to do the impossible: to continue making a venerable series as new and interesting and vibrant as it has ever been. For that, Mr. Brooks deserves our gratitude.