The four characters, after suffering enormous torment in various ways, all come to the conclusion that they can’t take it anymore, and so stage a revolt against the forces of Hell, searching for the mythical “Key” which will unlock their freedom.  And so they venture through levels of Hell, down into ossified caverns and creature-infested halls to a room where Lucifer’s soul has been kept inches from his body for four thousand years.  It only takes one look for the adventurers to give Lucifer back his body.  Then the fun begins.  They blast themselves out of Hell using a flaming sword.

And the flaming sword is no coincidence.  It’s right out of William Blake.  Like Blake’s evil in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, evil in Duncan’s universe is self-inflicted pain, the self-flagellating confines of a belief system that, for instance, believes homosexuality to be a sin or that sends people to eternal damnation who have committed suicide.  The hero here, as in Blake’s work, is Lucifer, the light-bringer, who did not trick or tempt Eve in the Garden of Eden, Duncan says, but offered her knowledge of the lunacy of God and the hope that thereafter humankind would be free.  Instead of mankind rebelling against this absurdity (in this case, I believe Duncan is alluding to our blind-faith in the absurd tenants of modern faith), we clothed ourselves and hid in shame.  Hell then, Duncan says, is a creation of man, something from our nightmares, and heaven, if such a place exists, is freedom from shame.  God does exist in Duncan’s world, but he’s a crazy, sadistic bastard.

I really enjoyed this one.  My only complaint is that the typesetting was terrible.  I’m not sure if this was because I got my copy free at the World Fantasy Convention, and therefore it was an ARC with typos.  But there were hash-marks between every section, and too many spacing issues to count.  Regardless, it was a fun and quick read, and I highly recommend it.

Shadows of the Emerald City
Edited by JW Schnarr
Published by Northern Frights
Reviewed by Greer Woodward

When I originally read L. Frank Baum’s Oz books, two things struck me about the magical kingdom, its breadth – that there were always new characters, communities, and challenges around the bend – and that I very much wanted to go there.  Now I’m far away from those bountiful days of childhood, but I’m pleased to report that Shadows of the Emerald City, JW Schnarr’s 19-story anthology about the dark side of Oz, offers a sense of Oz’s continuing expansiveness as well as a satisfying number of characters that yearn to be part of the enchanted land.

The anthology is a mix of stories featuring well-known characters from The Wizard of Oz – Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Wizard, and Witches; lesser-known personalities from the later series – Jack Pumpkinhead, Mr. Yoop, the China People, and Fuddles; several new relations – Dorothy’s father, Dorothy’s husband, and the Scarecrow’s son; and new creations altogether – good-looking gumshoe Captain Jo Guard, botanical specialist Linnaea, and the heroic warrior Trewis and his decaying nemesis Ozymandias.

The range of characters combined with a variety of approaches and themes does well to suggest Oz’s unlimited landscape.  Alternate mythologies, noir takes, origin stories, second chances, and absurdist directions smoothly and effectively link with traditional horror themes – greed, murder, the quest for power, and cannibalism, especially in witches with a taste for children.

One of the most successful alternate mythology pieces, “The Utility of Love” by David Steffen, chronicles the relationship between Dorothy and Tin Man, in this incarnation a heartless assassin.  Tin Man wants Dorothy to teach him about love, a request which juxtaposes Dorothy’s simple thoughts about affection for friends and parents with complex moral situations: lying, killing, the intentional death of a beloved companion, and a deal with the dark side.  The qualities of love spin and sputter, shifting from meaning to nothingness to meaning again as events swiftly change.

For noir takes, Shadows offers an entertaining trio.  Jack Bates’ “Emerald City Confidential” features a reluctant sleuth, double-dealing over-the-top sirens, and a hidden power struggle of monumental proportions.  “Four AM at the Emerald City Windsor” by H.F. Gibbard examines a marriage gone bad, in this case, the union of Dorothy Gale and Bert Lister, formerly The Great Cagliostro, master of might and magic, now a hopeless and possibly murderous drunk.

Lori T. Strongin’s “Not in Kansas Anymore” is also about an older Dorothy, this one a stripper who calls herself “Kansas.”  In the opening paragraphs she regrets her youthful expectations, not knowing then that Oz was “the place where innocence went to die; where broken hearts met broken glass, and blood was just graffiti on emerald green walls.”  The narrative takes her through a garish replay of the events of The Wizard of Oz, with monstrous embodiments of her former friends, leading her to question the truth of what she is experiencing and the source of the horror.

But several of the stories I found most memorable looked at the disturbing implications of some of Oz’s quaint, distinct, and originally delightful notions, most in books following The Wizard.  Rajan Khanna’s skillful “Pumpkinhead” and Jason Rubis’ darkly amusing “A Chopper’s Tale” involve the magic Powder of Life, known for animating Jack Pumpkinhead, the Sawhorse, and the Gump in Baum’s 1904 The Marvelous Land of Oz.  In “Pumpkinhead” the powder goes terribly wrong and in “A Chopper’s Tale” it goes terribly right, at least from the point of view of the narrator, a psychopathic axe.

“Mr. Yoop’s Soup” and “The Fuddles of Oz” consider the downside of one of the most famous benefits of living in Oz: its citizens do not die.  Michael D. Turner’s soup story is very funny, but may not be for the queasy.  Mr. Yoop, a giant cannibal first appearing safely behind bars in 1913’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz, has escaped and appropriated an antique, two-handed cleaver.  Several subsequent scenes take place in the boiling meal between the disembodied – and chatty – heads of the King of the Munchkins, a goose girl, and a famous wrestler.

Baum devotes a chapter in his 1910 The Emerald City of Oz to the Fuddles, described as the most peculiar people in the Land of Oz.  Each Fuddle is a living puzzle made of wooden pieces.  Unfortunately when a visitor approaches, the pieces scatter and the Fuddles need the outsider to put them back together again.  In the Baum book, Dorothy and her friends spend several amusing hours reassembling the Fuddles, but in Mari Ness’ story, a not very bright Winkie is befuddled by the Fuddles with unhappy consequences.  It’s a beautifully structured little tragedy: the Fuddles are undone by their uniqueness and also by their obscurity – they are mere dots on the giant, continuously unfolding canvas of Oz.

And then there are the touching stories about finding a way into Oz – for the first time, or to return.  T.L. Barrett’s “The China People of Oz” centers on Ronie, an eight-year-old fan of the Oz books who is dying of leukemia. On a trip to Kansas from the Grant-A-Wish Foundation, she finds a set of figurines in a memorabilia shop and is convinced they are the actual China People from one of the final chapters of The Wizard.  Is Ronie a victim of her imagination or has she stumbled on something impossible, but nonetheless real?  The story tenderly and perceptively explores this delicate question.  Ronie’s feelings and actions ring true, as do those of her parents.

The first and last stories in the collection, Mark Onspaugh’s “Dr. Will Price and the Curious Case of Dorothy Gale” and Martin Rose’s “The King of Oz,” also consider the logistics of getting to Oz.  The first examines what is necessary for a successful return, and both suggest that the most profound horror of all is losing – forever – one’s only golden chance.

In contrast to the stories about reaching Oz, editor Schnarr’s superb “Dorothy of Kansas” begins with Tin Man and Scarecrow leaving the magical country, not because they are dissatisfied or have grander plans, but because they want to save their home.  Joy – and life – have left the land. The Emerald City is strewn with corpses; the sky is smoky, and acid snow falls constantly.

It’s a stark, absurdist journey, reminiscent of Samuel Beckett’s classic Waiting for Godot.  Tin Man is covered with rust and crumbling, and nothing is left of Scarecrow but a stuffed head in a bucket.  They seek Kansas and Dorothy in the hope she can restore the kingdom.  What they discover is a bleak relationship between real and imaginary worlds.  Just as Baum’s Oz reflected the optimism and possibility of the early 1900’s, Schnarr’s work captures the unsettled, angst-ridden spirit of ours: maybe the apocalypse won’t happen this week, but it’s out there, lurking.

If you’ve read the Oz books, you’ll enjoy what this anthology adds to the canon.  If you’ve only seen the 1939 movie, there are enough red shoes, pink Glindas, and fragments of iconic dialogue to keep you interested.  In fact, my only criticism of the anthology is that so many images come from the film, not the books.  But perhaps that’s a sign of the times.  If you google “The Wizard of Oz,” the first listings will likely reference the film.  You’ll have to try “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” Baum’s original title, to find the book at the top of the heap.

Not that I mind, at least for long.  I’ve ordered the 70^th Anniversary version of the film and by the time you are engrossed in the expansive landscape of this shadowy anthology, I will be singing along with Dorothy.  And both of us many wonder – even you on Schnarr’s considerably rockier pathway – if childhood wishes are so wrong, if it just might be possible somehow, someday to reach the Land of Oz.

Stephen King’s latest novel, Blaze, is being released under his Richard Bachman pseudonym. It’s a trunk novel, written in 1973, during the time the other Bachman books were written.

King wrote Blaze just before Carrie. There’s a similarity between the two because both share an outcast protagonist who is a hero and also a villain at the same time. In Blaze, Clayton Blaisdell Jr., known as Blaze, is a mentally slow man. His condition and hardships throughout his life bring out strong pathos in the audience. In the beginning of the novel, a terrible incident of child abuse causes his condition. From then on, the audience feels for him through every mistreating he endures. He’s the hero for them. But he’s also a con man, hence being the villain duping some of the other characters.

His con partner and friend, George, dies before the story takes place, yet Blaze continues to communicate with George, and George talks back. It could be his ghost, or it could all be in Blaze’s head. It’s mostly left to the audience to decide. Either way, this aspect of the story quickly becomes accepted.

Blaze goes for his biggest con yet — the kidnapping of a rich couple’s baby for one million dollars in ransom. To go about it, he uses plans George made before his death, and the help George gives him in their “conversations.”

Blaze is half about everything relating to the kidnapping, and half about Blaze’s earlier years. With the baby, he’s caring, a gentle giant. King shows the point of view of the kidnapping from multiple sides — it’s a very hot case for the police and FBI.

Regarding his early years, as a child, Blaze grew up in Hetton House, a state-run orphanage. He led a hard life. Throughout it, he had only two real friends — George, and his childhood friend, Johnny. A lot of the flashbacks are about Johnny. There are quite a few about George as well, including some about the clever cons they pulled together.

Blaze feels like an homage to John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, both having similar main characters — physically and mentally — and both having friendship as a theme. With its strong characterization and action, Blaze is hard to put down and a very fast read. It ranks up in the best half of King’s works.

November 9, 2007 – Angela Crockett for Senses Five Press

Kushiel’s Justice continues the story of Imriel de la Courcel, third in line for the throne of Terre d’Ange, and child of the nation’s most infamous and deadly traitor. Imriel, regarded with suspicion since his childhood, is determined to prove himself loyal to his country. Instead, against his will, he finds himself committing the one act guaranteed to condemn him for treason in the eyes of the nation if discovered—falling in love with its dauphine, Sidonie. Yet Imriel is already engaged to Dorelei mab Breidaia of Alba, and weds her to secure Terre d’Ange’s political influence in Alba’s succession. In doing so, he betrays his own heart and violates his god’s single imperative, to “love as thou wilt.”

In this sequel to Kushiel’s Scion, Jacqueline Carey turns the reader’s eyes to Alba, a barbarian tribal society steeped in druidic magic. Here a scattered tribe of bear-like mystics, desperate to protect Alba from the devastation foreseen in visions of Imriel’s future, use Imriel’s lingering passion for Sidonie to strike at the heart of his Alban family. The resulting tragedy spawns a quest for revenge that spans three nations.

Once again, Carey’s talent for creating rich and fully articulated characters shines through in this novel. As with its predecessor Kushiel’s Scion, Kushiel’s Justice focuses primarily on Imriel’s inner conflict and growth. Imriel’s struggle between love and duty, though a familiar trope, is handled with a refreshing maturity and complexity, putting Sidonie’s regal air and constrained passion in contrast to Dorelei’s charming naïveté without invalidating Dorelei as an intelligent and insightful woman in her own right. Alais, Sidonie’s sister, captivates with her blend of quiet wisdom and lingering insecurity, and a new cast of Alban characters beautifully fleshes out Imriel’s world. Imriel himself undergoes subtle but visible character growth over the course of the novel as he recognizes his own selfish tendencies, earnestly tries to make himself worthy of his wife’s affection, and begins to trust that he can be true to his nature and still be good.

Series fans may feel the absence of Phèdre and Joscelin, heroes of the first trilogy, who spend much of this book following their own pursuits and play only a tangential part in this chapter of Imriel’s story. Similarly, events in the Alban sections of the story seem greatly distanced from the familiar society and world of Terre d’Ange; this sense of encapsulation feels appropriate to Alba’s political standing in Carey’s world, but it may leave the reader longing for more of the signature flavor, intrigue and social politicking of the series. The slower pacing of events in Alba is occasionally frustrating, but it does give the reader time to revel in the sensuality of the books.

On the whole, Carey has done an excellent job of exploring Imriel and Sidonie’s forbidden passion, bringing Imriel through staggering character growth, and including hints of the plotlines from the prior novel and series by incorporating Imriel’s mother’s letters and the secrets of the Hidden Guild. She leaves the reader at a moment of high anticipation, with Imriel and Sidonie poised to return to Terre d’Ange and handle the tenuous political situation into which their romance has plunged the nation.

June 13, 2007 – C. Wright for Senses Five Press

With Kushiel’s Scion, Jacqueline Carey returns the reader to the world of Terre D’Ange, whose people are descended from gods and carry passion in the blood. The novel opens with Imriel de la Courcel, the long-missing Prince of the Blood, returning to his home country and joining the household of Phèdre nó Montrève and her consort Joscelin Verreuil, heroes of Carey’s first Kushiel trilogy, who rescued him from torment and slavery. Imriel is already regarded with suspicion in the public eye—and doubts about his loyalty increase when his infamously traitorous mother, Melisande, escapes from her self-imposed prison in neighboring La Serenissima.

In addition to accusations of treachery and deceit, Imriel struggles with his mother’s other legacy—the dangerous desires inherent in his family’s bloodline. Desperate to escape his history and darker urges, Imriel flees to Tiberium, where he encounters the Unseen Guild, a secret organization who taught his mother the arts of covertcy and who now seeks to recruit him.

This novel is something of a departure from Carey’s earlier Kushiel books; though it maintains the complexity of character and the richly articulated world that characterized her first trilogy, it has a much quieter tone and slower pacing. The focus is on Imriel’s internal struggle to reconcile the traits he inherited from his mother with his own desire to do good; the book deals much more with philosophy than action and adversity. However, Carey enlivens the novel with a compelling blend of character personalities, clever subterfuge, and the continuing mystery of Melisande’s schemes that unites this trilogy with her earlier work.

In Scion, the author has done an excellent job of creating a distinct and authentic voice for Imriel, who shares neither the previous heroine Phèdre’s unique sexuality nor her assurance and sense of self-identity. Terre d’Ange and its familiar locations take on a new character when viewed through Imriel’s eyes; the experience of her world is appreciably different in this book. Imriel himself is a strongly sympathetic and relatable hero, whose thoughts and views change believably as he himself matures and develops over the course of the novel.

To her credit, Carey has not tried to top the epic arc of her first trilogy by introducing an even more staggering series of events; her approach in following more subtle plotlines makes for a very authentic-feeling follow-up to the first trilogy. This start of what seems to be a quieter series of books gives a different and interesting view of life in Terre d’Ange in the wake of heroes.

June 13, 2007 – C. Wright for Senses Five Press

The White Wolf’s Son continues Moorcock’s Albino Underground series, an epic fantasy series tracing the battles between Law and Chaos. The main character is twelve-year-old Oonagh von Bek, and she begins her tale as old friends of her grandparents gather around her in Ingleton. Old friends of their type attract old enemies, and Prince Gaynor von Minct and Klosterheim return with a pointed interest in the girl. In an attempt to escape the two men, Oonagh accidentally falls through a rift to another world, ending up in a city named Mirenburg. Among those who aid her as she searches for a way home are the giant fox Lord Renyard, dandy and thief lord; an oracular building named Mrs. House; and Oonagh’s grandmother, Oona, who can travel between worlds on the moonbeam paths.

Unfortunately, Klosterheim and von Minct pursue Oonagh to this new world for reasons Oonagh still doesn’t understand. She learns, though, that she’s not the only object of their interest. By chance, she meets a blind albino boy enslaved in a factory and discovers that he’s a relative of her grandmother’s. Before she can arrange his rescue, she’s forced to flee Mirenburg. Their paths cross again, though, and the reason why Klosterheim and von Minct need them both turns out to have dangerous implications, not only for Oonagh but for the balance of Law and Chaos in the multiverse.

Interwoven with Oonagh’s tale is the story of Elric, the patriarch of the family at the end of a thousand-year dream quest. He senses that his descendants are in danger, and although he is dying in his own world, he manages to send his spirit on a mission through the multiverse to protect them. Elric is well-known throughout the multiverse, and he goes to some pains to avoid old enemies as he searches for Oonagh. However, he is prepared to risk his own life to defend his family.

The White Wolf’s Son spans a broad array of settings, from the gloomy underground realm of Mu-Ooria to the opulent and corrupt empire of Granbretan. In scope and imagination, the novel excels. Since the events are narrated mostly by Oonagh, who necessarily has a limited perspective, the mythology of Elric and the worlds takes a secondary position to the events that immediately affect her. The story is Oonagh’s, not Elric’s. Though she lacks the destiny of her renowned ancestor, her adventures are just as intriguing on a smaller scale, and fantasy lovers will find them worth the telling.

May 15, 2007 – Cheryl Barkauskas for Senses Five Press

The Crimson Shadow collects R. A. Salvatore’s novels about Luthien Bedwyr—The Sword of Bedwyr, Luthien’s Gamble, and The Dragon King—into one volume for the first time. Luthien begins the trilogy as an idle younger son who spends his days fishing and training with his father’s gladiators. For his entire life, his homeland of Eriador has been occupied by neighboring Avon and its monstrous allies, vicious one-eyed beings called cyclopians, but Luthien is oblivious to it. Everything changes for him when a cyclopian kills Luthien’s best friend in the arena at his father’s order, and his older brother Ethan is banished for speaking out against the crime. Distraught and disillusioned, Luthien kills the cyclopian in revenge and flees. His fight against injustice eventually leads him to spearhead a rebellion against the evil wizard-king Greensparrow, and in the end, he becomes the famed Crimson Shadow, hero of Eriador. Along the way, there’s plenty of action, suspense, and humor to keep the reader involved.

The characters, if not profound, are vividly drawn. Luthien and his lover Katerin are honorable warriors, and Greensparrow is suitably wicked. The standout among the supporting characters is Oliver de Burrows, “highwayhalfling,” who gets most of the best jokes. The lines between good and evil are clearly drawn; even when Luthien must resort to thievery to survive, he never forgets the honorable path.

Action is Salvatore’s specialty. Especially in the hand-to-hand combat scenes, his talent shines. He has the gift of describing action minutely enough for a vivid image, yet his pacing is good enough that the scene never bogs down. Banter among the companions and some humor in the actual fighting (such as Luthien firing an arrow point-blank at a cyclopian and missing) break the tension at strategic points.

The volume concludes with a brief interview with Salvatore in which he discusses his writing and his worlds. Of future forays in this world, he says: “I fall for my characters (those that survive). Right now my contractual obligations prevent a peek at [Luthien and Oliver], but I never say never.” If he does return, many of Salvatore’s fans will be eager to make the journey with him.

April 9, 2007 – Cheryl Barkauskas for Senses Five Press

Reviewed by Eugene Myers for Senses Five Press.

Trail of Time is the final novel in the DC Universe series of original stories. It features ensembles of superhero characters from the expansive DC history. Superman (who previously appeared in the first installment, Last Sons) returns for a new adventure that spans two universes and hundreds of years. Completing the cast are heroes that may be unfamiliar to even the most faithful comic book readers, including the Phantom Stranger, Jason Blood/Etrigan the Demon, Jonah Hex, Bat Lash, and El Diablo. These unlikely allies join forces to combat a trio of magical supervillains–Vandal Savage, the Dark Lord Mordru, and Felix Faust–who are bent on nothing less than world domination, naturally.

This is likely the most ambitious entry in the DC Universe series, a story that could easily demand a multi-title comic book event, akin to the ongoing 52 Weeks. Trail of Time begins in an eerie alternate universe: Earth revolves around a red sun, America is locked under strict military control to guard against foreign terrorists, and there is no Superman. Most of this book’s target readers will realize that red suns rob Superman of his powers, which leaves Clark Kent as simply a mild-mannered reporter, turning out government-approved stories that downplay the people’s lack of freedom in favor of their safety. Readers might also suspect that in a world without a Superman, Lois Lane has a much-shortened life expectancy. After Clark’s wife is killed while investigating a man named Vandal Savage, the Phantom Stranger and Jason Blood tell him of his heroic destiny in another reality and the role he must play to save it.

Still grieving Lois’s death, Clark joins them on a journey through hell to the proper DC Universe, where he merges with Superman (regaining his powers but retaining some memories of the other world’s Clark) and learns what is at stake. Vandal Savage and his cohorts have spawned a parallel universe which threatens to wipe out the original, leaving them in control. The heroes must locate the branching point in history and attempt to stop the magicians before they can put their plan into motion. Meanwhile, in the Old West, Jonah Hex and the others of his time find themselves inexplicably drawn together to fight some unknown force. Trail of Time follows a large number of characters in multiple parallel plotlines, most of which tie together satisfactorily in the final conflict. The novel is filled with time-hopping from one period to another, from a Camelot under siege to ancient China, with demons and magical menaces waiting at each stop. Aside from Kryptonite, Superman has always been susceptible to magic, which puts him in as much jeopardy as his companions.

The plot is heavy on action, but fortunately Mariotte is up to the task of describing it all as vividly as if it were drawn in comic book panels. Mariotte’s dialogue and prose truly shine with the characters from 1872—no surprise given his experience with his “Weird West” comic series, Desperadoes. The story skirts some sobering political and moral issues that would add some depth and resonance to the plot, and there’s little character development beyond a cursory summary of their origins, but the pace is quick and consistent with what you might find in the pages of your favorite superhero comics. Trail of Time is a grand and bold adventure that would be a challenge to present in any other medium, and it easily delivers more of what fans want in their favorite monthlies.

In Lisey’s Story, Stephen King’s latest work, Scott Landon, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, is dead. He is survived by his wife, Lisey (pronounced “Lee-see”). Lisey is trying to reassemble the pieces of her life, and though it has been two years since Scott’s sudden death, for Lisey it feels like yesterday. As she wanders her lonely Maine home, she still hears her husband’s voice echoing through her head. Meanwhile, petulant “Incunks,” as her husband called them, telephone incessantly, seeking access to Scott’s unpublished work. One such Incunk, who calls himself “Zack McCool”, decides to take this goal one step further. After several drunken conversations with a professor at a nearby college, he takes it upon himself to retrieve Scott’s unpublished manuscripts by any means necessary. Zack, if it needs to be said, is a little off his rocker.

But this arc takes up only one half of the story. The bulk of the novel is told in flashback; King fluidly weaves from the present into the past dozens of times. He stops in mid-sentence, changes tense, starts a new paragraph, and continues without pause, without capitalization, as if the story is being told in one long outbreath, one long elegy. We learn of Scott’s and Lisey’s strange courtship, delving steadily into Scott’s past as the novel progresses, learning of odd treasure hunts called “bools,” mind-warping malevolences that the childhood Scott calls “the bad-gunky,” and a dream-like alternate world called “Booya Moon.” After a time, we learn that the talented writer might have received many of his ideas not from his deep imagination but from actual, terrifying experiences. The flashbacks are the most engaging aspect of the novel (besides the highly-satisfying end) because in them we learn of the dark secret Scott has been carrying with him his whole life.

There’s a lot of magic to be found in “Lisey’s Story,” but it’s often buried under long stretches of meandering plot. Monsters don’t lurk around every page as in some of King’s earlier works. Instead, the reader must be patient. Clues are left often, and it is only later that one understands why, for example, Scott cuts his wrists open one night as a “gift” to his wife, or why he has made so many arrangements in his will for Lisey’s catatonic sister, Amanda.

Lisey and Scott frequently speak in their own private slang. They call each other “babyluv” and say “smucking” instead of the F-word. There are about a dozen more such made-up words. Some early critics of the book found this babytalk annoying, and while I found it difficult to wade through at first, I later understood that this language was absolutely necessary for two reasons, to show that Scott Landon is in some sense still a child, haunted by a past no boy should have to face, and to show how much Lisey Landon loves her husband. Scott is a man of words; Lisey, in mourning him, is unable to let a single thing of his go, not even his words.

Having read King’s semi-autobiographical On Writing, I suspect that Lisey’s Story, though not autobiographical itself, took a large part of its setting from King’s life. In both there is an older brother whom a boy loves more than anything, a hand-cranked printing press with messy ink in the basement, In both there is a writer who dwells in Maine, who is a professional and successful horror writer, whose wife has many sisters. The difference is that one is King’s true past and the other is a story. King says in an author’s statement at the end of the novel, “[Lisey] is not my wife, nor are her sisters Lisey’s sisters…” Nevertheless, the analogy is impossible to ignore, and the meta-fictional implications are somewhat creepy. (I.e., is King suggesting that he may have received some of his ideas from childhood experiences? Most likely, no, but the thought is interesting to ponder.)

My only criticism of the novel is its occasional slow pacing. Early on especially, humdrum descriptions of common activities, like frying up some hamburger helper, crowd the pages; tension is slow to build and sometimes frustrating. But once the plot does move, the payoff is well worth it. King says this is his attempt at a more “literary” novel, whatever that may mean to you, but I for one welcome his experimentation in a new area. It may both inspire non genre readers to pick up a horror story, and it might convince some blood and gore fans that there is more than one way to hide a monster under a bed.

More reviews can be found here.

1) The novel juxtaposes two opposing views: the scientific and the Christian. Characters maintaining both views attempt to explain their rapidly changing world through their perspective. It is clear, in my mind, that Wilson favors the rationalist, scientific, point of view. What I couldn’t figure out was (spoiler warning) why Wilson felt humanity needed to be saved? The central premise of the novel is that any sentient culture living in a limited space with limited resources (i.e. a planet) will eventually exhaust its supplies and die. Along comes Vast-Interstellar-Intelligence to save the day. But the VII is so slow-thinking that humanity doesn’t recognize it at first. What Wilson has unintentionally done is ruin his argument (if I read the text correctly). In the novel, a messiah doesn’t come to save humanity, but the VII does. In both cases, humanity is impotent to effect it’s own change. And while altering this premise would vastly change the novel, I found myself more than a little frustrated at Wilson’s suggestion that humanity is at best impotent to cosmic forces.

2) This one is more technical. Throughout the novel Wilson refers to the use of aerostats, high-altitude balloons that are used instead of orbital satellites after the Spin (a black shroud that encloses the Earth) appears. Every time there is an astronomical event in the sky, the aerostats conveniently stop working, leaving humanity temporarily without communication. Wilson should have studied intercontinental communications a bit better. Most communication data travels over fiber-optic cable, not satellite, including the Internet and phone calls, and therefore would be immune to any interference from the stars. A geosynchronous satellite has a two second round-trip time, a latency that’s okay for one-way mass broadcast communications like television, but downright snail-like for Internet and phone calls where latencies in the half-second are considered high. I suppose it was a good device to have when Wilson wanted his characters to be ignorant of the state of the world at large.

These two flaws aside, however, I thought Spin was a remarkable novel in its breadth of scope and its ability to extrapolate a future billions of years hence. I know why it won the Hugo, and it my mind it is very deserving. My trigger-happy crit brain just couldn’t resist the crit.

DC Universe: Helltown
by Dennis O’Neil, published by Warner Books

The third installment of a limited series of novels set in the DC Universe from Warner Books, Helltown is another name for the dangerous and corrupt Hub City. Like many troubled cities in the DC canon, this one has a vigilante protector: The Question. This masked hero is joined by an ensemble of DC characters, including Lady Shiva, Richard Dragon, and, most notably, Batman.

This book will have the greatest appeal to readers familiar with DC Comics. The author, Dennis “Denny” O’Neil, should be recognizable to longtime comic book fans for his work in such titles as Batman Knightfall, Green Lantern/Green Arrow, and The Question. O’Neil, however, is more than qualified for the difficult task of making the story accessible to readers unfamiliar with the DC Universe while also appealing to hardcore fans.

Helltown is the origin story of The Question, a relatively obscure DC hero who has enjoyed a resurgence in recent years with the Justice League Unlimited animated series and the ongoing DC title, 52 Weeks. The novel follows Vic Sage as he arrives in Hub City. He finds employment as a reporter for a local radio station, soon discovers a corrupt government headed by the unsavory Mayor Benedict Fermin, and uncovers a terrible plot that extends far beyond the city limits. Along the way he creates his superhero persona: a faceless man garbed in a trench coat and fedora.

Vic Sage seems like he was lifted from the 1980s; he frequently marvels at 21st century technology, including cellphones and “Googling.” He is a socially and politically conscious hero from another era, updated along with his supporting cast to more modern times. O’Neil takes other liberties with the established DC Comics history, seamlessly blending storylines from various comics into a unique story that stands on its own. Though devoted fans might take some exception to his changes, most people will simply enjoy the ride—and O’Neil’s approach ensures that everyone will find some surprises along the way.

At its heart, Helltown is about morally complex characters in extraordinary situations, and O’Neil grounds them firmly in reality even while convincing us that superheroes exist. The novel is well plotted, with frequently witty dialogue and solid action.

In a word: fun.

September 28, 2006 – Eugene Myers for Senses Five Press

This dense yet fascinating read proclaims that those theories suggesting humanity commingled with alien races long ago — possibly even being spawned by one — can be directly traced, not to historical reality, but to a series of fictional short stories by the horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, written at the beginning of the 20th century. Author Colavito — a former believer, and a contributor to Skeptic magazine — takes us chronologically through the history of this idea, from Lovecraft’s life to the present day, and he makes a convincing argument that “extraterrestrial genesis,” the theory that humanity was created by aliens, is hogwash. Lovecraft, Colavito argues, was a lifelong atheist and materialist and had no room for these pseudo-scientific theories in real life — but he knew well that they make for excellent fiction. The biographical portrait consumes only a fraction of The Cult of Alien Gods, though, and the rest of the work details long arguments intended to debunk dozens of alien-history theories, including those that claim: the Sphinx at Giza is much older than originally thought; Atlantis was real and home to an ancient, technological race; an ancient African tribe knew Sirius was a double star even before modern astronomers did. Though the links to Lovecraft seem reasonable at first blush, Colavito’s arguments sometimes turn specious, and he’s not immune to the same weakness of which he accuses others: presupposing a conclusion and then accepting only evidence that supports it. Nevertheless, it’s a worthwhile read that seeks to shed light upon a hundred years of speculation and myth, while at the same time paying high praise to one of the last century’s greatest storytellers.

January 9, 2006 – Matthew Kressel (courtesy Earthling Magazine).

In the Jamaican town of Gibbeah, all is not well. The village priest is a drunk they’ve dubbed the Rum Preacher, and the devil’s work roams as freely as the vultures. John Crow’s Devil is rife with the black birds, which seem inextricable from the festering morality of this forsaken community. Enter a smarmy man from Kingston called the Apostle York, who drags the former priest from his pulpit and leaves him in a haunted river to rot. First-time novelist James drenches us in Christian symbols, as the river becomes the Rum Preacher’s baptism and subsequent rebirth. While the Apostle slowly convinces the congregation to loathe the word Jesus, to murder cattle farmers, to attack visitors and destroy the only bridge into town, cows are born with heads turned backwards, and strange murders of crows congregate on rooftops and in yards. James weaves a dark, engaging tale from this mix of magic realism and religious literalism. While there are a few unnecessary distractions from the story — sexual organs are mentioned a bit too frequently, and the narrative is often recounted in an awkward-to-read Jamaican patois — in the end it’s a remarkably solid debut novel, promising much from a young and talented writer.

January 9, 2006 – Matthew Kressel (courtesy Earthling Magazine).

The Global Free Market will solve all ills: That is the premise which propels “X,” the protagonist of Cates’ satirical novel X out of Wonderland, on a journey from successful radio talk-show host to third-world sweatshop laborer, from kill-or-be-killed soldier to oversexed commune citizen. Make no mistake, X out of Wonderland is diatribe — but it’s the funniest and most poignant diatribe about the state of our current society you may ever read. No matter how many times X loses all that he has, no matter how much pain he suffers, he still trusts in the redemptive power of the Global Free Market. Wonderland contains genius twists and turns of phrase which alternately delight and horrify; its only fault is that the novel is rather plotless, moving from one circumstance to the next literally with every gust of wind. But at a breezy 140 pages, this fact can be easily overlooked as we enjoy our light-hearted tour of the rife hypocrisy that passes daily under our noses. Despair over the hopelessness of life on earth has never been so much fun.

January 9, 2006 – Matthew Kressel (courtesy Earthling Magazine).

The Water Mirror: Dark Reflections, Book 1

What do a blind orphan girl with mirrors for eyes, mermaids, Egyptians, flying stone lions, and urban Italy all have in common? Apparently nothing — until you pick up Kai Meyer’s The Water Mirror and begin floating with her down the canals of Venice. This first volume of a young-readers series, originally published in German, centers around Merle, a bold and curious orphan who begins an apprenticeship under the reclusive magic-mirror maker Arcimboldo. In the spirit of Pullman’s His Dark Materials, The Water Mirror‘s Venice exists in an alternate universe, where mermaids are raised in farms, stone lions guard the submerged city from imperious Egypt, and magic roams as freely as the flowing waters. And just like Pullman, Meyer leaves us waiting for the next book in the series. The author hints of great wonders — two expelled wizards whose aged towers lean uncomfortably close, gigantic underwater cities abandoned to the ravages of time — but she often gets caught up in relating this backstory, and long stretches of the narrative refer to events long ago, or are revealed rather awkwardly as conversations inside Merle’s mind. Nevertheless, The Water Mirror is imaginative enough to evoke wonder, and one hopes that with the scene now completely set, Meyer can open the floodgates of her creativity onto Venice with the next installment.

January 9, 2006 – Matthew Kressel (courtesy Earthling Magazine).