Review: Sharps by K.J. Parker

Sharps is the latest from critically acclaimed author K.J. Parker (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon). It’s a stand-alone second-world fantasy with no magic in which a rather motley team of fencers is assembled by the government of a small nation to perform a diplomatic tour through a neighboring nation with whom 30 years of war is only barely a memory. The fencers and their coach are caught up in events beyond their understanding as their trip seems to go wrong at every turn.

Sharps is the first Parker novel I’ve read (I have read a short story or two previously) and I’m surprised it’s been so long with her* impressively positive reputation among my fellow blogger/reviewers. This of course led to me having quite high expectations for this book. The result – it’s complicated. My initial reaction and one that I held throughout reading is that it’s a good book, a really good book, but I still was expecting something…more. However in retrospect, I only become more and more impressed with what Parker does with Sharps. Parker’s writing is polished, it’s clearly the work of seasoned writer and lacks any obvious weaknesses. Parker’s writing is subtle and complex, and my appreciation of this only improves with time.

 

I like a book with sophisticated and nuanced politics – the truth is that few books in the SFF genre really pull politics off very well. Generally, even books that gain a reputation for having complex politics typically show the nuance of an idealistic congressional candidate running for their first term in office (suffice to say, I hope for more). Parker effortlessly weaves subtle, complex politics into the background and foreground of Sharps. And it’s the effortlessly aspect that stands out so starkly – even the SFF books that do politics really well leave me thinking how the author really worked hard to make it so. That’s not the feeling I had with Sharps – in retrospect, the superbly presented politics were so well constructed that they truly felt effortless. And while to some it may seem to be only a semantic difference, to me it’s an important distinction that places Parker’s writing among the best in genre, and perhaps at the top.

Parker builds well-rounded, flawed and realistic characters. Read pretty much any review of Parker’s writing and it gets discussed, so I’m not going to go beat a dead horse on this one. But I do want to discuss a very fine line that Parker walks in dealing with the points of view in Sharps. As the plot develops and our band of wayward fencers continues along a journey in which nothing seems to go as planned, a sense builds that there is something more going on. It’s clear from the very beginning that there is more than meets the eye, though exactly what that is remains a mystery. And while some will call it a spoiler, I’ll go ahead and say it – at least one of those fencers knows what’s going and has plans that go well beyond fencing. Only we don’t know who or what until pretty much the moment of the big reveal (and we even get a red herring or two along the way). And here’s the fine-line – we see points of view from all of the characters throughout the book in a limited third person perspective – a perspective where we get into the heads of the characters and come to ‘know’ them pretty well. Yet the mystery remains. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how Parker pulled it off, and sometimes I’m not sure she does. But in retrospect, even though I sometimes wonder if she really pulled it off or not, I can’t help but admit it was handled masterfully.

Parker has a fair bit of fun in other ways with Sharps – there is a nice little bit of subversion of the standard barbarians of fantasy, she has some interesting things to say on the role of sports in contemporary society, draws some rather sharp parallels with some the on-going financial and political struggles in our own world, and throughout there is a running conversation between the words on the page about the motivations and consequences of violence at scales ranging from conflict between to individuals all the way up to wars between nations. It’s not didactic, but it’s not exactly subtle either and it sure makes it look like she’s a fairly bitter cynic.

Parker has gained a very good reputation for her brand of dark, gritty, grim-dark fantasy (or whatever term you choose to call it), and from what I see in Sharps, it’s a well-earned reputation. Sharps is a book of subtly, nuance and rather fun adventure that is masterfully executed. And it only gets better the more you think about it. While it’s the first book I’ve read by Parker, it most certainly won’t be the last. Any fan of fantasy that is looking for more than the traditional absolutely needs to be reading her work.

*The identity and even the gender of K.J. Parker is not known, but as described here, the prevailing ‘guess’ is that she is female, so I choose to refer to her as such.

Review: Blackdog by K.V. Johansen

It’s not often that I choose to read a book based only on a comparison with another, but that was the case for Blackdog by K.V. Johansen (Book Depository, Powell's Books, Indiebound). I saw several reviews and they all mention Blackdog as a favorable comparison to The Malazan Book of the Fallen series by Steven Erikson. I can see where the comparison comes from – gods and demons that actively interact with humanity and have flaws all their own that mirror and even magnify those of humanity. However, excepting that rather trivial comparison, I did not find Blackdog to be really comparable with Malazan. It took me a bit to get over that – after all, I’m a big fan of Erikson and Malazan, however it is unfair to Blackdog, a work that has a much more mythic feel than the stark realism of Malazan, to judge only on the (failed) comparison. The feel of the world of Blackdog is more lyrical and poetic, lending it the feel of myth and legend, all the while maintaining something of a modern-seeming realism at its surface. And Blackdog is essentially a stand-alone (though a sequel is in the works, I don’t think it’s intended as a traditional series) while Malazan is epic that spans 10+ books and has enormous depth that Blackdog simply does not.

In the world of Blackdog humanity is as divided by which god they follow as they are by race, clan and nation. Essentially the entire land is filled with gods – gods of rivers, springs, lakes, hills, plains, that big rock over there, etc. Some of the gods are rather powerful with large followings, others are weak and out of touch with the world. Some are harsh, some are benevolent, some are peaceful, some are warlike, and some are completely insane. There are demons as well, though they play a lesser role than gods, and there are devils – god-like entities that are often more powerful than gods and were imprisoned away from the world after a big war in antiquity that nearly destroyed the world. Those devils are gaining their freedom and the gods are scared.

The Goddess Attalissa of the lake is continually reborn into a mortal form. She is surrounded by worshippers and protected by the Blackdog – a powerful creature that is both man and beast. A mysterious wizard appears that is more powerful than the goddess and the Blackdog who usurps her lands and temple and forces the goddess and Blackdog to flee. The goddess, only a girl, is raised on caravan route under the watchful eye of the Blackdog as she grows into her power and plots her return. Meanwhile, the mysterious duo of Moth and Mikki hunts the wizard for their own purposes.

Blackdog invokes a feeling of a time long past, a hard time, but also a simpler time. The mountain folk keep to themselves and deal sparing with traders who travel from spring to spring along the caravan route between the harsh worlds of the high mountains and the inhospitable deserts. There are great nomads of grasslands, people of the northern forests and those of distant lands not described. The world feels both small and large. Blackdog is really a near-perfect example of worldbuilding – the setting is familiar yet not the carbon-copy medieval England so common in fantasy. The history is deep, but not dwelled upon. The world is vast, yet we only see a relatively small portion of it. The people and cultures feel real, unique and cleverly worked from cultures long past. I suppose this is what you would expect considering Johansen with scholarly roots in medieval studies.

The story itself is pretty good, though I think it bogs down a bit in the middle. Blackdog isn’t a short book at 546 pages and it could have benefited from a smaller page count. However the end was both the best part and one of the more disappointing. Simply put, the payoff is great and the way the pieces were placed throughout the novel and came together for the finale was spectacular. Relatively few endings of books feel so satisfying. However, some of the events seemingly came out of nowhere. The proper set up, particularly with Moth is lacking and leads to confusion. The ending of Blackdog could have stood out among the best in fantasy today, instead it was just flawed enough to hold it back.

Another issue with Blackdog is the characterization. I found many of the main characters difficult to become invested in. They were likeable enough, just not engaging to the point that I was rooting for them to win. This made the book far too easy to set aside for other things. Hopefully Johansen can get a bit better at this since I think this world has a lot of potential.

Blackdog is a relatively strong debut into adult fantasy fiction by author Johansen. However, it is overly long and at times a bit confusing. I loved the atmosphere and mythic quality to the writing and the worldbuilding very well done. The end was strong, if flawed, and the characters just not as engaging as they should have (until the end, which one of reasons the end of the book was so relatively strong). Blackdog stands alone, though at least one sequel is planned, and I’m looking forward to see where Johansen takes us next.

Review: The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson

Late one night I finished reading The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound) and reacted in a way that I rarely do – I was excited, very excited. I immediately got out the computer and wanted to talk about it with people. Which proved to be difficult since I had read it over a month before it was released, but the excitement was real and unusually strong.

Waxillium Ladrian (Wax) is a young aristocrat who left the civilization of the big city behind of Elendel to find his way as a lawman in the wild frontiers. After the tragic death of his lover he is called back to the city to take over as the head of a major noble house and suffer the politics of high-society. It doesn’t take long for a string of crimes to hit close to Wax as his role as patriarch and rugged lawman collide.

In many ways Sanderson has become very well known as something of a ‘cool magic system guy’. He first developed this magic system in the Mistborn trilogy (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound, my review) and he takes it to the next level with The Alloy of Law. It’s cool, it’s fun – it’s magic with guns and train robberies. The action keeps coming and coming as genres are mashed together – Fantasy, Western, Mystery, with a dash of a few others.

In The Alloy of Law Sanderson steps things up from previous novels he’s written, speeding up the pace and ratcheting up the action. It’s fun, exciting, utterly addicting and hard to put down. This isn’t supposed to be deep, meaningful fantasy, it isn’t supposed to be gritty and subversive, it’s not even particularly epic – it’s entertainment and it succeeds well within its goals.

The Alloy of Law is enthusiastic and energetic. In comparison to his previous works, think of the best of his fight or battle scenes in Mistborn and The Way of Kings (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound, my review). The Alloy of Law carries that high level of energy throughout most of the book.

Archetypes rule in The Alloy of Law. This is the buddy movie of fantasy thrown in with a hefty dose of Western where the wild-wild west meets up with civilization. Wax is a classic hero and Wayne his faithful sidekick. The Lady Marasi is the equally classic potential love interest. The big, bad enemy is also pretty standard – he knew Wax in the past, he’s a former lawman turned bad for his own sort of idealistic reasons that Wax can almost sympathize with. I suppose you could call it all cliché, call the hero a Gary Stu, etc. However that is the point – the cliché is embraced and the rather predictable story is hugely entertaining. The Alloy of Law succeeds because it doesn’t try to be anything it isn’t.

Of course this is where the problem will lie for many. Classic, archetype fantasy is not what is ‘in’ these days – fantasy is supposed to be hard core, gritty and subversive. Characters aren’t just flawed, they are really messed up, dialogue as rough as the slums, etc. Sanderson is both praised and criticized for his more PG to PG-13 portrayal of fantasy and the dreaded YA label is often thrown about (I’ve ranted before about how that’s a pretty short-sighted view). Sanderson has also come under fire for his dialogue – and I think that the overly witty dialogue of The Alloy of Law will be seen by many as a step backward.

But for me, this is all expected and not (necessarily) a bad thing. Sanderson does it all well and he tells the story in his typical style that has become very recognizable. Basically, I find his prose and style to be essentially negligible. To put it another way, it’s so benign that it fades to the background and the story takes over. I find it a perfect balance for getting sucked into the story and just running with it. The flaws and minor annoyance pass by without impact or notice as I simply enjoy the ride.

I started this review with the excitement I felt after finishing the book, so I should really discuss that a bit more. The Alloy of Law is billed as a stand-alone book in Sanderson’s Mistborn world. This is only somewhat true – for the end of the book throws a wrench into things. There are many questions left unanswered, a few exciting reveals that leave ending literally begging for an eventual sequel. And I really want to read that sequel. Unfortunately Sanderson is quite busy with other projects and any sequel is seemingly far off into the future, but I am hopeful – The Alloy of Law came out of nowhere, surprising Sanderson fans, so I hope that in the near future another surprise will emerge bearing the continuation of Wax’s story.

To sum it all up, The Alloy of Law really comes down to how you feel about Sanderson’s books. If you haven’t been a big fan of his previous books, particularly Mistborn, then this probably isn’t the book for you. However, if you like Sanderson’s books, particularly Mistborn, this will probably turn out to be one of the better books you’ll read this year. And fear not, if you haven’t read Mistborn, The Alloy of Law is fine introduction to Sanderson’s writing. The Alloy of Law is a relatively straight-forward book with lots of action and overly witty dialogue. It isn’t trying to be anything overly deep, gritty or subversive. It succeeds very well within its goals and yes, it's a lot of fun with some really clever use of a cool magic system.

Review: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer

Finch is in a pinch.
Sold himself to mold,
Will he fold
or be rebellious and bold?
Finch is no cinch.

My poor attempt at Seussian poetry illustrates multiple aspects of Finch by Jeff VanderMeer (US, Canada, Indiebound). Dr. Seuss is brilliant, his creations beyond strange, and upon reflection, more than a bit creepy. VanderMeer’s Finch is brilliant, his creations beyond strange, and it takes absolutely no reflection to be creeped out. Likewise, the protagonist, Finch, is indeed in a pinch – between several rocks a few hard places – or more correctly, between several competing interests and a spongy, fungal world that rots you from within rather than smashing you outright.

Finch is the final volume in the Ambergris Cycle, a trilogy of books that span the history of Ambergris, a wonderful and horrific second-world city, beginning with City of Saints and Madmen (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound, my review) and continuing with Shriek: An Afterward (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound). While Finch does complete the thematic cycle, it also stands on its own, apart in form and function from the rest – probably the most benign introduction to Ambergris of the three.

At its core, Finch is a standard noir detective story. John Finch is the disillusioned, cynical detective with a dark and mysterious past who is assigned an unsolvable murder case by his seemingly evil Gray Cap boss. The case with ramifications beyond Finch’s imagination draws the attention of spies, mobsters, rebel forces, indigenous insurgents, loyalists and the government.

The city of Ambergris has been in the grip of hostile third party known as the Gray Caps for seven years that took control in the chaos created by long-time civil war. Finch leaves his old identity behind and survives as a reluctant detective in the employ of the tyrannical government in the surveillance society of a ruined city. Questionable loyalties, double-crosses, triple-crosses, historical consequences, foreign lands, torture, death all await Finch as he struggles to solve his last case.

Only VanderMeer’s vision of noir takes an entirely different form with the setting of Ambergris. Gray Caps aren’t human – they are intelligent fungal-based life forms of undetermined origins. They are either evil – or at least so alien that they seem evil. They have control over other fungal-based life forms – they can ‘see’ what the population is doing through fungal ‘cameras’, they drug the population with fungal drugs, buildings can completely decay under fungal onslaught in only days, humans can be infected with fungus that turns them into tools of the Gray Caps that are something more and less than human, and any fungal infection can be horrifyingly fatal. Humans are slowly being exterminated – either through death or conversion to fungal-hybrids. Rebel forces fight for survival and foreign interests interfere – selfishly seeking advanced technology while sometimes aiding in the fight against the Gray Caps.

Always stylistic, VanderMeer’s writing takes some getting used to. In Finch, VanderMeer uses short, choppy sentences. Connectors are absent, sentences fragmented – but what’s left is focused and often powerful. The style was a bit hard to adjust to and very noticeable at the beginning, but it didn’t take too long for me to fully adjust and appreciate it (I couldn’t help but wonder at how difficult this would be to edit – in my uncorrected proof, was it an error or style?).

This is Finch’s book – we only see the world through is point of view. The reader is left with the need to trust his interpretations and conclusions – his blind spots are our blind spots. Finch has a troubled past that slowly reveals itself as the novel progresses and he is shaped by what he encounters in the investigation. His distrust and hatred of the Gray Caps increases, his self delusions fluctuate, and the ever-present fungal assault on Ambergris haunts him. Finch is introspective, tough, lonely, imperfect, and a reluctant (anti)hero. Finch is the classic noir detective.

As typical of VanderMeer’s writing, deep thematic elements abound. The commentary seems to be aimed at society, government, and the consequences of one’s actions, but it’s so well integrated into the story and Ambergris itself, it doesn’t stand out and is open to layers of interpretation.

Finch answers many of the mysteries posed in the first two books of the Ambergris Cycle while standing well enough on its own to introduce new readers to Ambergris. I must be described as noir though the setting of Ambergris sets it apart – is it fantasy, urban fantasy, horror, a political thriller, noir, fungalpunk? Is it all of the above, none of the above? Finch is what you make of it – for me, it’s one of the best books I’ve read this year. 9/10

Will Finch, the not cinch, be spore gore?


Related Posts: Review of City of Saints of Madmen, Jeff VanderMeer Answers Questions Five

Review: Eyes Like Leaves by Charles de Lint

Often after years have passed and an author has gained their degree of fame, notoriety, and respect, their earlier work is pushed aside to gather dust by their later, more iconic work. And sometimes some of that early work never gets published in the first place. Eyes Like Leaves by Charles de Lint (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound) was completed in 1980 and de Lint’s fourth book – it was never published when his editor bluntly pointed out that if Eyes Like Leaves was published de Lint would forever be branded as a second-world fantasy writer. de Lint had already developed a love for his trademark brand of contemporary fantasy, so he decided that his next book needed to reflect that love and Eyes Like Leaves was shelved indefinitely – incidentally, Yarrow (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound) was the book that ended up being published in its place.

Eyes Like Leaves tells the story of dueling Gods – the summer god versus the winter god – through human pawns. The world is directly analogous to the British Islands, with a distinctive Celtic feel complete with Viking raiders and the displaced and nearly extinct Pict-ish peoples and elves. Tarn is the young wizard, Puretongue the wizened mentor, and Carrie the one with the potential to save the world. Creatures of the Winterlord stalk the land, magic is fading from the world, and the Summerlord the underdog.

Eyes Like Leaves feels both old and new – in many ways it is yet another Tolkien-spawn that so populated the fantasy of its day. Yet it also feels more real – the gods flawed and even the good guys are cruel. The people are truly human – they are not fantasies, but actual people caught up in what we would consider fantasy. And while the Celtic and Norse influences dominate, in typical de Lint fashion, it’s combined with Native American-style shape-shifting.

The almost poetic and reverent writing that I so love about de Lint is only hinted at in this early work – things feel raw and unpolished compared to his later writing. de Lint intentionally resisted the temptation to revise and update this manuscript – he felt it was important to honor and remain true to his nearly 30-year younger self, a man in an entirely different place in his life with a different message to send. The younger generation in Eyes Like Leaves gets pounded on by the gods – definitely the tale of a younger man who feels the world is out to get him.

In all honestly, the whole of the book simply feels unremarkable. The story is good, if a bit familiar. The characters are worth following, though a bit cliché. The world and its magic are both clever and tired. This is far from de Lint’s best work. But none of that matters all that much.

The greatest value of Eyes Like Leaves is probably in its story – not the story within the pages, but the story of the pages themselves and how they came to be. It’s a glimpse backwards in time, the view of a great writer before he was great. This story will be packaged a high-quality limited edition that Subterranean Press has become known for – by book lovers for book lovers. de Lint’s books are hugely popular at Subterranean, so this one will likely sell-out early and become something of a collector’s item. If you are so inclined, it’s unlikely the words of this review have influenced you one bit, but if you are the fence, hopefully I provided a nudge one way or another. 6.5/10

Review: The Dragons of Babel by Michael Swanwick

Michael Swanwick has made a career of turning genre on its head, winning a bunch of awards in the process. He wrote cyberpunk and post-cyberpunk at the beginning, and with The Iron Dragon’s Daughter he essentially laid out the blueprint for the New Weird years before the term existed. The Dragons of Babel follows in the same world, though it should not be viewed as a sequel, but a story all its own. After reading it, my first work of Swanwick’s, I consider it almost criminal that a genre writer of his caliber is so rarely discussed on the various blogs and message boards I spend time at.

The story begins with a standard coming-of age story of orphaned Will le Fey in a village far removed. The setting is Faerie – not the Faerie you’ve seen time and again – but a war-torn, post-industrial Faerie indirectly overlapping with our world. Dragons are iron-wrought behemoths full of technology and running off of jet fuel. Hippogriffs and griffons park side-by-side with motorcycles, BMWs and limousines with all matter of mythological races living amongst one another. If you think New York or London is a melting pot, wait until you see Babel.

A war dragon crashes into Will’s remote village, immediately installs himself as King, and chooses Will as his agent. Isolated from the village as a result, and in spite of his eventual rebellion against the dragon, Will is exiled from the village. His service to the dragon leaves him scarred with a dark power inside of him, not entirely in his control.

Will becomes a refuge fleeing the war zone, landing for a time in a refuge camp; and eventually in the great city of Babel. Along the way, Will picks up a surrogate daughter, becomes an apprentice of sorts to a trickster, a leader in an underground rebellion, and meets the love of his life. Beyond that, let’s just say that Swanwick has an interesting, even subversive take on the orphan of destiny trope.

It becomes instantly clear that Swanwick knows how to write well. His economic prose sets the mood and brings the world vividly to life with as few words as I’ve seen it done. While another author would have turned this story into a trilogy, in Swanwick’s skilled hands The Dragons of Babel weighs in at a mere 320 pages – a very welcome length to this over-busy blogger. Even with the relatively abbreviated page count, the pacing feels just right. Only the build-up at the end feels rushed, and even then, not very rushed.

Surficially, Swanwick pulls together a fresh-feeling, fun, satiric, and at times, heavy plot while focusing characterization on Will. The supporting caste should be viewed as literary vessels designed as true support for Will and the city itself, Babel. The character of Babel remains in the background, but of equal importance to that of Will, as it represents the whole of a society that Will is but a key part of.

Thematically, The Dragons of Babel almost has a schizophrenic feel about it – in the beginning it seems as if each chapter focuses on different elements. It’s not just about Will’s coming-of-age and the building of an eventual leader. It’s about everything in a modern society and its internal and external conflicts. Sides aren’t truly taken, with things laid out for the reader to absorb – just as they are for Will.

The Dragons of Babel is the first book by Michael Swanwick that I’ve read, and it won’t be the last. Call it fantasy, urban fantasy, new weird, or something else entirely; The Dragons of Babel is a powerfully entertaining (and entertainingly powerful) book for all – a book that should be talked about. 8.5/10

Related Posts: Michael Swanwick Answers Questions Five