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The Lions of Al-Rassan - Guy Gavriel Kay

My (admittedly limited) experience with G.G. Kay's writing has led me to believe that there's only a 50:50 chance I might like one of his books: I enjoyed Tigana, but when I briefly attempted to read the first volume of the Fionavar Tapestry I found it impossible to accept its premises or to get a real feel for the characters.  (On this point I have to say that a long e-mail discussion with my friend Susan brought me to reconsider and give Fionavar a second chance, because I thought that if a book can elicit such an eloquent and passionate defense from a person whose judgment I trust, I can't turn a blind eye on it).  But I'm digressing…

The Lions of Al-Rassan is, on the other hand, a beautiful story, one that held my attention from start to finish, even though it's not immune from some shortcomings - so I guess that the 50:50 rule does indeed apply.

Characters represent the strong foundation of this novel, fashioned after the era when modern-day Spain was a territory shared by Christians and Muslims and also held a flourishing, if constantly endangered, Jewish community. Here these different cultures are represented respectively by Jaddites, Asharites and Kindath, and embodied by Rodrigo Belmonte (a fearless soldier who is almost a legend of the land), Ammar ibn Khairan (poet, warrior and scholar, all rolled into one) and Jehane bet Ishak (dedicated doctor and strong-willed woman of startling modernity). The dynamics behind these characters, the events that shape their story, the complex bonds of love, friendship and loyalty that tie them together as much as drive them apart in a sort of shifting dance, all contribute to make this book the fascinating read that it is: following them as they deal with the unfolding drama of a divided land, trying and failing to find an acceptable balance, is a constant discovery, helped along by G.G. Kay's rich and elegant narrative. These main characters come across as real, breathing people, and it did not take long for me to grow attached to them, and care for their well-being, as well as that of a few equally unforgettable secondary players, like young Alvar, who is enrolled in Belmonte's company dreaming of war and glory and soon discovers the darker side of a soldier's life; or merchant Husari, who is both shrewd and humorous; or again Miranda, Belmonte's wife, an iron lady whose appearances were much too limited and distanced for my tastes.  Just to name a few, of course.

The throes of a country struggling to find a new shape and a different balance represent the other fascinating magnet of the novel: for a long time Asharites and Jaddites have vied for supremacy with one another, while battling among themselves for power, in a constantly shifting political landscape in which the third party, the Kindath, are trying to survive, always on the lookout for a change in the wind, always dealing with the certainty of the next blow that will fall from above. This side of the story is incredibly modern: to this very day, our world still struggles under the weight of conflicting beliefs - be they political or religious - and there are always those who suffer because they are crushed between rocks and hard places that are too big to avoid. In this the book manages very well to elude the pedantic quicksand of allegory, and presents the reader with a subtle commentary on the human condition, and how certain drives shape our actions and their consequences - it makes you stop and think.

But... There is indeed a "but", because some of G.G. Kay's choices in telling this story ruined the overall effect for me.

For example, there are several instances in which he leads the reader to believe that a certain character has been killed: for a good number of pages we observe the scene unfolding under our eyes and the offered clues point to a particular person, only to arrive at the final denouement and discover that it was someone else. The first time that happened I was torn between shock for the unexpected revelation and irritation at having been led astray for so long: somehow it lessened the impact of the actual loss - a character I liked very much, by the way - because I was too busy being annoyed at the deception.  When it happened again I was angry: in my opinion, an author should not make excessive use of such devices - fool me once, ok; fool me twice... I lose all faith in you.  And that's not the end of it, because G.G. Kay did it once more toward the end of the book, in what should have been the epic encounter that symbolizes the clash of two worlds. But at that point, even the most distracted reader would have been alert and suspicious as I was, not to mention offended by the cheap trick.

To make matters worse, too many events are presented in the form of a teaser (for want of a better word), where a few sibylline words create a cliffhanger, then the story traces back to return - often at a leisurely pace - at the focal point and the resolution of the story-thread: again, it is a valid narrative tool, no argument about that, but it should not be abused in the way it was in this novel.  And last but not least, the epilogue feels somewhat pedantic, with a great deal of explanation and back-story I really had no need for - and let's not forget a few parting "surprise" revelations, just for the sheer fun of it...

For these reasons I can't give this book the rating that story and characters should deserve: this could have been a 8/10  or a 9/10 book, but even the finest meal would lose some of its flavor if it was served on a chipped plate, would it not?


My Rating: 7/10

Soulless - Gail Carriger

What a delightful, funny find!

Before I read this book, my few encounters with steampunk had not been very successful, and I was convinced that this genre was not for me: well, Gail Carriger's Soulless (the first in the Parasol Protectorate series) changed my mind from the very beginning of Chapter One.   After all, how could I resist a heroine who, seeing herself repeatedly assaulted by a hungry vampire, was shocked not so much by the attack as by the fact that “We have not even been introduced!”?

But let's proceed with order: Alexia Tarabotti lives in Victorian England - a country where vampires, werewolves and even ghosts are accepted as part of the society, as long as they conform to a series of rules dictated by BUR, the Bureau of Unnatural Registry. Part of the fun I derived from this book came from the descriptions of this strictly regimented community, with its vampire hives and werewolf packs, and regulations governing even the roves - unaffiliated vampires or werewolves. The humans observe this parallel world and its peculiar ways with the same amused curiosity we would reserve for actors, or sports stars, just to name some examples: the supernaturals are so well integrated that their differences are accepted as fascinating quirks, and are of course the subject of dinner-party gossip, but never of open fear or rejection.

Ms. Tarabotti, however, has several problems fitting into society: she's a spinster in her mid-twenties, she likes to speak her mind in no uncertain terms, her deceased father was Italian - thus bestowing on her a very unfashionable coloring and full figure - and what's worse she's a preternatural. In other words, she possesses no soul, so that contact with her can remove the supernatural qualities of other creatures: werewolves turn back into human form, vampires lose their canines, and so on.

In a world where it's been discovered that an abundance of soul is the deciding factor for surviving the change from normal human to supernatural creature, a person like Alexia is the object of both distrust and curiosity from the non-humans, thus adding to her isolation. She bears that well enough though, having created for herself a circle of friendships that include two of the best supporting characters in the book: Lord Akeldama, an old vampire quite fond of young and good-looking male minions, and Ivy, totally human but too fond of truly terrible hats. 

This balance is broken on the night of the vampire assault, because Alexia is forced to kill him in self-defense: this brings her into contact with BUR and its chief, the Alpha werewolf Lord Maccon who, despite his protestations and the heated verbal exchanges between the two of them, is quite attracted to this unusual woman.  The ensuing adventure, involving a dastardly scheme against the supernaturals, is tied to the inevitably developing love story between the two of them: I can say this without fear of spoiling any prospective readers, because the outcome is clear from their first encounter - what really matters here, what makes this book an entertaining, delightful read, is the way it's all handled.  With spirited humor and many unconventional narrative choices.

Alexia possesses all the characteristics of the typical genre heroine: she's attractive, but in such an unconventional way that she's convinced of the contrary; she's strong and outspoken, curious and stubborn, and she's not afraid to stomp in where angels (or vampires) fear to tread. Add to the mix a stern mother, absent stepfather and two vapidly unpleasant step-sisters, and the book would resemble too much a Cinderella-like scenario, or walk down a too-often beaten path. But Ms. Carriger's writing and wickedly peculiar sense of humor elevate Alexia, and her story, far above the usual and predictable fare, regaling her readers with scenes that run from funny to saucy while mystery and romance compete for the limelight in the foreground.

If you want a book that's both amusing and exciting, this will no doubt be the perfect choice.

My Rating: 7,5/10

The Lady Astronomer - Katy O'Dowd

I received this book from the author, in exchange for an honest review.

Lucretia shares her time between hat making and star gazing, living with her equally inventive and talented brothers. When they are tasked with the building of a huge telescope by none other than the king, Lucretia finds herself spirited away at the royal court, where intrigue and danger await her…

It's a delightful story that stands on the dividing line between YA and something younger children would love very much: not my cup of tea - not by a long way - but I must say up front that the feather-like hand with which the story is written, and the amused smile that peeks out of the lines will not fail to reach the book's younger audience and at the same time captivate the soul of any adult reading it to them, because both elements will speak clearly to the child still lurking inside.  

My own "inner child" seems to have gone AWOL some time ago, unfortunately, so I could not appreciate the story as it deserved: nonetheless I believe I can recommend it for its intended audience, because it will deliver all of its promises.

The tone and narrative voice, coupled with the presence of sentient animals and interacting mechanical toys, give The Lady Astronomer the distinct flavor of a bedtime story, one that's full of wonders like mechanical pigs, suits of armor that act as royal butlers and a set of working dwarves that offer a more than passing wink to the Snow White legend.

Unfortunately, the same reasons that make this book a perfect fairytale are the same ones that prevented me from fully enjoying it: first, it's more like a series of sketches than an organically developed story, and characters are pictured through dialogue rather than examined in depth - and it's often a dialogue carried in breathless, overlapping sentences, that leave little room to delve to a satisfactory depth into characters, and what makes them tick, so that it was quite difficult for me to form a connection with them as a reader.

And then there was my major nitpick, i.e. the author's choice of using a surname's initial when mentioning a person: it felt just quirky at first, but then the excessive use of it skirted the middle ground between bothersome and annoying. I understand it might have been the norm for that time period, but to my ears it sounded contrived - and a bit too much.  

Nonetheless, the story is pleasant and - of course - in the end good triumphs and the evil-doers get their rightful punishment, so if you are looking for a story to read to your kids, one that will leave them with a good feeling, this will be the right choice.

My Rating: 6,5/10

The Desert Spear - Peter Brett

Unexpected. That's the first definition that comes to mind about this book, the second in Peter Brett's Demon Cycle. 

The surprise comes from the sudden change of focus from Arlen and Co. (last seen shortly after the bloody victory against a coreling horde) to the Krasian army led by Jardir, intent on conquering the world as the reborn Deliverer. In a series of flashbacks, broken by present-day narrative, Brett gives us Jardir's life story and his path toward supreme rule of the Krasians, with a new angle on the moment when he comes in possession of the warded spear he stole from Arlen in the previous book.  What's interesting is that this specific act - while still heinous - is put into a wider context with Jardir's past and present: even though it doesn't in the least justify the theft and Arlen's attempted murder, it shows the circumstances surrounding it and the Krasian leader's feelings as the events are re-enacted, and fills the broader picture with more details.

The Krasian way of life is a harsh and cruel one that has no place for mercy or thoughtfulness: unlike their northern counterparts, who hide in abject fear of the night, the Krasians actively seek battle with the enemy, having built a culture that prizes sacrifice and glorious death. Like their distant cousins, though, they are bound for defeat, because of that almost careless waste of resources that reduces their numbers in an inexorable way.   Your people live to fight, while mine fight to live - this is how one character sums up the differences between the two peoples: in light of the revelations this book brings to light, it remains to be seen if they will find a middle ground, and through it, a way to beat the enemy.

Jardir himself is a source of contradictions, from my point of view: on one hand I can't form a bond with this character - who is so tightly focused on his desire to create a united front against the demons that for him this end justifies all means, no matter how cruel - but on the other I can see quite clearly where he comes from as a person, how the events in his life, and the people around him (especially his politically shrewd first wife Inevera), come to shape his character, and his destiny.  This is the mark of good writing, because it makes me see the persons behind the characters, makes me understand what makes them tick: even though I don't like Jardir's methods, I can still care for the way his story goes, and that's more than enough.

A further element that breathes strong life in this second book  is the introduction of a new threat with the coreling princes, the real power - mental and physical - behind the demon hordes: as fascinating as it is to discover these creatures and to look at events from their point of view, their appearance means that even the newly discovered wards, and the pro-active stance humanity is slowly taking against the attacks, might not be enough to stem the demonic hordes, let alone vanquish them. These new players are indeed raising the stakes and at the same time showing a different - and more worrisome - aspect in the nightly attacks: what before looked like the work of a mindless army of evil, now appears as a planned campaign, whose outcome looks far from predictable.

Once the focus goes back to the previous book's three heroes, we are introduced to many changes: Leesha's former home has been turned into a fighters' village, where everyone's skills are being honed against the demons; it's heartening to witness how quickly the people flourish with a little hope and courage, despite the awareness that they, like all the inhabitants of the north, will soon find themselves fighting on two fronts - the Krasian invasion and the nightly corelings' attacks.  As heartening as this vision can be, after witnessing the terror in which this world is plunged night after night, I can't avoid feeling it's somewhat forced: the change is too swift, too radical to effectively suspend my disbelief. Leesha herself turns from a convincingly headstrong woman into a super-heroine-of-all-trades: her healing skills work side by side with exceptional warding abilities and the fashioning of new weapons, making her into the de facto leader of the community - all this in the brief space of a few months. 

Only Peter Brett's compelling narrative managed to keep my suspension of disbelief up and running, and in some places it was nonetheless an effort. As fascinating as the world-building is, and continues to be, there are moments when the characterization goes somewhat over the top: Leesha's path is one such example, compounded by her later girlish fascination with Jardir - all built on secretive glances and blushing cheeks: I surprised myself thinking, time and again, that if old Healer Bruna had been present, she would have brought Leesha's back to reason with a well-placed blow from her walking stick.  Jardir suffers as well: this fearsome warrior, imbued with the moral conviction of being the new Deliverer, falls head-over-heels for Leesha and behaves like a hormone-crazed teenager from their very first encounter, and Inevera - a woman for whom the phrase "political expediency" seems to have been invented - also lapses into uncharacteristic conduct.  Nothing major, nor anything that would turn me off the book, granted, but still at the time it read like the betrayal of characters that had been drawn quite well until that moment.

All this is however counterbalanced by the narrative thread concerning Arlen and Renna Tanner, who comes on the scene as a full-fledged main character after her swift presentation in the previous book: her harrowing past of violence and abuse gives a solid background to her evolution, and makes her a believable ally/sidekick for Arlen, not least because she acts as a mirror for the dangers inherent in wearing magic wards on your own skin. This is one of the details that I most enjoyed in this story, that the way to battle demons on their own ground requires a price - a steep one: where it will lead some of the players still remains to be seen, and this further uncertainty is a promise for a satisfying continuation in the next book.


My Rating: 7,5/10

In the Lost Lands - George R.R. Martin

A more fantasy-oriented tale than In the Morning Comes Mistfall, though I must admit - having read a good deal of Martin's works - that he enjoys mixing different elements in his stories to obtain unexpected results.

I own the audio version for this one as well, again read by Claudia Black, who lends further depth and life to both characters and background.

Grey Alys is a witch - or better, an enabler: she always grants your wishes, no matter how outlandish. The problem is, you never get exactly what you hoped for...  When the powerful Lady Melange asks Grey Alys for the secret of skin-changing, the woman brings her back a white wolf pelt that will turn the fulfillment of the Lady's desire into an endless nightmare.

The ending of this story is suitably horrifying, even though much is left to imagination rather than detail, and yet that's not what matters here: the main body of the story concerns Alys' voyage into the titular Lost Lands, in the company of the mysterious Boyce.  The Lands are desolate, the mute testimony of a possible past cataclysm, and yet they possess a sort of savage beauty that can be appreciated only by people able to look beyond surface appearances. Re-reading this shortly after "Mistfall" I became aware of the thematic similarity about beauty being found in the most unlikely places, and it was a happy discovery.

Alys and Boyce share that same deceptive appearance: both of them holding secrets, both of them presenting ax exterior look that belies their true nature, they seem two of a kind, destined to a fruitful allegiance. As if often happens with GRR Martin's tales, what ultimately happens turns readers' expectations upside down, then tramples them in the mud... He does so in a masterful, spellbinding way, though, capturing the reader's attention through striking descriptions and a cunning build-up of tension.

Grey Alys shines throughout the story: her quiet, almost unassuming ways speak of untapped depths and dark secrets, and her calm detachment is far more chilling than outright malice. There is no open cruelty in her actions: she hastens other people's demise, or observes their unavoidable misfortune, with the same aloof calm she would display in accepting her own. Alys seems to know there is an unavoidable fate awaiting us all and she neither embraces or runs from it, allowing fate to play its cards: there is only one moment, near the end of her journey in the Lost Lands, when she - in the form of a magnificent bird of prey soaring in the air - utters a shrill cry in the silence of the Lands. Given the turn of events that transpired in the story before this moment, I wondered if it was a cry of victory or one of despair. It would work either way, and that's so typical of Martin, who often leaves us in the cold, wondering...

That poise, that confidence, is what makes Grey Alys different from run-of-the-mill "witch" figures, and singles her out from the narrative norm: her best, most telling image, is the one at the beginning of the story, where she sits languidly caressing a grey rat as if it were a common pet - alarming and at the same time unforgettable.

Glamour in Glass - Mary Robinette Kowal

When a few months ago I read the first volume in this series - Shades of Milk and Honey - I was pleasantly surprised: different from any kind of fantasy I ever sampled, it was both entertaining and compelling, taking me to a background that was quite familiar through my former experiences with Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, but at the same time completely new thanks to the element of glamour, or magic that creates detailed illusions.  Part of what made Shades such a fascinating read was its lightness: I am using the term in the most complimentary meaning, of course, because the story itself needed no epic drama to keep me reading at a fast pace, so that I started this second installment with eager anticipation.

But either the novelty had worn off somehow, or the pace was a bit slower than in the previous book, so that at first I had to struggle a little to overcome my sense of disappointment with Glamour in Glass: I wondered if the bliss of married life had not dulled the main characters, especially that of Jane, the protagonist - or if the author had lost that special sparkle that had kept my attention riveted.  Luckily for me, after a somewhat shaky beginning, the novel found its rhythm and a surer footing, and I could sit back and enjoy my return to this peculiar version of the Regency era.

On hindsight I think that what irked me most was Jane's self-effacing deferral to her husband, the constant stress on her shortcomings and refusal to acknowledge her own abilities despite her husband's attempts at convincing her of the contrary: yes, I understand that women back then were raised that way, that any sense of self-worth had to come second to that of the "man of the house" and that Ms. Kowal was being true to the period's customs, but still it was as if the Jane I had know in the first book had somehow... faded in the interim.  She was not an aggressive character to start with, granted, but she could tap a reservoir of inner strength and courage every time her loved ones were threatened in any way, therefore I longed to see that person again.

Of course, I should have trusted the author's plans: because it soon became clear that such insistence on glamour itself, and its huge importance in Jane's life, would take a pivotal role. More importantly, Ms. Kowal wanted to show how the loss of it could affect Jane and her self-image: since she had been described from the very start as plain, any sense of worth she had came from her exceptional use of glamour - it was, after all, what had caught the brooding Vincent's attention in the previous book and led to their falling in love and marrying.  Having Jane lose what she perceived as her only attribute of note due to her pregnancy forced her to rely only on herself: the use of glamour can be harmful to a pregnant woman, so Jane had to deal with the loss of her only outstanding quality (according to her point of view) and the fears and sense of inadequacy that came with it.

This, coupled with the more far-ranging events leading to Napoleon's flight from the exile at Elba and his attempt at reclaiming power, forced Jane to face harrowing experiences on the strength of her wits and courage alone - and she showed the reader (and hopefully herself!) that her skills with glamour were not what made her what she was, and that she could be much more than just a magic wielder.   It was a return to the determined Jane I used to know, and one whose resolve came back with a vengeance because of the huge stakes involved: I found a marked poignancy in her actions, not just because she was getting out of her comfort zone to defend all she held dear, but mostly because she did it out of determination born of love - not simple romantic love, but the feeling that comes with the need to protect those we care about.

Moreover, I appreciated how this accomplishment was not reached without paying a steep price and the fact that I suspected early on what would happen, did not detract in any way from the dramatic developments and the pall of sadness settling on the happy ending.  It felt more honest, and true, if it makes any sense.

It will be more than interesting to see how Jane's character will evolve in the next books and how her new-found awareness will come into play - hopefully things will never be the same for her. One thing is certain, however: Ms. Kowal is one author I will always watch out for.

My Rating: 7/10

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms - N. K. Jemisin

For me, the mark of an outstanding book is the fact that I keep thinking about it, story and characters alike, long after I've finished my reading: that is exactly what happened with N.K. Jemisin's novel - it grabbed my attention right from the start and has yet to let me go as I'm writing this review.

The core concept looks deceptively as a quest: young Yeine Darr, granddaughter of the Arameri ruler of the floating city of Sky, is summoned from the barbarian lands where she grew up to participate in the succession struggle for the throne, while trying to unravel the mystery of her mother's recent death and of the reasons she gave up her own ruling rights in favor of life among the less privileged people of Darr.

What makes this book different are the intertwining levels of intrigue and power struggle in which Yeine is enmeshed against her will, complicated by the presence of enslaved gods trapped in human form who have their own agenda.  This latter is a concept I found fascinating: after the God War of the past, the winner Itempas allied himself with the humans in exchange for exclusive worship, therefore doing what all winners do - dictating how history was to be written.   Yeine's "quest" becomes therefore the solving of a complicated puzzle whose pieces she gathers slowly and painfully, while wrestling with the burdens of the past, her feelings for Nahadot - the enslaved god of darkness - and the constant threats to her life.

The dimension of the story - despite the title that seems to hint at an epic scope - is therefore very human and focuses on the power play between opposing forces: light and darkness, love and hate, politics and loyalty. Yeine's voice as narrator is an interesting one, because she embodies this duality very well: she is the outsider looking in, she is the child of two clashing cultures and she struggles between the duty to her people and the new responsibilities heaped on her as one of Sky's heir designates, not to mention her desire to find her mother's murderer and avenge her death.   Moreover, this duality is reinforced by the choice of framing her from the very start as a potentially unreliable narrator: I am not as I once was - this is how the novel begins, casting a doubt on what Yeine recounts of the past. The doubt is further strengthened when she admits her memories might be faulty, or incomplete; or when she appears to hold a conversation with a different part of her conscience - in what resembles a split-personality syndrome - that urges her to remember correctly, or to dredge up forgotten details.

It is this mystery within the mystery that generates a compelling story, also supported by a writing style that is swift and fresh and brings Yeine's journey along at a sustained pace, while at the same time managing to touch on many topics that must be dear to the author's heart, such as racism, cultural integration and gender issues. To Ms. Jemisin's credit I would like to stress how this is done with a subtle, non-pedantic hand, always tackling the subject in a tangential way but still making room for the reader's deeper consideration.  Such subtlety is also evident in the strong vein of sensuality permeating Yeine's character, one that comes to the fore in her attraction to Nahadot: those scenes are suggestive and intense but never stray into more graphic descriptions, giving to the relationship an almost dreamy quality that never distracts you from the main story, nor becomes its sole focus despite its powerful roots.

Nahadot himself is an outstanding character: his very nature, his shifts in appearance and consistency, the strong aura of danger that surrounds him and is barely tempered by glimpses of vulnerability and honest tenderness toward Yeine, all contribute to carve him into a commanding presence and a tragic figure at the same time. In him Jemisin embodies the drama of the enslaved gods and gives them a voice that is more human because of their godlike nature and not in spite of it.   This conflict between human and divine drives and needs finds its resolution in a powerful, highly gripping finale that ties the various narrative threads in a satisfying way while leaving the door open for the welcome continuation that must be the focus of the next two books.

I found The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms to be a very original story, one that went beyond any expectations I might have had before reading it. What makes it even more extraordinary is that it's a debut novel: if N.K. Jemisin's first published work is this strong, I have no doubt her next books will be even better - and that I'm firmly aboard for the ride.

My Rating: 9/10

His Majesty's Dragon - Naomi Novik

Two chapters. That's how much it took me to fall in love with this book and its main character, Temeraire. A dragon. A talking dragon.

My previous experience with these creatures was limited to Smaug from The Hobbit and to GRR Martin's dragons, the latter being only little more than background scenery in the vaster tapestry of his huge saga - at least for now.   In short, my labels for dragons were dangerous, devious, killers - and so forth.

Temeraire changed all that, much as he changes his human companion's life in the book.  

In this alternate-history novel, set in the time of the Napoleonic wars, Captain William Laurence of the Royal Navy finds a dragon egg on a captured enemy ship, and from it emerges a beautiful black dragon, who he promptly names Temeraire.  The handling of dragons is carried out by the Aerial Corps, a special division of His Majesty's forces, and these men - and women! - live apart from the rest of the military, because of the singular quality and requirements of their charges, and also because of some "taint" attached to the duty.  So it happens that Laurence abandons a promising Navy career to become something of an outcast in the eyes of his comrades and - worse - of his own family.   Hopefully in the next books this will be explained in depth, for I'm very curious to see where the general attitude comes from: in this alternate world there is no glamour attached to aviators, they are looked at with suspicion at best, if not with open distaste. Yet we learn that they are trained from early childhood because they have to learn while their mind and bodies are still pliable, and that their own families send them to "dragon school".  I'm curious to learn more about the general populace's distorted perception and the reasons for it, even though some inklings are already presented in the course of the book - as the less restrained customs observed by the Aerial Corps in the matter of  personal relationships, for example. 

Things are even more difficult for Laurence because he comes to this life in his adult years, and he has to face his new comrades' doubts about his capabilities, while battling with his standoffish character at the same time.  This two-sided isolation brings Laurence and Temeraire quite close in a very short time: Ms. Novik describes the process with an easy believability that's a joy to observe.   Laurence is somewhat too stiff and formal, both as a personal inclination and as a duty requirement, so his slow opening toward Temeraire's almost childish innocence and curiosity engenders the joy of mutual discovery and the reader's pleasure in seeing this man lose his severity and become a more likable character. 

Here lies one of the winning choices of the book: a common trope of the genre would have had Laurence's character more inclined toward roguishness and careless bravado, while his steadfast adherence to protocol and rules - one that makes him a bit boring and lackluster at first - helps put a higher shine on his later transformation, and makes the transition and his friendship with Temeraire much more real and satisfying for the readers.

Temeraire remains the undisputed protagonist though: even though the book is written through Laurence's point of view, the world is often observed - and commented - from the dragon's perspective, from his interaction with the humans and the other dragons serving with His Majesty's forces.  Temeraire is adorable indeed - not in a "cute" way, but because he's very articulate and very innocent at the same time; innocent and yet full of wisdom: Ms. Novik managed to walk in a seeming effortless way along this thin dividing line, and to offer her readers a believable, lovable creature.  And this happens for the other dragons as well: their devotion to their human companions, or their suffering in case of criminal neglect - as is the case in one notable instance in the book - helps to see them in a very different light, as thinking and feeling creatures who deserve our respect. And affection.

If I wanted to find any fault with this book I might complain of a too-quick ending: the huge build-up leading to it made me feel that the resolution was a bit too abrupt. And then there's Laurence's form of address to Temeraire: when he says "my dear" it sounds… off-key - I can't exactly say why it feels wrong, but every time it happens (and there are a few instances of it) it distracts me.  I believe that "my friend" would have sounded better and more sincere, more in tune with the man's personality, and would still have fully expressed the bond between man and dragon.

Still, it's the kind of minor nitpick that does not detract from the pleasure of a highly engrossing book.

My Rating: 7.5/10

Swordspoint - Ellen Kushner

I became aware of this book through Dragons, Heroes and Wizards' review of it and its companion books in Ellen Kushner's trilogy: the review intrigued me enough to try it out as soon as I could, since it promised to be a very different kind of fantasy than I'm used to.

It is indeed different: there is no heroic quest to be completed, no bloody war being fought between competing armies, no magic or dark entities trying to take over the world. Swordspoint is more like a peek into an eighteenth-century-like society, with complex rules centering on duel and many layers of inter-crossing currents of intrigue.  Just for once it was pleasant to immerse myself in a story where the fate of the world was not in jeopardy...

The book is quite well written, the style precise and exquisitely crafted like one of the porcelain chocolate cups used by the nobility depicted in the story. The descriptions of the two sides of society - the nobles on the Hill and the common folk in the dilapidated town of Riverside - are vivid and bring this world into sharp, three-dimensional life with almost cinematic quality. Some of the rules are very intriguing, especially those concerning duels and the whole swordsmen's code - they speak of detailed, careful and loving world-building.

But. Unfortunately there is a "but"...

Much as this book is an engaging exercise in style, it failed to involve me on an emotional level: the characters, though well drawn, did not reach out and "speak" to me - as if the highly stylized rules of behavior governing this world prevented them from connecting with me, the reader.  I saw the actors on the stage, so to speak, and they were beautifully dressed and doing an admirable job of portraying their characters, but something was missing.

The best (or worst?) example comes from the two main characters, Richard and Alec: we are told, shown, that they are lovers, but personally I could not perceive any definite feelings between them - and what's more I failed to understand what could be binding them together, or make them tick. Richard is a master swordsman, the best in Riverside, almost a living legend: besides that, little else is offered about him, except his desire to protect the flighty, petulant Alec, whose reckless behavior seems bent on provoking duels for his lover to win.  They never gave off a "couple vibe", so to speak: when at some point Alec leaves, all Richard does is take in the fact and think that maybe "it's better this way". I confess I was mystified...

On a wider scale, the other characters peopling this book feel just as sketched, as if filling the need for the basic figures in a tale: the young, restless heir of a good family; the scheming, evil noble (complete with black eye-patch); the clever duchess working her webs like a spider; and so on.  Not a single one of them gave off a sparkle of real life to me, and that detracted heavily from the beauty of the setting.

A splendid exercise in style, as I said before, but for me a book must be something more - it has to tell me a story I can lose myself in, and here I was - sadly - not lost at all. 

My Rating: 6/10

The Price of Spring - Daniel Abraham

Writing this review was not easy, not because I didn't know what to say, but rather  because I didn't exactly know how to say it.  First, because talking about this series without mentioning some plot points is near to impossible, and second because when I love a book (or a series) the way I did this one, words seem to elude me... And this fourth and final book in The Long Price Quartet is more compelling than the previous ones, thanks to Mr. Abraham's storytelling style and his writing, clear-cut and lyrical at the same time.

I've finally understood the meaning of the "long price" in the title: the whole story arc points at the price paid for one's actions, and choices - and their consequences, not just for the involved individuals but for the whole world they live in. These consequences can be far-reaching, as well, given how decisions taken decades in the past can come to fruition in the present, and shape the future. 

Accepting or refusing the change that comes with this realization is what makes Abraham's characters' tick: some still ferociously cling to the past, to the old way of doing things, therefore raining more grief on an already stricken world. Until now the danger represented by the andats (man-shaped manifestations of abstract concepts) had been clear but at the same time observed from a distance, while at the end of the previous book and in this one, the reader is treated to the full, tragic power of the creatures and the way they can influence the poets, their creators and handlers, who can in turn be shaped, or twisted, by their creations. I don't think it's a coincidence that the andat that drives this point home is called Clarity-of-Sight, also called Blindness for his darker side.

The underlying conflict, that until now has been cultural and political, and only in the previous book turned to all-out war, becomes here a conflict of ideas, and one of personalities: it's only fitting, from my point of view, that it's made manifest in the struggle between Otah and Maati, the main characters. After so many years and so much history (good and bad) between them, the resolution centers on what they are in respect of each other, on how much they influenced each other in the past, and how their present actions stem from that shared past.  If their origins are the same - unwanted sons of great houses, sent to the harsh school that trains poets for the binding of andats - they come to walk on different and diverging paths: one of them still tied to the past, despite the dangers of such a vision, and the other daring to dream of a different, if not necessarily better, future. 

The beauty of it is that they are both right and wrong at the same time, that there is no well-defined boundary and that the very concepts of right and wrong shift according to any given situation.  The horrible mistakes that are made along the way all come from the desire to do good, and their inevitable consequences plague the characters to the very end: we are constantly reminded that they are, after all, only human and as such they always do what they can, hoping for the best.  That very humanity is what endeared them to me, not despite their mistakes but because of them: the story does have an epic feel, granted, but the human dimension of it is what gives it life and depth.

There is a definite feeling, in this fourth book, of the end of an era - even more definite than it was in the previous one: the sense of melancholy, the awareness that no matter what time will bring, things will never be the same anymore. Many of the characters I followed from the beginning have grown old, and the sense of loss that accompanies this natural progression only added to the poignancy of the situation, because I had to face the fact I would have to say good-bye to these characters and the world they inhabited - and it made me sad. This realization brought home the awareness of how much I had come to care for them, for better or worse, depending on their place in the story.  And yet all things - all people - must come to an end because, as Abraham so poetically states in the last pages, renewal comes only through evolution: Flowers do not return in the spring, rather they are replaced. It is in this difference between returned and replaced that the price of renewal is paid.

Even recognizing the rightness of the concept, it was hard to part from this world - harder still because of the quietly emotional ending. But I also know it will be a pleasure to revisit it some time in the future.

My Rating: 9/10

A Retrospective Look: Dune, by Frank Herbert

Thanks to a recent discussion with Mulluane from Dragons, Heroes and Wizards over at Pinterest, I've been thinking about this book, one of my all-time favorites, and one of my rare multiple re-reads. I think I revisited it almost as much as I did Lord of the Rings, which is interesting, since Dune might very well be my iconic science fiction book, as LOTR is for fantasy.

Interesting because - and that was part of the discussion I mentioned above - Dune's genre has long been the subject of debate, my idea being that it stands on some undefined middle ground between the two: the action unfolds in a very distant future and concerns a vast galactic empire, spanned by ships that travel enormous distances almost in the wink of an eye, and yet the technology is… subdued, for want of a better word, and  is never the focus of the story. Many references are made to the Butlerian Jihad, the movement that banned the use of computers and stressed the powers of the human mind, and such powers are reflected in the use of Mentats - humans who have been trained in logical thought - and the abilities of the Bene Gesserit, the all-female secret society working, slowly but surely, toward their mysterious goals.

These elements, coupled with the murderous political intrigue that constitutes the backbone of the story, the internal strife between the Empire's noble houses and the amazing world-building underlying the concept of Arrakis, the desert world, would not be out of place in a fantasy novel, and the same can be said about the protagonist's story-arc: Paul Atreides/Muad'Dib goes from sheltered heir of House Atreides to religious leader of an oppressed people seeking freedom, passing though the harrowing grind of loss and betrayal.    Moreover, there is a heavy emphasis on esoteric powers, prophecies and melange-induced prescience: all concepts that can be found in many fantasy storylines…

Apart from the debate about genre, that I believe will go on for as long as Dune remains one of the pillars of spec-fic literature (and that's a good way to label it, nicely skirting the issue…), the question I asked myself is: what makes this book so unforgettable, and what compels me (and others) to go back to it time and time again?

One of the reasons must be its timeless quality: Dune is almost 50 years old, and yet does not show its age, as some of the classics of that period do.  Frank Herbert's language, though sometimes ponderous and convoluted, does not carry a time stamp that immediately identifies it as a product of the mid-sixties.  Some of its themes, as well, are even more actual today than they were at the time of the first publication: the war for precious, finite commodities that engenders political schemes and conflicts is something modern readers are acquainted with in many ways.

But I think that the characters are the real magnet of the story: what's amazing, and also very modern, is that most of them - if not all - are not totally likable people, are not "hero material" according to an old-fashioned, black-and-white concept. And yet we, the readers, root for them and want them to succeed.

Seen through today's filters, Paul Atreides - who ultimately exploits the Fremen's desire for freedom riding a corpus of religious legends he tailors after his needs - would not be so different from GRR Martin's Tyrion Lannister, just to quote one of my favorite examples: not a bad guy, but not a good one either. Just the right blend of light and darkness that makes today's "heroes" more interesting, and believable, despite the shadows lurking behind their backs.

All of the above are good reasons, granted, but sometimes the need to analyze a story makes us forget the main one: we are captivated by it because it's a great story, a compelling tale of honor and betrayal, of sacrifice and determination, love, hate, passion and wisdom. And let's face it, that's all that matters in the end, isn't it?

The Warded Man - Peter Brett

I've had this book on my radar for quite some time now, but it kept being shuffled down my reading list in favor of other titles.  Now that I finally got around to it, I'm sorry I waited so long - even though I can comfort myself with the notion that in the meantime two other books in the series have been published, so I can look forward to lose myself into this world once again.

The premise of the book is interestingly unusual: each night, as darkness reclaims the world, demonic creatures rise from the ground to attack and kill people, whose only defense are magic symbols ("wards") painted or etched on doors and walls.    Precious little is given to the reader about these demons and it's mostly the stuff of long-forgotten legends or a sort of religious dogma, but what's fascinating here are the hints about a different, more advanced and pro-active past. What's interesting is that the demons all seem to be related to natural elements like wind, water, fire, stone and so on, which makes me wonder if there is not some connection to that more technologically-oriented past and if these creatures are not the result of some experiment gone horribly wrong. The occasional mention of "the arrogance of our ancestors" would seem to point in that direction.

The first impression that comes out of this situation is that of a divided humanity, broken into settlements whose distance from one another is measured not by space but by the time it takes to cross between them: anything that's further than a day's travel is deemed dangerous if not deadly, because only Messengers dare to brave the night and its demons, thanks to their hard training, courage and portable wards - and even those measures don't offer the certainty of survival.

Unfortunately, when past history transforms (or de-evolves) into legends, the glories of that past become something to look at with wonder while they cease to become the inspiration for a more aggressive stance against the plague of demons.  The physical division I was mentioning before seems to have robbed most people of the will to fight, as they focus more on survival and therefore seem headed toward stagnation, and ultimately defeat if - as it's often mentioned - their numbers are dwindling while the demons keep coming out of the depths in inexhaustible numbers.

The three protagonists of the book are indeed shaped to become the force that will break this stalemate, and the reason I enjoyed reading their individual stories is that not one of them is depicted as hero material or predestined savior, in the "honored tradition" of fantasy literature: their lives are quite ordinary, though liberally touched with grief and loss that shape their personalities and direct their actions. The author's choice of developing the story through their separate points of view makes for a fast pace and keeps the narration interesting: in a way this choice mirrors the separation that keeps humans distant from each other, and so the three main characters grow in ignorance of the others' existence.  

Even though this kind of story-telling can be at times frustrating, because it's undeniable that once launched on a track a reader wants to know "what happens next", still this constant change of point of view held  my eager attention and kept me marching through the book at a fast clip.  Even though it's clear from early on that the three are destined to meet, the fact that their encounter is postponed until almost the end of the book - and that it happens in very dramatic circumstances - adds a further measure of attraction to the story-line.

Since the protagonists receive the author's focused attention throughout the book, at times the "guest characters" somewhat suffer from a lack of depth (with a few notable exceptions like one of my very favorites, herb gatherer Bruna) even though they move through the story with ease and believability. 

But of course the scene needs to be dominated by Arlen, Leesha and Rojer, whose lives we follow from childhood on: of the three I must admit that Arlen is the most interesting one, especially because Mr. Brett chooses a peculiar path of evolution for him, one that does not necessarily lead to enlightenment and glory but rather moves downward on some dark roads, so that it's clear he needs the other two to remain in contact with his humanity.  This is true, however, for Leesha and Rojer as well, each in his or her own way, and I like very much the idea of a... chorus of heroes working in unity, rather than the solitary figure that would be the norm in this kind of story.

This focus on characters works somewhat against the development of the world's background as well as that of the minor players, but still I think that the glimpses readers are afforded are more than enough to let the imagination fill in the rest: Mr. Brett does a wonderful work of showing instead of telling (a quality I admire and enjoy), and there is always the hope that the next books will add more details to the overall picture, building on the foundations that have been laid in this first installment. To say I look forward to more of this would be a huge understatement...

My Rating: 8/10

An Autumn War - Daniel Abraham

This third installment of Daniel Abraham's Long Price Quartet is definitely more than the sum of its predecessors, both of them outstanding books: where the first two parts of this series introduced the world in which the action unfolds, and fleshed out the characters peopling it, An Autumn War brings all these elements to fruition in a tale that is both enthralling and satisfying.

One of the most fascinating aspects of this series has been the notion of the andats, the anthropomorphic manifestations of complex thoughts or ideas summoned to life by the "poets", specially trained people able to give them substance and control them. Andats like Seedless - the creature that can "remove the part that continues" and is employed by the cotton growers to remove the seed from raw cotton so that the weavers can easily process the material; or Stone-Made-Soft, dedicated to mining and effortless tunneling. These constructs require a constant vigilance though, because like all unwilling slaves they hunger for freedom and are not averse to dangerous or deadly trickery.

The Khaiem, the eastern-like, feudal culture deployed over several city-states, has used the andats for generations, relying on them to the point that no other way of life is deemed possible, to the point that the loss of a city's andat means ruin and decadence. While their historical adversaries, the Galt, see the creatures as a danger and an obstacle to progress, and are determined to rid the world of them.

This is the nature of the conflict built over the previous two books and that finds here its culmination: what is fascinating is that the main opponents - Otah, Khai of the city-state of Machi and General Gice, the Galt commander bent on destroying the andats - are both honorable men, and likeable, complex characters, who want the best for their own peoples. The unexpected, tragic way in which the conflict is resolved opens the road to future promising developments, since the aftermath will require huge adjustments from both cultures. The last book in the saga will no doubt be quite interesting...

The more I read of Abraham's work, the more I appreciate his storytelling style, simple and elegant, with rich descriptions that paint a complex, fascinating picture. The best feature of this saga comes from his choice to forgo the usual (and in my opinion over-used) medieval-like setting, to create a culture resembling that of ancient Japan - complete with structured hand gestures ("poses") that convey subtle layers of meaning. This new approach, combined with a minimal but expressive prose, makes for a compelling reading that never fails to leave me wanting for more.

My rating: 8/10

Red Seas under Red Skies - Scott Lynch

This second book in the Gentlemen Bastards series was something of a letdown, at least in the beginning: having thoroughly enjoyed the first volume, The Lies of Locke Lamora, I expected to be just as thrilled with Red Seas Under Red Skies, but for the first half of this book it was not so. This second installment takes a while to finally find its legs, and that happens only when Locke and Jean, the surviving members of the Gentlemen Bastards, meet with pirate Zamira Drakasha's crew and the adventure begins in earnest.

Until then, Mr. Lynch's story seems to wander in several directions, as if in search of its identity: the only reason I stayed with it was that I wanted to trust the author on the basis of the first book's strength and innovative storytelling - luckily for me, that trust paid off in the end, even though it was a close call.

One of the book's saving graces comes of course from its main characters: the interplay between Locke and Jean both defines them as persons and expands on the story. Here they are often at odds with each other: the loss of their comrades, Locke's fall into depression and Jean's efforts to carry them both forward until they can recover from that loss, all contribute to a friction that explodes at times into dangerous conflict. Yet their friendship - the bond of kinship that goes well beyond mere association to become true brotherhood - comes out of those pitfalls stronger than ever.

The pirate society - or rather the microcosm aboard the Poison Orchid, the ship where our heroes become full-fledged raiders - is wonderfully described and quite vivid: Drakasha is a memorable character, a pirate captain who is a middle-aged woman and a mother, but at the same time a ruthless brigand and a fair, level-headed commander. Her second Ezri is also a strong female character, but sadly she gets less development than Drakasha, since her function seems to be there merely as Jean's love interest, and she finally shines through only toward the end in a dramatic scene that loses nothing of its potency even as the reader realizes that events were tailored to bring that ending about.

After the shaky beginning I mentioned the plot does gain speed and proceeds toward the end in a satisfactorily adventurous way, but still I feel that it lacks the spirited quality of the first book, that the author somehow felt the pressure to deliver that followed the debut novel in this series and this hampered his style in some way.

Nonetheless, the misgivings I listed are not enough to stop me from going on reading - not in the least because this second book closes with a huge cliffhanger that I can't wait to see resolved...


My rating: 6.5/10