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Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

Stephenson’s latest is a thrilling ride

Review by Michael Burgin

Over the past few decades, Neal Stephenson has secured his place as a deep thinker among the speculative elite. He’s done so most notably with works that are set anywhere but the here-and-now: the dystopian future of 1992’s Snow Crash, the less dystopian, nano-technology-dominated future of 1996’s The Diamond Age and the late 17th-century milieu of The Baroque Cycle trilogy.

With his latest book, Reamde, Stephenson goes contemporary, and though this is by no means his first foray into the plausibly current, the result will likely win him plenty of new fans, even if some of his old ones find cause to grumble.

Reamde starts with protagonist Richard Forthrast, a man whose fortune began with drug smuggling and has grown to absurd proportions due to his role in creating a massively multiplayer online (MMO) game called T’Rain. (Think World of Warcraft, the next iteration.) By novel’s end, a veritable United Nations of engaging characters has been introduced. Foremost of these is Richard’s niece, Zula, an Eritrean orphan adopted into the Forthrast clan, but plenty of others have their time to shine, including a Russian “security expert,” a Hungarian IT expert for shady enterprises, an MI-6 spy, and the Chinese hacker responsible for the titular virus. (The antagonists, led by a Welsh terrorist bomber, aren’t too shabby, either.)

At times, Reamde feels like a seminar in “Advanced MMO Theory and Execution,” and indeed, this is probably the most speculative aspect of Reamde. Some of the explication is needed, especially for readers unfamiliar with MMOs, but mostly, these sections are more page-slogging than page-turning. Fortunately, the pages do turn, and the expertly paced thriller reasserts itself.

Therein may lie the problem for diehard fans of Stephenson’s early efforts. Reamde is a well-wrought, conventional thriller that has much more in common with Ludlum’s The Bourne Identity (or with Tom Clancy, minus the technophilia) than with most of Stephenson’s previous fare. Reamde is Stephenson, minus the big questions and “then” or “there” settings. For some, that will be a problem. Regardless, Reamde is a mostly riveting read, guaranteed to harvest a crop of new readers for its author. And, grumbling or not, the old ones aren’t going anywhere, either.

Over the past few decades, Neal Stephenson has secured his place as a deep thinker among the speculative elite. He’s done so most notably with works that are set anywhere but the here-and-now: the dystopian future of 1992’s Snow Crash, the less dystopian, nano-technology-dominated future of 1996’s The Diamond Age and the late 17th-century milieu […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionFantasy

A disastrous Discworld holiday

Review by Michael Burgin

It’s pretty much impossible to be an avid fantasy reader and not know of Terry Pratchett (or, as of 1998, Sir Terry Pratchett). Best known for his parody-laced Discworld novels, Pratchett was the United Kingdom’s most-read author for much of the 1990s. (Some kid with glasses and a lightning-shaped scar bumped Pratchett from the top spot in the decade that followed.)

Snuff is the 39th installment in the Discworld series, which began in 1983. (Pratchett puts the “pro” in “prolific.”) Over the course of the series, the city of Ankh-Morpork has become practically a character in and of itself, clawing its way from a corruption-riddled burg to . . . well, something a little more modern, at least. And there are plenty of characters whose own fortunes mirror those of the city. Among these, Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch stands out. Vimes is a familiar face to the well-traveled Discworlder—Snuff marks the eighth Discworld novel featuring him as the central protagonist, and he’s made appearances in several others.

Commander Sam Vimes is forced to take that most dreaded of excursions— a country holiday.

In Snuff, Vimes is forced by his patron, Lord Havelock Vetinari, to take that most dreaded of excursions—the country holiday. Sure, the bucolic life may seem just the thing after the hustle, bustle and tussles of big-city policing, but for Vimes, the absence of criminal activity is itself a criminal waste of his time and attention.

For a first-time reader, the first 100 pages of Snuff will provide ample opportunity to feel Vimes’ pain. The writing is lively enough—Pratchett’s sense of wordplay is as frolicsome as ever—but the plot sets out at a leisurely pace that seems to count on reader familiarity with and enjoyment of its protagonist.

Fortunately for Vimes, as well as for the reader, something’s rotten in this stretch of countryside—blood has been shed and the law broken—and just as Vimes latches onto the first lead, the pace accelerates. By story’s end, established Pratchett fans have been given ample bang, and new readers will be tempted to read some of Commander Vimes’ earlier adventures.

It’s pretty much impossible to be an avid fantasy reader and not know of Terry Pratchett (or, as of 1998, Sir Terry Pratchett). Best known for his parody-laced Discworld novels, Pratchett was the United Kingdom’s most-read author for much of the 1990s. (Some kid with glasses and a lightning-shaped scar bumped Pratchett from the top […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFiction

Le cirque de debut

Review by Jillian Quint

Fans of J.K. Rowling, Susanna Clarke and all forms of magical realism—rejoice. Erin Morgenstern’s long-awaited and much buzzed-about debut The Night Circus has all the makings of a historical-fantasy-for-adults hit: chronologically complicated and interweaving plotlines, wide-eyed descriptions of ever-changing labyrinths, a turn-of-the-20th-century European setting and a forbidden love practically swelling with Hollywood appeal. (Indeed, a Harry Potter producer has already snapped up film rights.) But perhaps most importantly, it creates a fantastical world so fully imagined and captivating, one cannot help but be swept along for the ride.

The story begins when Celia, a five-year-old with an already keen supernatural power, goes to live with her father, Prospero the Enchanter, a magician and key member of the world’s oddest, most awe-inspiring traveling circus: Le Cirque des Rêves. Sensing his daughter’s untapped power, Prospero pits Celia against another magician in a years-long (and exceedingly dangerous) battle of skill. Her opponent is Marco, a budding magician who begins studying the circus in order to learn his rival’s ways. But what neither he nor Celia anticipates is how much they will grow to like, and eventually love, one another—launching the novel into an age-old tale of star-crossed romance.

Intertwined with the lovers’ narrative are stories of other circus fans and workers—among them Friedrick Thiessen, Le Cirque des Rêves’ most enthusiastic scholar; Isobel, driven by unrequited love for Marco; and Bailey, a farm boy with a wanderlust who observes one magical performance and embarks upon a lifetime obsession.

This first-time novelist is heavy on description, and readers may find themselves skimming details about vanishing contortionists and mystical rainstorms to get back to the actual plot and characters. But she is also dogged in her pursuit of epic love and tragedy. Once you’ve entered Morgenstern’s world, you are not likely to forget it.

 

Read our interview with Erin Morgenstern.

Fans of J.K. Rowling, Susanna Clarke and all forms of magical realism—rejoice. Erin Morgenstern’s long-awaited and much buzzed-about debut The Night Circus has all the makings of a historical-fantasy-for-adults hit: chronologically complicated and interweaving plotlines, wide-eyed descriptions of ever-changing labyrinths, a turn-of-the-20th-century European setting and a forbidden love practically swelling with Hollywood appeal. (Indeed, a […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

Harry Dresden’s hereafter

Review by Michael Burgin

When last we checked in with Harry Dresden, the protagonist of Jim Butcher’s immensely popular Dresden Files series, Chicago’s only wizard private eye had overcome daunting odds to save the life of his infant daughter while putting a permanent kibosh on one of his most powerful foes, the vampiric Red Court. Not surprisingly given the tone of this modern noir genre mashup, the victory came at great cost. Loves were lost, troublesome alliances were forged and great personal sacrifices were made.

And then, in the afterglow/wrap-up phase of the story, Harry Dresden is assassinated. Wow. Rough day.

That abrupt ending ensured avid fans were paying attention from the start of Ghost Story, the thirteenth—and perhaps final—chapter in The Dresden Files. As the title suggests, Harry Dresden is now a ghost, but though an ectoplasmic remnant of his former self, no detective worth his dust can let a murder mystery—particularly his own—go unsolved.

As plot devices go, the after-death of Harry Dresden proves a savvy choice by Butcher. Good modern pulp fiction—and The Dresden Files is just that—ultimately depends on a well-balanced mixture of the familiar and the strange. Early in a series, the mixture is understandably heavy on the strange. (“John Carter is on frikkin’ Mars!!!”) But as the series ages, after the “hook” of the strange has been set, the equation shifts back toward 50/50. But if the familiar grows to be too large a part of the formula, a series can become more comfort food than culinary adventure. And while Butcher’s series is hardly Chinese takeout, it was certainly time for a little spice—an upping of the strange and unfamiliar.

With Ghost Story, the reader gets just that. Ironically, a dead Dresden is just what the doctor ordered to liven up the series. Dresden’s ghostly existence casts almost all of the series’ old standbys—the staunch allies, the fearsome foes and the usual array of personal resources and plot-twisting wild cards—in a new light.

Yet, for all the new in Dresden’s plight, there’s ample familiar for a fan to hold onto. Dresden remains an engaging first-person narrator—death hasn’t affected his snark—and he’s surrounded by a rich supporting cast developed over the course of the preceding 12 books (and one anthology). And as he struggles to help his friends and confound his enemies—and perhaps, just perhaps, figure out who offed him—the pace and feel that has made the books worthy of bestseller lists and a television series remains intact.

But there’s also something more. Throughout it all, a whispered question nags at the reader’s subconscious, propelling the pages to turn a little bit faster than they already are. Succeed or fail, could this be the end of Harry Dresden? To find out, all you have to do is read a story. A Ghost Story.

When last we checked in with Harry Dresden, the protagonist of Jim Butcher’s immensely popular Dresden Files series, Chicago’s only wizard private eye had overcome daunting odds to save the life of his infant daughter while putting a permanent kibosh on one of his most powerful foes, the vampiric Red Court. Not surprisingly given the […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

Let the dance begin

Review by Michael Burgin

It’s fair to say that A Dance With Dragons, the fifth book in George R.R. Martin’s acclaimed Song of Ice and Fire series, is the most-anticipated fantasy release since—well—the fourth book in the series, A Feast for Crows (2005). The anticipation is well-earned. The first three books in the series were an exhilarating, gritty combination of quasi-historical fiction and high epic fantasy. The brisk publication pace—A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords were released in two-year increments—kept the burgeoning population of fans fed even as the books themselves challenged the conventional hero/villain dichotomy of traditional fantasy.

I mention publication pace—usually irrelevant to a review of anything but web comics—because after the 2000 publication of A Storm of Swords, it would be five years before the release of A Feast For Crows. The delay was cause for much teeth gnashing amongst an already fervid fan base, but even that only served as proof of the degree to which Martin had succeeded in creating a powerful work of epic fantasy. Then came the afterword of Feast, in which Martin admits a lapse of discipline and editing, announcing that Feast was half of the awaited book, and the second half—A Dance With Dragons—would “be along next year (I devoutly hope).” It turns out that “I devoutly hope” is Martin-ese for “give or take five years.”

Now, six years later, A Dance With Dragons has arrived. Not surprisingly, it shares many of the strengths and weaknesses of its “first half.” There is the engaging character building one expects from Martin—seldom has an author given his readers so many characters to care about (before, of course, maiming and/or killing them). There are the complex lineage-a-thons not seen since that book in the Bible with all the “begats.” There are the in-depth descriptions of castles, demesnes, harbors, passages and the people who occupy them. (I long to read the chapter on scenic Harrenhal in the next edition of Rick Steves’ Westeros.) Tongue-in-cheek comments aside, Dance is further proof that Martin is a world builder of the first order.

And A Dance With Dragons has one immediate advantage over its first installment. Whereas A Feast for Crows had an almost maddening focus on characters who were less central to the story (and in the hearts of readers), Dance returns us to the “big three”—Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen. For the most part, it’s so very, very satisfying. Tyrion could spend the entire book talking about food allergies (My Dinner with Tyrion?), and it’d be amusing. Jon Snow’s battle to man the Wall and navigate the treacherous waters of leadership—while not as quippy—keeps the pages turning. Daenerys’s chapters are a bit more frustrating, as her march to reclaim the throne has turned into more of a squat and fret.

The Queen’s relative inactivity reflects a slackening of pace characteristic of both Feast and Dance. Though there are many developments in A Dance With Dragons—plenty of things happen—there’s also a paucity of events. The first three books present a number of large-scale set pieces—the Battle for King’s Landing, the defense of the Wall against Mance Rayder’s horde, the horrid events of the Red Wedding, the wondrous reveal of the dragons of Daenerys. Even the smaller events possess great heft, be they duel, beheading or de-handing. And though there’s no law saying every book needs a Helm’s Deep, Chain of Dogs or Triwizard Tournament, the 1,500-plus pages of exposition, positioning and skirmishes seem somehow uneventful compared to what has gone before (a certain dramatically placed crossbow bolt or two notwithstanding). All in all, events do not seem to be moving as apace as in the earlier books. In Feast, that’s defensible—it’s the aftermath of a major struggle, and the crows of the title require a certain lull during which they can settle down to feast. But in Dance, one expects a little more movement. In too many places, the dance is more akin to that guy standing against the wall moving his knee in time to the music.

All in all, A Dance With Dragons will do little to ease the minds of those readers who have worried that Martin’s grasp on the immensity that is A Song of Ice and Fire—or at least his ability to steer the narrative of the series—is slipping. For all the deserved praise garnered by Martin as a writer and his series as a captivating work of fantasy, Dance leaves the reader with plenty of questions about the health and trajectory of A Song of Ice and Fire. Can an author discard too many characters in whom readers have built a substantial investment? Is there a line where the thrill of the unpredictable becomes resentment at yet another investment squandered? (Would Tolkien’s epic have had the same impact if Gandalf had stayed dead, Frodo bought it early in The Two Towers and Aragorn died later in the same book?)

Given Martin’s penchant for dramatic reversals, it’s only appropriate I left A Dance With Dragons feeling still up in the air. Is that the Grand Canyon below? Is Martin is in the midst of completing a legendary leap, or are we going to crash into the cliff wall? Or is that just a shark we’re jumping over? And how long will I have to wait to find out? (I devoutly hope it’s not another six years.)

It’s fair to say that A Dance With Dragons, the fifth book in George R.R. Martin’s acclaimed Song of Ice and Fire series, is the most-anticipated fantasy release since—well—the fourth book in the series, A Feast for Crows (2005). The anticipation is well-earned. The first three books in the series were an exhilarating, gritty combination […]
Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

Setting sail on a thrilling adventure

Review by bookpagedev

Maybe some of this will sound familiar: a young boy separated from his family, gifted with a power that may save the world from a great evil; a young noblewoman betrothed to a foreign king against her will; a dangerous artifact of magnificent and mysterious power; intelligent talking animals; wizards, princes and spies engaged in a shadowy war that may doom or rescue hundreds of thousands of lives. . . .

Make no mistake, the raw material of Robert V.S. Redick’s debut novel, the first of a planned trilogy, has been incorporated into countless fantasy novels. But this makes only more remarkable the fact that, page by page, The Red Wolf Conspiracy feels so vibrant, fresh and exciting.

The effect is due partly to Redick’s knack for tackling the scale of the story charted in this book. The Chathrand is a 600-year-old ship the size of a city, bound for the territory of its nation’s ancient enemy on a mission of peace. And among the hundreds of passengers aboard the ship are agents of various powers, each with its own agenda, some who wish to see the peace secured, some who would profit from a new war.

The narrative perspective shifts deftly among a dozen characters, from young Pazel, who suffers the indignities of a ship’s tarboy while trying to locate his lost family, to Nilus Rotheby Rose, the half-mad captain of the Chathrand, who believes his path to glory lies in a secret pact with the emperor. Even the fears and stratagems of an "awakened" stowaway rat are presented with sympathy and depth. What emerges is a living tapestry, always in danger of being rent by the conspiracy at the novel’s heart.

And what a conspiracy it is, portrayed by Redick with a delirious love of the genre that is nothing less than infectious. When Sandor Ott, the emperor’s spymaster, declares to his associates: "Rose will captain that ship, and we shall sail with her. The game’s begun, lads. We’ll play it to the last round," all but the most jaded of readers will be eager to watch that game unfold.

Jedediah Berry is the author of a novel, The Manual of Detection

Maybe some of this will sound familiar: a young boy separated from his family, gifted with a power that may save the world from a great evil; a young noblewoman betrothed to a foreign king against her will; a dangerous artifact of magnificent and mysterious power; intelligent talking animals; wizards, princes and spies engaged in […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFiction

Simmons conjures a dark future

Review by Michael Burgin

Dan Simmons' Flashback starts out as a somewhat traditional detective story. In a dystopic near-future, former police detective Nick Bottom has lived down to his name. Finishing out a downward spiral that begin with the death of his wife five years earlier, Bottom is now unemployed, estranged from his teenage son, Val, and hooked on flashback, a drug that allows a user to relive memories over and over again. Enter Hiroshi Nakamura, a billionaire and one of nine Japanese Federal Advisors who rule over what remains of the United States. Nakamura enlists Bottom to solve the mystery of who murdered the Nipponese executive’s only son five years earlier—a case Bottom worked while still a member of the Denver police department, and one in which even his addiction will be a plus. A dose of flashback and voila—Bottom can relive interviews, observations and even the reading of files. And here’s a shocker: all is not as it seems!

As with any detective novel, setting is crucial—oftentimes so much so that it becomes virtually an additional character. This is especially the case in Flashback, though instead of evoking some noirish past, Simmons conjures up a near-future that in many ways can be described as the sum of all Glenn Beck’s fears. Nick Bottom lives in a United States that has been reduced to Third World status by, among other things, out-of-control entitlement programs. The Islamic Global Caliphate, emboldened by the successful annihilation of Israel and the timid response from the Western world, is waxing in influence, enforcing its sharia law wherever it spreads. Reconquistas, expansionists from Mexico, are fighting for control of the Southwest. And children are less likely to be our future than our perpetrators, as teenage flash gangs lend a Clockwork Orange-tinged chaos to urban environments like Los Angeles, raping and killing to capture that perfect memory to flash back upon.

Without knowing the author’s political leanings, it’s difficult to know if the dire straits of the United States in Flashback are meant as a conservative's cautionary tale. Readers who skew to the right will likely nod in acknowledgement of so many impending dooms now realized and myths exposed. (“I knew it—global warming has been proven a sham!”) Those on the left will likely find the exposition (or lectures) brief enough—and the core mystery compelling enough—to continue on without much distraction.

And it’s always possible that this underpinning application of a collage of rampant dangers is apolitical—and even playful. Simmons is certainly talented enough to recognize in the zeitgeist of Beck and others an apocalyptic insta-kit of sorts onto which one can graft a sturdy piece of genre fiction quite nicely.

Regardless, Flashback is at its strongest when its lurking societal doomsday treatise is kept in the background and Bottom’s effort to solve the mystery—and survive solving it—is kept to the fore. Fortunately, that accounts for most of the novel, making Flashback worth the read the first time around. 

 

Dan Simmons' Flashback starts out as a somewhat traditional detective story. In a dystopic near-future, former police detective Nick Bottom has lived down to his name. Finishing out a downward spiral that begin with the death of his wife five years earlier, Bottom is now unemployed, estranged from his teenage son, Val, and hooked on flashback, a […]
Fantasy

A delicate balancing act

Review by Michael Burgin

Until recently, L.E. Modesitt Jr.’s 16-book (and counting) Saga of Recluce was one of the few substantial epic fantasy series of which I had not read at least a book or two. (My apologies to Terry Goodkind, as well.) The release of Tor’s 20th Anniversary Edition of The Magic of Recluce,the first book in the series, seemed like a good time to redress that oversight.

The Magic of Recluceis told mostly from the perspective of 15-year-old Lerris as he embarks on a forced exodus from his home on the orderly isle of Recluce into the chaotic, dangerous continent of Candar. That dichotomy—between order and chaos—underpins both the action of the book as well as the system of magic that rules both Candar and Recluce.

On his island home, Lerris finds life orderly, staid and unrelentingly dull—feelings many teens can identify with. Unfortunately, on order-dominated Recluce, there’s no room for shiftlessness, and Lerris soon finds himself having to choose between permanent exile or the dangergeld. This latter option, best described as a sort of mission trip from hell, can allow for a return to Recluce—if he can survive it.

After a brief training session with some other Recluce rejects/misfits, Lerris and his fellow dangergelders are set down in Freetown on the coast of Candar, from where they will each set forth individually.

From the start, Lerris encounters danger and hostility as he attempts to fulfill the maddeningly vague directive of his personal mission. Candar is a land where chaos thrives, both in general and in the person of white wizards such as Antonin. Making matters worse, both Lerris and the reader soon get an uneasy sense that the very chaos rampant in Candar might just be the price paid for the stability and safety that Recluce enjoys—and that Recluce might have an active role in exacting that price.

Throughout The Magic of Recluce, Modesitt Jr. maintains a distinctly anti-epic vibe. To some extent, “epic” encounters require epic certainty. Sauron wants to subjugate all of Middle Earth, Lord Foul is out to destroy the Land, and even that nasty tribe of goblins wants to eradicate the brave humans of insert-name-here! The lines are drawn, and though Good can experiences some hiccups in execution, it’s definitely opposed to Evil. But in Modesitt Jr.’s world, Order and Chaos, and not Good and Evil, are the prime players. (Good and Evil are more like sub-contractors.) And the two are inseparable—Order cannot wax (and Chaos wane) in one area without that equation being reversed elsewhere. This leads to a complexity that leads, if anything, to anti-epic uncertainty.

As a result, even incipient order-masters like Lerris spend much of their time trying to figure out exactly what actions, if any, are called for. It leads to a pace that some readers will find slow (though not necessarily unenjoyable), while leading others to appreciate Lerris’ own frustration with the opaque machinations of Recluce’s order-masters. The result? A dangergeld-ish journey for the reader into a complex variation on the traditional fantasy themes of good versus evil. Will reader interest survive? The 15 books in the series that followed The Magic of Recluce suggest the answer is, “Yes.”

Until recently, L.E. Modesitt Jr.’s 16-book (and counting) Saga of Recluce was one of the few substantial epic fantasy series of which I had not read at least a book or two. (My apologies to Terry Goodkind, as well.) The release of Tor’s 20th Anniversary Edition of The Magic of Recluce,the first book in the […]
Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

Pohl’s dystopia-flavored future

Review by Michael Burgin

Early 2011 has seen a slew of releases from the elder guard of grandmasters of fantasy and science fiction. January brought Home Fires by Gene Wolfe, March the return of Richard Matheson with Other Kingdoms, and now in April we have All the Lives He Led by Frederik Pohl. At the venerable age of 91, Pohl out-elders both Matheson (85) and Wolfe (79), though his latest book shows little slackening of the legendary editor and writer’s creative powers.

In All the Lives He Led, Pohl introduces the reader to a dystopic future where the eruption of a super volcano beneath Yellowstone National Park has rendered much of North America a wasteland and many of its inhabitant no better than second-class citizens of a Third World country.

Worse, the global community itself is plagued by what might best be described as pandemic terrorism. No cause is too small, no slight too ancient and no splinter group too splintery to prevent the blowing up of monuments and infrastructure, and the indiscriminate slaying of civilians.

Though the Yellowstone eruption would be fertile enough ground for a novel, it’s actually just a distant backdrop for the main story. The action centers around narrator Brad Sheridan—an American-born indentured servant/emigree—and his employment at the ancient site of Pompeii as it approaches Il Giubileo, the bimillennial celebration of the eruption that destroyed the original city. Thanks to a combination of holographic technology and good old-fashioned quasi-slave labor (proving some aspects of seasonal employment will never change), Pompeii has become a theme park of Disney-ing proportions.

During the course of All the Lives He Led, Sheridan works to pay off his debt, support his destitute (and somewhat freeloading) parents back in the refugee slums of the United States, and build a relationship with Gerda Fleming, a fellow Il Giubileo employee—a romance that brings with it an ever-expanding ring of repercussions for Sheridan. All the while, he strives to stay clear of an intrusive international and local security apparatus—a task made more difficult by his past connections and present company.

Like any good dystopic tale, the decisions and actions of the protagonist trigger not so much judgment as introspection, and the unanswered questions concerning Sheridan become self-directed questions for the reader. If positions were reversed, would I behave differently? And what decisions would I make going forward?

Pohl leaves the reader alone to wrestle with those questions.

Early 2011 has seen a slew of releases from the elder guard of grandmasters of fantasy and science fiction. January brought Home Fires by Gene Wolfe, March the return of Richard Matheson with Other Kingdoms, and now in April we have All the Lives He Led by Frederik Pohl. At the venerable age of 91, […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

That warm, fuzzy feeling

Review by Michael Burgin

When I saw the title of John Scalzi’s new book, Fuzzy Nation, it triggered warm memories of reading H. Beam Piper’s original book, Little Fuzzy. Published in 1962, just two years before his suicide, Little Fuzzy was the first of three books penned by Piper regarding a band of cute, furry creatures on the planet Zarathustra, the subsequent effort to establish the sapience of the species (an act opposed by an intergalactic mining company with resources to exploit), and the fallout of that effort.

Initially, I assumed Scalzi’s book was a long-time-coming sequel to Piper’s original Fuzzy books. There had already been two: Fuzzy Bones (1981) by William Tuning and Golden Dream: A Fuzzy Odyssey (1982) by Ardath Mayhar. As it turns out, such a sequel has been published this year—it just wasn’t Scalzi’s book. Fuzzy Ergo Sum by Wolfgang Diehr was published this March and hailed as “the first new Fuzzy novel in almost 30 years.”

No, it turns out that Fuzzy Nation is not a sequel. It’s not a shared-world anthology, nor is it even a rogue piece of self-published fan fiction. Instead, Fuzzy Nation is a fully authorized reboot of the series.

The idea of the reboot—telling a story afresh, discarding the previously established continuity and canon—is well-established in film, television and comic books. (Not surprisingly, many examples of film reboots have comic books as their original source.) But though there are numerous reboots of film and TV franchises necessitated by aging actors, dated source material or special effects (Star Trek, James Bond, Battlestar Galactica ), or by less-than-stellar predecessors (The Hulk, Judge Dredd), the reboot is not a term associated with non-serial fiction.

It’s easy to imagine a “reboot wave” sweeping through literary genres as publishers and literary estates, especially those who treat their properties exclusively as assets to exploit rather than treasures to preserve, see a chance to reinvigorate income streams by pairing a hot author with an aging text.

Therefore, it was with apprehension and even a smidge of antagonism that I started Fuzzy Nation. After all, this book could be a harbinger for the impending despoilment of many a childhood (and adulthood) classic! Alas, my fears quickly gave way before a simpler realization: Fuzzy Nation is a very good read. From the opening pages where prospector Jack Holloway (or his dog, Carl, depending on who you ask) blows up a cliff and discovers a fortune, to his meeting with Papa Fuzzy and the other members of the fuzzy family, to the riveting courtroom battle that will determine their fates—Scalzi delivers a story that unfailingly entertains.

The plot skips along deftly, bringing the reader along every step of the way, and it easily qualified as a “blew-past-my-bedtime” read. (Apparently, that’s not unusual for a Scalzi book—I plan on knocking out his Old Man’s War as soon as I get my hands on a copy.)

In the end, Fuzzy Nation is what every good reboot should be—a sensitive re-imagining by a talented author inspired by the original material. And though there is still ample cause for apprehension about the potential impact of a reboot trend on genre fiction, even should the worse come to pass, John Scalzi’s novel will stand as an exception rather than the rule.

 

 

When I saw the title of John Scalzi’s new book, Fuzzy Nation, it triggered warm memories of reading H. Beam Piper’s original book, Little Fuzzy. Published in 1962, just two years before his suicide, Little Fuzzy was the first of three books penned by Piper regarding a band of cute, furry creatures on the planet […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

A steam-powered kingdom of wonder

Review by bookpagedev

Molly Templar, an orphan with a taste for pulp adventure stories, finds adventure of her own when a string of mysterious murders forces her to hide in a dangerous underground city. Her story intersects with that of another orphan, Oliver Brooks, who has fallen in with Harry Stave, a roguish agent of a secret police force, the titular Court of the Air.

Stephen Hunt’s young protagonists are smart, resourceful and full of surprises, and their deepening involvement in the intrigues of their time makes for thrilling reading. Their adventures also serve to introduce us to Hunt’s richly imagined Kingdom of Jackals, a character in its own right.

Powered by steam and a pneumatic transportation system, the kingdom dominates with its industry and its navy of zeppelin-like aerostats. The Court of the Air could be characterized as steampunk, imagining a version of Victorian England where the fancies of Jules Verne are a reality. But Hunt also infuses his world with a good deal of magic: a mechanical race of steammen who predict the future by tossing rune-like cogs help Molly and Oliver on their way, while ancient gods seek to reclaim the world for their own twisted purposes.

The orphans soon have their eyes opened to the dark complexity of their world, and as they fight to preserve civilization from the forces of a megalomaniacal revolutionary, Hunt’s novel transforms into a canny political allegory, in which cycles of tyranny and rebellion revolve like the cogs of a clockwork wonder.

At its heart, however, The Court of the Air is an adventure tale in the grand old style, full of mystery, magic and skulduggery, as well as riveting bouts of gun- and swordplay. It is welcome news that a second book set in the Jackelian world, The Kingdom Beyond the Waves, is on its way.

Jedediah Berry is the author of a novel, The Manual of Detection, forthcoming from Penguin Press.

Molly Templar, an orphan with a taste for pulp adventure stories, finds adventure of her own when a string of mysterious murders forces her to hide in a dangerous underground city. Her story intersects with that of another orphan, Oliver Brooks, who has fallen in with Harry Stave, a roguish agent of a secret police […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

Howard Andrew Jones’ superb debut is no mirage

Review by Michael Burgin

“The parrot lay on the floor of his cage, one claw thrust stiffly toward the tiny wooden swing suspended above him. The black olive clenched in his beak was the definitive sign that Pago was a corpse, for while he had fooled us all by playing dead in the past, he had never failed to consume an olive.”

In the space of the first two sentences of his new book, The Desert of Souls, Howard Andrew Jones has captured the reader. By the end of the first page—and in my case, the first paragraph—the crisp, evocative imagery has gripped one’s attention as tightly as the black olive in the beak of the recently departed Pago. Much to its author’s credit, that grip only tightens in the pages that follow.

The Desert of Souls has been described as Sherlock Holmes meets the Arabian Nights meets Robert E. Howard. The comparisons are apt, and in the case of Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous duo, overt. The martially adept Captain Asim partners with the erudite Dabir, a scholar whose principle weapons are his piercing intelligence and keen observations. (Like Doyle’s Watson, Asim serves as the story’s narrator and his friend’s biographer.) Fantastic adventure ensues. Though this is only the first book, the tandem of Asim and Dabir shows great promise to be worthy of the “great fictional duos” mantle worn by the likes of Lieber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Bilbo and Gandalf, and even Kirk and Spock.

The rich tapestry of 8th-century Baghdad recalls some of Scheherazade’s most engaging tales, and the supernatural horrors faced by Asim and Dabir during the course of their adventures could just as easily have menaced the likes of Conan, Solomon Kane or Bran Mak Morn. The engaging pulpiness of Jones’ book is not surprising, given the author is himself “an acknowledged expert on fiction writer Harold Lamb.” Lamb, a contemporary of Howard and horror godfather H.P. Lovecraft, penned tales of the Crusades and the Far East for Adventure, one of the most critically acclaimed magazines of the pulp era.

But though comparisons to the likes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Robert E. Howard are merited due to plot and authorial provenance, there’s an even more fundamental similarity. At its heart, Jones’ work is a great read—a page-turner in its purest form. As such, The Desert of Souls is a powerful place—it can wreck sleeping schedules, cause chores to be neglected and, best of all, make one yearn for the next installment.

“The parrot lay on the floor of his cage, one claw thrust stiffly toward the tiny wooden swing suspended above him. The black olive clenched in his beak was the definitive sign that Pago was a corpse, for while he had fooled us all by playing dead in the past, he had never failed to […]
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

A finely tuned tale from McKillip

Review by Michael Burgin

Upon reading Patricia A. McKillip's latest, The Bards of Bone Plain, one is struck by its symmetry. The tale is a neatly crafted puzzle—two narratives: one past, one present. As each narrative is told in alternating turn, it soon becomes clear that both the Big Question and the Big Answer are being unveiled simultaneously, if only the reader can make sense of it all.

In the present, the action centers primarily on Phelan Cle. A graduate student and exasperated son, Phelan strives to understand his distant and drunken father, Jonah, while searching for that Holy Grail of grad students everywhere, a  thesis topic.

Phelan's search for answers folds neatly into the second narrative, which centers upon the life of Nairn, an unschooled yet highly talented bard who lived centuries earlier. The relevance of Nairn's tale quickly intertwines with that of Phelan and Jonah, but even if the reader sees what is coming ahead of the big reveal (your average ppr—percipience per reader—may vary), no enjoyment is lost. By then, the hook is set, the alternating narratives have converged, and the reader has more pressing narrative concerns.

The book's structural neatness could easily prove forced or, worse, boring, in the hands of a lesser writer, but McKillip is an accomplished fantasist. She knows how much to relay, when to relay it, and when to move on to the next development. As a result, the economy of form and plotting—and indeed the entire world McKillip has constructed—itself mirrors a finely crafted riddle, answer included.

For readers who fancy themselves fans of bardic fiction, the title characters in The Bards of Bone Plain will be recognized as archetypal representations of the profession derived from the British Isles-rooted traditions of bard as poet, performer and chronicler. This should come as no surprise, as it is an archetype that McKillip herself helped solidify in the late 1970s with her influential Riddle Master Trilogy (The Riddle-Master of Hed, Heir to Sea and Fire and Harpist in the Wind). If modern depictions of elves and dwarves stem from J.R.R. Tolkien, vampires from Anne Rice and zombies from George Romero, then contemporary fantasy bards have authors like McKillip (and Charles DeLint) to thank for their current shape in the popular consciousness.

With The Bards of Bone Plain, McKillip shows she has few peers when it comes to this brand of bard-olatry.

Upon reading Patricia A. McKillip's latest, The Bards of Bone Plain, one is struck by its symmetry. The tale is a neatly crafted puzzle—two narratives: one past, one present. As each narrative is told in alternating turn, it soon becomes clear that both the Big Question and the Big Answer are being unveiled simultaneously, if only […]

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