The beginning of Sourcery is very good, and the end is very good, and I am trying to think of why the middle didn’t work for me as well as Equal Rites and Mort, the two Discworld books that immediately precede it in order of publication.
Equal Rites showed some of the magical power that comes to the eighth son of an eighth son; well, eighth child of an eighth son, since the baby in question is a girl, one whose life confounds several of Discworld magic’s preconceived notions. Sourcery concerns the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son, “A wizard squared. A source of magic. A sourcerer.” His name is Coin.
Coin’s father, a powerful wizard, had been driven into exile for falling in love, and wanted his revenge on the rest of the practitioners of magic. Death comes for the father shortly after Coin’s birth, but he manages a final prophecy for his son’s destiny: “And I say that my son shall go to Unseen University and wear the Archchancellor’s hat and the wizards of the world shall bow to him! And he shall show them what lies in their deepest hearts. Their craven, greedy hearts. He’ll show the world its true destiny, and there will be no magic greater than his.”
Death demands a loophole in the prophecy, because, as Death says, SUCH TINKERING WITH DESTINY COULD MEAN THE DOWNFALL OF THE WORLD. THERE MUST BE A CHANCE, HOWEVER SMALL. A brief negotiation follows: Continue reading
Delight, verve, brio, glee, panache, all of these are in Barry Hughart’s Bridge of Birds, the first of three books in the chronicles of Master Li and Number Ten Ox, set in what he calls “an ancient China that never was.”
Here is how it starts:
I shall clasp my hands together and bow to the corners of the world
My surname is Lu and my personal name is Yu, but I am not to be confused with the eminent author of The Classic of Tea. My family is quite undistinguished, and since I am the tenth of my father’s sons and rather strong I am usually referred to as Number Ten Ox.
Master Li is a venerable sage with a slight flaw in his character. He agrees to help Number Ten Ox in an improbable attempt to save the children of Ox’ village from a near-mystical poison that has left them all in a deep slumber that will proceed to death in a matter of months unless a legendary antidote can be found. Continue reading
I would likely have considered this YA novel just a smidge above average, if not for that thoughtful, bittersweet ending. I thought it was entertaining overall, but at times it felt a little too self-consciously political. The Hunger Games trilogy trod that line (mostly) successfully when dealing with its anti-war and anti-propaganda narratives in books 2 and 3, but Material Girls navigates it less gracefully in discussing labor rights, possibly because fear of war and death are far easier to elicit sympathy for than fear of being an unemployed teenage has-been. Perhaps contrarily, I kinda wish Ms Dimopoulos had spent more time exploring the politics and economics of the world she’d built: more time incorporating them into the story might have made it feel less awkward for me. Otherwise, a not-altogether-unconvincing view of a dystopian future, with clever underpinnings to its seemingly frivolous exterior.
Valour and Vanity by Mary Robinette Kowal is the fourth of her Glamourist Histories series, following Shades of Milk & Honey, Glamour in Glass, and Without a Summer. The series crosses Regency romances with alternate (but not terribly alternate) history and a dash of domestic magic that may yet admit of industrial applications.
The teaser on the back cover of the book (UK trade paperback edition) gave away the tension of the first third of Valour & Vanity. It’s the kind of book that thrives on tension, so the giveaway was annoying, and that means that I will not be saying much about its plot at all.
By the end of the third book in the series, Kowal has settled her protagonists, and set them up very well in Regency England. They have money; they have social standing; they have each other and their art. Because neither Jane nor Vincent is much given to striving for more, except for further refinement of their art, there is little ground for conflict in the fourth book unless they lose some of what they have. Kowal deals them setbacks in an foreign land at the start of the story, and the pace of early 19th-century communications means that the two of them will be left on their own for quite some time, unable to draw on their families’ resources. Can they overcome what has happened to them?
Valour & Vanity is also a particular kind of novel, one that Kowal says in an afterword that she found more difficult to write than she expected. That shows mainly in that the wheels of the plot are more visible than they were in the previous books of the series. I’m glad that she’s expanding her repertoire, and that she’s not content for the books in this set to be merely additional installments. It’s also great fun, with more physical humor and greater details on the role of glamour than in the preceding books. Plus Lord Byron goes skinny-dipping.
Equal Rites, the third Discworld novel, makes a big leap in quality from the second. Terry Pratchett leaves the characters who were at the hub of the first two novels and sets off to tell a completely independent tale. Having spent the second book concocting a tale of danger to the whole Disc and then disposing of it in an off-hand way, Pratchett also abandons the need to tell a story of saving the world, or indeed changing it in any obviously momentous fashion. It’s as if here in the third book he realized that the setting was vast enough and interesting enough to just start telling stories within the Disc, rather than telling stories that did something to the Disc.
Consequently, he starts Equal Rites about as far as possible from the great city of Ankh-Morpork, which had been the previous center of action. He chooses an obscure village at the edge of civilization to have a bit of magic go wrong. On the Disc, wizards often know when their time is ending and may choose to pass much of their power on to someone else. In the first chapter, the dying wizard Drum Billet chooses to give his staff to a newborn he thinks is the eighth son of an eighth son, a particularly momentous lineage for magical purposes. Unfortunately for tradition, the babe is the first daughter of an eighth son.
The book follows Esk through her childhood, as the contradictions between Discworld tradition — men become wizards and women become witches — and Esk’s situation and growing abilities increase. Equal Rites is as laugh-out-loud-and-draw-occasional-funny-looks-if-you-are-reading-in-public as its predecessors, but the jokes serve the story rather than vice versa. They reveal aspects of the characters of their situations, even when Pratchett occasionally breaks the fourth wall.
Esk looked down at [her brother Gulta’s] face. She loved her brothers, when she reminded herself to, in a dutiful sort of way, although she generally remembered them as a collection of loud noises in trousers.
Esk glared down defiantly. Granny [Weatherwax, the local witch] glared up sternly. Their wills clanged like cymbals and the air between them thickened. But Granny had spent a lifetime bending recalcitrant creatures to her bidding and, while Esk was a surprisingly strong opponent, it was obvious that she would give in before the end of the paragraph.
They sat on bales of unknown herbs in the private corner made by the stall between the angled walls of the houses, and drank something fragrant and green out of surprisingly delicate cups. Unlike Granny, who dressed like a very respectable raven, Hilta Goatfounder [a witch in a nearby town] was all lace and shawls and colours and earrings and so many bangles that a mere movement of her arms sounded like a percussion section falling off a cliff. But Esk could see the likeness.
It was hard to describe. You couldn’t imagine them curtseying to anyone.
‘So,’ said Granny. ‘how goes the life?’
The other witch shrugged, causing the drummers to lose their grip again, just when they had nearly climbed back up.
Esk can clearly do both witch magic and wizard magic, but she cannot control the latter, and Granny Weatherwax cannot teach her. The main action of the book concerns their efforts to reach the Unseen University, the Discworld’s main place for training wizards, and then their efforts to gain entry, as a girl has never been previously admitted as a student.
That’s all there is to the plot, but nothing more is necessary, and I’m very glad that Pratchett realized that and didn’t try to weigh the book down with anything else. Esk is just right as she is, and Equal Rites is just right as it is, and one of the signs of Discworld’s coming greatness is that Pratchett lets both of them be what they properly are.
Not as good as the first in the series, but still above average. Once again, the magic theory was compelling, and I love Ms Mock’s overall plotting and world-building. The characters are flawed and believable, but… as with the first book, the overall writing is horrendous. Grammar and spelling are secondary, and what is it with young female American writers and a complete aversion to the proper use of the past continuous tense? The worst part, tho, was the excruciating dialog. For example, there was one chapter where Kade called everyone “mate” for no reason whatsoever, then never did it again (to which the latter, thank God!) Though there are lovely, insightful passages like this one to make up for it:
“[S]he gravitated to him like a starving person to food. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way about him. Reminding herself of this fact, however, failed to change her emotions. If she couldn’t control her emotions, she could control the choices she made.”
Okay, so it’s not the greatest piece of writing, but it’s pretty deep for a fantasy novel, and I am clearly having Personal Issues here. Which did not, however, serve to make me overlook the one particularly atrocious chapter that seemed to serve only to anvil it home for the particularly dense how high-minded Kade’s love for Faela is. This book is great for people who want a fairly complex fantasy novel and aren’t too bothered by sub-par English/writing, but if the latter really bothers you, skip this hard.
Wasn’t this great fun? The front flap of The Goblin Emperor, by Katherine Addison, summarizes the set-up: “A half-goblin, the youngest son of the emperor, has lived his entire life in exile, far form the imperial court and the deadly intrigue that surrounds it. But when his father and three half-brothers, who are heirs to the throne ahead of him, die in an airship crash, Maia is summoned to assume his birthright and take his place as the only surviving heir.”
Elves and goblins, and other races less carefully defined, share a landmass divided among numerous territories. The empire that Maia inherits and must try to rule is called the Ethuveraz, the Elflands. Most of the novel’s action takes place in the court where the emperor lives and the realm’s high nobles vie for power. Who is a friend? Who is a foe? Who might be both? Maia has to learn to survive and to rule and to grow to adulthood, all at once, in public, under pressure and in danger. Continue reading
I find it impossible not to like John Scalzi’s public persona. He’s clever, thoughtful, straightforward, and sometimes delightfully wacky. I read Whatever, his blog, regularly, and have for years. I also liked the first collection of writings from it, Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded.
Nevertheless, even though I breezed happily through the new collection, The Mallet of Loving Correction, I liked it less. I can think of four reasons, and only one and a half of them have to do with the book itself. I’m a little surprised at my less-than-glowing recommendation because I had been considering buying the book since it came out, and indeed I finally did get it via a Humble Bundle that I found out about from an entry on Whatever.
Here’s why I liked my experience of reading this collection less than the previous one: Continue reading
Imagine a helpless, pregnant 16-year-old who’s just been yanked from the serenity of her home and shoved into a dirty van. Kidnapped…Alone…Terrified.
Now forget her…
Picture instead a pregnant, 16-year-old, manipulative prodigy. She is shoved into a dirty van and, from the first moment of her kidnapping, feels a calm desire for two things: to save her unborn son and to exact merciless revenge.
She is methodical—calculating— scientific in her plotting. A clinical sociopath? Leaving nothing to chance, secure in her timing and practice, she waits—for the perfect moment to strike. Method 15/33 is what happens when the victim is just as cold as the captors.
The agents trying to find a kidnapped girl have their own frustrations and desires wrapped into this chilling drama. In the twists of intersecting stories, one is left to ponder. Who is the victim? Who is the aggressor?
I received a free copy of Method 15/33 from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. This is author Shannon Kirk’s debut novel, so one of the factors in my decision to request the ARC were the glowing reviews already available on Goodreads. I began this novel with high expectations. Unfortunately, Method 15/33 did not deliver.
Lisa Yyland is a neurological anomaly – her frontal lobe, the area of the brain that controls reason and planning, is enlarged. As a result, Lisa is not only a genius, she’s also able to turn her emotional responses on and off like a light switch. Even in times of extreme crisis, she is able to remain as calm and rational as a battle-hardened veteran.
Ms. Kirk illustrates this character trait by briefly recounting an incident when Lisa saves her first grade class from a gun-toting drug addict by yelling “air raid” and pulling the fire alarm, which causes the shooter to drop his weapon and dive for cover. If you can suspend your disbelief long enough to buy the idea of a six-year-old, even one who is a prodigy, possessing enough wisdom to recognize a junkie experiencing a psychotic break, you might enjoy Method 15/33. I couldn’t and the book went downhill from there.
Despite Ms. Kirk’s writing honors from the Faulkner Society and the praise heaped on her novel from several award-winning authors, I found multiple rookie mistakes, including “as you know, Bob” info dumps, allowing the author’s voice to intrude by having the narrators directly address the audience, and using twenty-five cent words when nickel words would do, as early as the first chapter. Part of the problem appears to stem from the stylistic choices Ms. Kirk makes for her story.
Method 15/33 is told from the alternating viewpoints of Lisa and FBI Special Agent Roger Lui. However, both Lisa and Agent Lui are recounting the incident in flashback from seventeen years after the abduction, which leads to a lot of passive voice in the narration on top of all the other issues. One of the least necessary of Ms. Kirk’s blunders is her decision to withhold the name of one of the main characters until halfway through the book. For the first 11 chapters I thought Lisa’s name was Dorothy because Agent Lui kept referring to the pregnant, kidnapped girl he was searching for by that name. I might have been able to accept one unreliable narrator as a plot device. Two is overkill.
Six chapters into Method 15/33, I’d failed to find a reason to care about any of the characters. By the end of the book, indifference turned to active dislike. Lisa, in particular, struck me as overly arrogant and condescending even for an adolescent. At one point, she waxes poetic about her “homicidal intent” toward the incompetent captors who are obviously beneath her. Really? Really?! I have a teenager of my own who isn’t nearly as obnoxious as this character.
In one of Ms. Kirk’s bungled attempts to create a more likable protagonist, Lisa tells her reader she has turned on her emotional switch where her unborn child is concerned. It is her love for her baby (as opposed to her own sociopathic tendencies) that fuels Lisa’s rage and impels her to plot the death of her captors in excruciating detail and with obvious relish. Unfortunately, Ms. Kirk fails to show maternal love or any other emotion through her writing. Rather, I felt I was being told when Lisa experienced emotion rather than genuinely connecting with her.
The other major character, Roger Lui – a drama club geek turned special agent, struck me as vapid and whiny. If only he hadn’t been gifted with vision better than a fighter pilot or with hyperthymesia – AKA a really good memory that allows him to recall every day of his life in perfect detail. Maybe then he could have been happy as an actor instead of getting snapped up after applying to the FBI. Cry me a river. Oh, wait…psych! He actually has a compelling reason for choosing a career law enforcement, but that pesky little detail is also withheld until near the end of the book. Have I mentioned Ms. Kirk is fond of the unreliable narrator trope? His partner, Lola, is a stereotypical butch, complete with chewing tobacco and Old Spice cologne, desperately overcompensating for the crime of having breasts in a male-dominated career field. This walking cliche doesn’t just have a chip on her shoulder, she’s carrying the whole potato. Both characters are as flat as their descriptions suggest.
Although Method 15/33 is billed as a gripping thriller, I was hard pressed to find anything thrilling about it. In fact, the unbelievable fish yarn that is Method 15/33 grows less realistic with each chapter until it finally jumps the shark when Lisa stages her escape. This novel could have been remarkable, but it fell far short of that promise. A concept this ambitious requires a master storyteller to pull it off. Sadly, Shannon Kirk does not yet have the experience to do it justice. If your tastes run to revenge fantasy, Method 15/33 might be your cup of tea. To me, the bottom of the Boston Harbor seemed like a more fitting place for this novel.
I shall clasp my hands together and bow to the corners of the world
My surname is Lu and my personal name is Yu, but I am not to be confused with the eminent author of The Classic of Tea. My family is quite undistinguished, and since I am the tenth of my father’s sons and rather strong I am usually referred to as Number Ten Ox.
Nearly finished with a couple of other things and very much looking forward to re-reading this delightful classic. (I picked it up as a part of the Humble Bundle referred to here.)
Al Singh
Doug Merrill
Doreen Sheridan
John Pitzel
Lars N. Goldschlager
Laura Eilers
Professor X
Robert Maedgen
Sylvere Ap Leanan
The Shire