I got into Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series about eight years ago. Despite protestations from friends that Wow. Was this ever a pleasant surprise.
I got into Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series about eight years ago. Despite protestations from friends that I should steer clear of it because it went completely off the rails after about five books and probably wouldn't ever be finished, I gave it a shot, and like so many other readers I got hooked. This was unfortunate, because as I discovered halfway through the series, my friends were right. The Wheel of Time did go off the rails, and badly, with Robert Jordan losing himself in so many insignificant subplots and failing so utterly to bring the story closer to its conclusion that it seemed doubtful that it would ever be finished. Nevertheless I soldiered on, reading each new instalment despite my mounting frustration with them, because hey, I was hooked. So much so that I actually joined a Wheel of Time newsgroup at one point, where I spent many hours discussing theories about characters' double identities and where the series might be headed. That newsgroup probably did more for my love of fantasy literature than The Lord of Rings (my introduction to the genre, which I still love to death) ever did. I miss it quite a bit -- it was fabulous.
And then Robert Jordan did something incredible. Something his fans had joked about for years but had never considered a serious possibility. He passed away before he could finish the series, rendering the massive investment his fans had made in it (we are talking about eleven books of about nine hundred pages each) virtually useless, because after all that theorising, after all those looooooooong hours spent discussing the minutiae of the books, no one would ever find out how the story ended.
Enter Brandon Sanderson, a lesser-known fantasy author of whom I had never heard before, although with hindsight I probably should have. He was hired by Jordan's wife to finish the series, using her husband's extensive notes, unfinished passages and instructions for support. Like many others, I was sceptical about the enterprise, and not sure I wanted to read the result.
But then the prologue to Sanderson's sequel was posted on line, about a month before the book's release date, and to my infinite surprise it was good. And about a week later the first chapter of the sequel was leaked on line, and to my mounting surprise that was good, too -- more focussed than anything Jordan himself had written in a while, except perhaps New Spring, the much-maligned prequel to the series. In just two short chapters, Sanderson had got rid of several characters and plotlines which had irked myself and other fans for ages. It actually looked like he was getting the plot to move forwards, which was such a pleasant surprise that I suddenly found myself really, really looking forward to seeing what else he had done to Jordan's universe. So I bought the book the day it was released, ready to lose myself in Randland once more.
So what has Sanderson done to Randland? In a word, he has revived the series. The Gathering Storm is by far the best instalment in the Wheel of Time saga of the last ten years. An action-packed romp which actually takes the story forwards several weeks (gasp), it's a return to the form of the earliest books, before Jordan started introducing every single Aes Sedai in existence, expecting us to care about their minor squabbles. In marked contrast to Jordan's later books, The Gathering Storm actually focuses on the main characters (you know, the original heroes of the series, who got us interested in it in the first place), allowing them to achieve goals which had eluded them for quite some time. It eliminates unnecessary side plots like the Prophet and the Shaido, often swiftly so. It is largely free of padding (although a very critical reader might ask what exactly Mat's storyline is meant to accomplish, other than getting him on his way to the Tower of Ghenjei and showing that the Dark One is touching the world). And best of all, it is faithful to the style of the early Jordan, which is to say without endless descriptions of clothes and characters taking baths, yanking their braids, tapping their feet, etc. Nynaeve actually overcomes her urge to yank her braid every time she gets mad at the beginning of the book, which I'm sure is a development welcomed by any reader of the series. In other words, Sanderson has managed to channel Jordan without all the latter's infuriating obsessions, following Jordan's style without copying its bad aspects. I wouldn't say the transition is seamless (Sanderson's style, featuring many short sentences, is punchier than Jordan's), but it certainly isn't jarring, either. While there is the odd moment where you'll find yourself thinking, 'Hmmm, that didn't sound entirely Jordanesque,' these moments are more than made up for by Sanderson's ability to focus on essentials, in my opinion. It's refreshing, reading Randland stories without all the padding.
So what actually happens in The Gathering Storm? (WARNING: MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD) Well, the Prophet finally dies (about time). Tuon (one of my favourite characters, though less so here than before) finally becomes Empress of Seanchan. The Seanchan finally attack the White Tower, which Egwene has been prophesying for ages. Egwene herself finally becomes Amyrlin Seat, in quite an impressive manner. Rand, who seemed to be going increasingly mad in the last few books, finally finds himself again, in a way which holds promise for the future. Perrin finally accepts his wolf self, while Mat and his cronies finally set out for the Tower of Ghenjei, a subplot anyone with a brain has seen coming for the last seven books or so. For her part, Aviendha is finally accepted as a Wise One, in a manner befitting those strange Aiel customs. Gawyn, who was fighting on the wrong side, finally sees the light (ha!) and joins the rebel Aes Sedai. Siuan Sanche and Gareth Bryne finally become an item, though rather chastely so. Two more Forsaken are taken care of (presumably). And in two of the more brilliant plot twists, a mysterious character from the beginning of the series is revealed to be Black Ajah (a jaw-dropping chapter, very well written and conceived), while Elaida is deposed in a way which had me chuckling out loud. I'm not sure who came up with the idea for Elaida's demise, Jordan or Sanderson, but whoever it was, he has a rich sense of poetic justice. It's just too, too good.
Of course, many storylines still remain unresolved, and Sanderson now believes he will need two books to tie them up, not one, as previously planned. I have faith in him, though. I know that these two books of his will really be two books, not seven (as with Jordan). And I have no doubt that they will be good books. Books in which we will finally see Moiraine make a reappearance. Books in which all the prophecies and viewings which have been bandied around for the last twelve books will finally be fulfilled (or not, as the case may be). In which Perrin, Lan, Logain, Mazrim Taim, Slayer, Elayne, Galad, Thom, Birgitte, Olver, the Sea Folk and the Kin will probably get to see more action than they did in The Gathering Storm, and in which the stage is well and truly set for Tarmon Gai’don, the final battle. And I also know that thanks to Sanderson, I am excited about this series again. I will probably spend more time than I care for at Wheel of Time websites over the next few months, looking up old prophecies and comparing theories about where the story is heading. And when it's all over, two books from now, I will in all likelihood look back on the Wheel of Time series with fondness, rather than the bitterness Jordan was increasingly inspiring in me.
Thanks for that, Brandon. After all the time I have invested in this series, I need to love it again, rather than despair of it. It now looks like I may, which is great....more
There was no way I was not going to love this book. Experience has shown that I love Guy Gavriel Kay and the characters he comes up with. They are, wiThere was no way I was not going to love this book. Experience has shown that I love Guy Gavriel Kay and the characters he comes up with. They are, without exception, passionate people, and I love reading about passionate people, especially when they have a Cause. And boy, do the characters in this book have a cause. Can you say, epic cause?
Tigana is the name of one of the countries of the Palm, a peninsula loosely based on Renaissance Italy. Divided and distrustful of one another, and unlikely ever to unite, the countries of the Palm are an easy prey for overseas invaders. When the story proper starts, two sorcerer-kings from abroad, Brandin of Ygrath and Alberico of Barbadior, have carved out the Palm between them, each ruling about half of the peninsula, each greedy for the other half. One of the sorcerers, Brandin, has destroyed the country of Tigana and cursed it so comprehensively that none but its older inhabitants remember its existence. The very name 'Tigana' cannot be written, spoken or heard, except by those Tiganans who were alive when the outrage that provoked Brandin's wrath occurred: the death of his son Stevan at the hands of Prince Valentin of Tigana, a noble man determined to protect his country from the mighty invader. Twenty years later, Valentin's son Alessan, along with a ragtag crew of similarly minded nobles, commoners and wizards, sets out to overthrow Brandin (preferably in a way which will not yield his land to his arch rival Alberico) and restore once-beautiful Tigana to its former glory. And that, in a nutshell, is what Tigana is all about.
Except, of course, that it is not allTigana is about. A big and ambitious book, Tigana is about the things that make people tick, the things that keep them going when all their efforts seem futile. It's about loyalty, justice and politics, about how to be a good and inspiring leader in troubled times, and about how to orchestrate changes if you need them. It's about shared memories and how they bind people together, forging a shared identity. It's about nationalism and how to get people to unite behind a common ideal when being divided isn't working for them. It's about shame and despair and what they will drive us to. It's about all these things and more, and Kay effortlessly weaves them into a coherent story, which somehow manages to be both epic and startlingly intimate. It's a literary tour de force, and then some.
Needless to say, though, it's not just about ideas. Central to the book are two very human tales of two very extraordinary humans, Alessan and Dianora. The former is a charismatic leader who tries to look beyond the needs of his own country and work for the greater good of all the people of the Palm, only to be cursed by his proud mother for not focussing enough on poor Tigana and revenge. The latter is a beautiful girl whose family has been wrecked by Brandin and who sets out to kill him, only to fall deeply and devastatingly in love with him and actually save his life when someone else has a go at assassinating him, to her own amazement and mortification. The relationship between Dianora and Brandin has to be one of the most haunting ones I've come across in any type of fiction. There is real internal drama here, and genuine, heart-felt emotionality, and Kay expertly takes you through it all, from Dianora's early anger to her anguished acceptance of her own feelings for Brandin, revealing layer after layer of involvement until the heart-wrenching finale. It's riveting stuff, told by someone who really, really understands the conflicts of the human heart, and it just about broke my own heart.
The other characters are less thoroughly fleshed out than Alessan and Dianora, but they do make for an interesting mosaic of personalities and storylines. Due to the constant switches in perspective, some parts of the story have a somewhat jarring quality, but the fast pace and sheer balls of the story more than make up for this. Some plot turns are predictable and a little cheap, but Kay always puts in sufficient pathos to make them interesting. Other plot turns, like the unexpected twist which ends Brandin's storyline, are surprising and quite brilliantly handled. I actually found myself nodding with admiration at the conclusion to the book, something I hardly ever do. And as usual, I just loved Kay's characters, who are so driven that one can't help rooting for them. I don’t think I cared for Tigana's heroes quite as much as I did for The Lions of al-Rassan's, but I cared, and in Dianora's case my heart broke a little at the denouement of her story. I never expected her to live happily ever after (it was obvious that her storyline was headed for tragedy), but to see such promise wasted like that was, well, tragic. Genuinely tragic, as opposed to the overwrought sentimentality that passes for tragedy in many other fantasy novels.
Tragedy aside, the real genius of Tigana is, in my opinion, Kay's refusal to make his characters either completely good or completely bad. There are many shades of grey here. The hero of the story, Alessan, is a great guy who justifiably attracts many followers, but he is not without flaws. Nor is the main villain of the piece, Brandin, without redeeming qualities. One of the most surprising things about Tigana is how sorry you feel, towards the end, for Brandin, the powerful sorcerer who may have wrecked a country and an entire generation of people, but did so out of bottomless grief and love. He's a complex villain, is Brandin, and his inevitable demise at the end is not as satisfying as you might expect it to be because you have actually come to care for him a little. It takes a brave author to attempt a conflicted ending like this, but it makes for a rich and rewarding reading experience. If only more fantasy writers were prepared to write stories like this...
So why, after all that praise, am I withholding one star? Mostly because I feel the book could have done with better editing. There are sloppily written passages where the punctuation is a little off and where Kay randomly switches tenses, two things to which I'm quite allergic. Furthermore, Kay has a habit of breaking off the action mid-sentence only to continue it in the next paragraph for greater dramatic effect, which tends to annoy me. Finally, and most seriously, I feel Kay is frequently guilty of telling rather showing in Tigana, a flaw any good editor could and should have pointed out to him. However, these are minor quibbles. By and large, I loved the book, and I'd recommend it to any lover of good fantasy fiction. I quite look forward to continuing my acquaintance with Kay. I think I'll tackle A Song for Arbonne next...
About 100 pages into Beauty I wasn't sure whether I was really going to like the book, as it kept moving from subject to subject without staying long About 100 pages into Beauty I wasn't sure whether I was really going to like the book, as it kept moving from subject to subject without staying long enough with each one to make it work. About 200 pages in, I was convinced the author had far too many ideas for her own good, and no idea of how to weave them together into a cohesive story. Despite my misgivings, though, I stuck with the book, and I'm glad I did, because the second half more than made up for the flaws of the first. I ended up enjoying the hell out of Beauty, so much so that I considered giving it five stars. Not bad for a book which initially struck me as trying too hard and failing.
So what is Beauty about? It's hard to summarise the story as it is so terribly convoluted, but in a nutshell, it's about a fourteenth-century princess (half human, half fairy) named Beauty who escapes a terrible, fairy-tale-like fate and magically ends up in the twenty-first century, which is a distinctly unpleasant place bereft of all beauty. From this dystopian future she makes her way back to a very recognisable twentieth century which clearly carries the germs of the wave of destruction which is about to follow, and from there the story weaves in and out of different ages and worlds (reality, Faerie, even Hell) where Beauty gets to deal with love, rape and rejection, among many other things. She also discovers that she carries something important within her, something essential to the survival of Things Which Matter. And so the reader is taken on a rollercoaster ride through time and space, which is further enlivened by the many well-known fairy-tale characters Beauty meets on her way. I don't want to give away too much here, but Beauty somehow ends up giving birth to Cinderella and also counts Sleeping Beauty and the Frog Prince among her descendants. These well-known characters are among the most inspired elements of the book, mainly because they are so different from the way they are portrayed elsewhere. Take Cinderella, for instance. In Tepper's vision, she is not the sweet and innocent girl of Perrault's tale, but rather an outrageous slut who must have her prince because she can't wait to shag his brains out. For her part, Sleeping Beauty, while insanely beautiful, is also insanely stupid, and as for the seven dwarfs who guard her while she is asleep, well, let's just say they are not as innocent as Disney made them out to be. I had a ball with Tepper's take on these classic characters, frequently laughing out loud at the way she perverted old tales and wove them into her own story. There is some very clever pastiche going on here, and to me, it just about made the book.
What lets Beauty down somewhat is the didacticism of its tone. Tepper is a fine writer, but she is not very subtle; she makes her points very heavy-handedly, sometimes cringe-inducingly so. In Beauty, she tackles the loss of nature, beauty and magic in an increasingly less romantic world. As a fellow romantic with a yearning for the sublime, I found myself in sympathy with Tepper's message, but I do wish she hadn't forced it down my throat the way she did. I also somewhat objected to the overt feminism of the book, which mainly manifested itself in some truly despicable male characters. Apart from the heavy-handed environmentalism and feminism, though, Beauty is a fine book with some good, honest writing and some truly inspired ideas, mostly in the second half. If you can get over the disjointedness of the first half and the author's tendency to introduce cool ideas without really working them out, you'll find an imaginative and frequently entertaining (albeit depressing) fantasy story with some familiar, refreshingly un-Disney-like characters. It's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it's better than most fantasy books out there, and I have no trouble recommending it to those who like their fairy tales dark and bleak. ...more
The fantasy stories of George MacDonald (1824-1905) served as a source of inspiration to Lewis Carroll, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Madeleine l'EnThe fantasy stories of George MacDonald (1824-1905) served as a source of inspiration to Lewis Carroll, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Madeleine l'Engle. Lewis said that MacDonald did allegorical/mythopoeic fantasy 'better than any man', and that quote alone was enough to arouse my interest. I'm glad it did, because I would have missed out on something good if I had not discovered MacDonald. While I'm not sure I'd call him the greatest fantasy author ever, he definitely was a master of allegory. He had a wonderfully vivid imagination, a beautifully fluid writing style, a gentle sense of humour, and a keen eye for protagonists with whom readers will sympathise (in this volume, mostly lonely children). He also came up with some wonderful quests and journeys into dreamscapes, so it's easy to see why other fantasy authors would be impressed and inspired by his work.
The four stories collected in this volume are all very different. The title story, 'The Golden Key', is a tremendously symbolic fairy tale about a boy who finds a golden key at the end of the rainbow and, together with a neglected girl, sets out on a journey to the country whence the shadows fall, meeting a fairy, the Old Man of the Sea, the Old Man of the Earth and the Old Man of the Fire on the way there. Like The Hobbit, it feels rather episodic at times, and I'm sure half of the imagery went over my head, but I loved the tone and otherworldliness of the story, as well as the archaic writing style. I only wish MacDonald had taken slightly more time to flesh out his tale; at times it felt like a jumble of ideas not properly worked out or joined together. On the other hand, the author's refusal to explain or go into detail definitely adds to the otherworldly feeling, so I suppose there's something to be said for it. Anyhow, 'The Golden Key' is a beautiful piece of work with a lovely old-fashioned and mythical quality.
The second story, 'The History of Photogen and Nycteris', focuses on an evil science experiment whereby a wicked witch deprives a young girl of light and keeps a young boy from ever experiencing darkness. Needless to say, the boy and the girl meet up eventually and learn to love and complement each other in all the right ways. The story is rather baffling in that you never find out why the witch embarks on her cruel experiment (the only explanation MacDonald provides is that she 'had a wolf in her mind', which is intriguing but ultimately a little unsatisfying), but that's pretty much the only complaint I have about 'Photogen and Nycteris'. In all other regards, it's a beautifully crafted, lyrical and romantic story which will teach you to look at light and dark differently and raise a glass to complementary love. I wish I had read it as a child; I would have loved it.
The third story, 'The Shadows', is an intriguing little tale about a man who meets the enigmatic Shadows and finds out how they affect our lives. A large part of the story consists of Shadows telling other Shadows what they have done to change people's lives. Part of me wanted these stories to be told another way (i.e. to be shown rather than described in dialogue), but I'm not sure how MacDonald should have gone about that; I can't come up with a better way myself. In any case, it's an imaginative tale which will have you look at shadows in a different way and curse the unromantic, Shadow-unfriendly electric light we have these days. After reading the story, I felt like lighting candles all over the house and waiting for the Shadows to show up. I can't think of a better tribute than that.
The final story, 'The Gifts of the Child Christ', is a beautiful, extremely Victorian family drama about yet another neglected child who finds love. It's a bit too mawkish and Christian for my taste (MacDonald was a minister, and it shows here), but it's well told and must have been popular with Victorian readers.
In summary, I really liked the book, and definitely look forward to checking out MacDonald's longer works now!...more
Tehanu is the fourth entry in the Earthsea Cycle. It was written years after the original trilogy, and it shows: It is markedly different from the othTehanu is the fourth entry in the Earthsea Cycle. It was written years after the original trilogy, and it shows: It is markedly different from the other books, both in style and in substance. Sadly, it is also inferior to the earlier books. Le Guin had picked up a strident feminism in between The Farthest Shore and Tehanu, and it shows in Tehanu in the worst way possible. Literally every female character in the book is worthy (even dirty, crazy Aunty Moss), whereas all the men in the book are weak and ineffective at best and downright obnoxious at worst. There are so many scathing remarks about men in the book that it made me groan at times. (And I'm not even male. I can only imagine how a male reader must feel about this book.)
It's a pity Le Guin had to ruin her book like this, for the story itself, about the former High Priestess of Atuan who adopts a special girl and finds she is very special indeed, is interesting. It successfully weaves together loose threads from the previous books and sets up a new series, which, alas, I haven't read yet. I look forward to reading more about Tehanu in The Other Wind, which I hear is much better than Tehanu. But still. What a sub-par book. Three stars because I like the characters and the story, two stars for the writing....more
In the third book of the Earthsea Cycle, Earthsea suffers a potentially disastrous epidemic. People all over the world are having their joy sucked outIn the third book of the Earthsea Cycle, Earthsea suffers a potentially disastrous epidemic. People all over the world are having their joy sucked out of them, getting into a semi-vegetative state and dying. After some thorough research, Ged, now Archmage of Earthsea, finds that they are being lured into the kingdom of the dead, from which they cannot return to life. And so Ged and Arren, a young prince and descendant of Earthsea's most legendary hero, set out to find a way into the kingdom of the dead and challenge the person responsible for the 'epidemic'. But who is he, where can he be found, and how can they stop something as fundamental as death taking over life? After a long quest, they meet their villain, and a spectacular finale ensues.
The problem with The Farthest Shore is that it takes Ged and Arren a very long time to get to the kingdom of the dead. Of course, this is understandable; I wouldn't know how to get there either, short of jumping in front of a train (an approach which wouldn't have helped Ged much, if they had had trains in Earthsea). And yes, I'm aware that in this kind of story, it's usually about the journey rather than the destination, but somehow the journey doesn't really work for me here. Sure, it's nice to see more of Earthsea and get better acquainted with its inhabitants, and it's interesting to watch Ged (the teacher) and Arren (his pupil) interact, but it doesn't really propel the story forwards. As a result, the book has a meandering feel that is not entirely made up for by the excellent final chapters. So I'm giving the book three and a half stars, generously rounded up to four because I do like the mood of the story and the ending. ...more
The second book of the Earthsea Cycle starts off in a slightly baffling way -- not with Ged, the central character of the series, but rather with ArhaThe second book of the Earthsea Cycle starts off in a slightly baffling way -- not with Ged, the central character of the series, but rather with Arha, a young girl who has been chosen to become the next High Priestess of the Tombs of Atuan and spends her life performing rituals in which no one really seems to believe any more. We follow Arha around her daily tasks, and just when we're wondering where the hell Ged is, he makes an appearance, and a fascinating sparring match between the wizard and the young priestess ensues, in which Ged has to try and survive and the young girl learns the truth about those she serves and those who serve her. It's an interesting meditation on power, devotion, trust and loyalty, with the best setting of any fantasy book I've ever read*: A dark-as-night underground labyrinth which gives the book a superbly atmospheric and claustrophobic feel, not to mention a nice and ominous sense of impending doom. The best book in the series, worth a full five stars.
* with the possible exception of Neil Gaiman’s London Below, which is superb if you know London and are familiar with its underground system....more
With its distant and detached but nevertheless pleasant tone, A Wizard of Earthsea adroitly sets the tone for the rest of the Earthsea series, which has a more old-fashioned and mythological feel to it than most other fantasy series. It's not a perfect book; the story feels a bit disjointed at times, and it would have been nice if Le Guin had gone into a bit more detail on occasion, rather than staying on the surface. Still, it's an interesting and exciting story, featuring some nifty Taoist ideas on balance (here called 'the equilibrium') and a lot of Le Guin's trademark name magic. A well-deserved four stars -- closer to four and a half stars, actually....more
The Earthsea Quartet contains the first four of Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea novels (I believe there are five now, plus a collection of short stories). EaThe Earthsea Quartet contains the first four of Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea novels (I believe there are five now, plus a collection of short stories). Earthsea is a large archipelago of islands, some of which are inhabited by dragons, but most of which are inhabited by humans. It's a fairly well-realised world which never gets bogged down in unnecessary details, unlike many other fantasy series. LeGuin sticks to basics, both in terms of world-building and in terms of style. Her writing is sparse and detached, which suits the philosophical themes she addresses. It is also nearly sexless, which gives the stories collected in this book a lovely archaic and Tolkienesque ring.
Apart from its detached tone, what most sets The Earthsea Quartet apart from other fantasy series is its concept of magic, which involves knowing the true names of things -- the names things were given back when they were first created, many of which are now forgotten. In LeGuin's universe, the way to power is to know lots of true names, be they of people, dragons or inanimate objects. So people who can divine true names, like the intrepid hero of the Earthsea Quartet, Ged, are potentially very powerful indeed.
Not that Ged cares about power. All he cares about is keeping Earthsea a safe place to be, which basically means preventing other wizards from using too much magic. You see, the central conceit of the Earthsea novels is not that it's cool to know magic and use it as often as possible, as in, say, the Harry Potter books. In Earthsea, the wise wizard uses his powers sparingly, so as not to upset the world's equilibrium. The general idea seems to be that the more magic you use, the more you'll end up disturbing the natural equilibrium, with potentially disastrous consequences. Thus, while great feats of magic are occasionally performed in the books (usually to vanquish those who willingly upset the equilibrium), they are few and far between, and not nearly as prominent as they are in other fantasy series. Ultimately, LeGuin says, the wizard's challenge is not to become powerful, but rather to understand the nature of things and act upon this knowledge in a manner which will help keep the world a safe place to be.
LeGuin has an interesting take on evil. In the first three books of the series (A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan and The Farthest Shore), she doesn't really go in for great villains, but leaves her evil forces largely unspecified. Her evil is a nameless and faceless force whose ancient power can be felt but not readily understood. I like that; it adds a touch of mystery and otherworldly dread to the books which appeals to me. The fourth book, Tehanu, which was written much later than the preceding three books and is markedly different in both style and substance, does put a human face on evil, and moreover has a setting which will be more familiar to earthly readers than the settings of the earlier books. I'm sure some readers will appreciate this attempt at greater humanity and recognisability, but to me it constitutes a loss of the mythical quality and otherworldliness that make the first three books so special. It doesn't help, either, that the fourth book has a strong feminist slant, in the negative sense of that word. Apparently, Tehanu is considered a bit of a feminist classic in some quarters, but personally, I think it suffers badly from its men-deprecating stance. I much prefer the ideology-free earlier books, which I'd rate at four stars, five stars and three and a half stars, respectively.
If you can only read one book in the series, pick The Tombs of Atuan, which pits the hero, Ged, against a young priestess who doesn't really understand the powers she is serving. It's an excellent story, set largely in an underground labyrinth, which adds a tangible touch of claustrophobia to the proceedings. A life-and-death power struggle in a dark place from which there is no escape -- what's not to like?
More in-depth reviews of the individual books can be found here:
The second Chrestomanci volume features two novels which have only two things in common: they both feature magic, and Chrestomanci shows up in both ofThe second Chrestomanci volume features two novels which have only two things in common: they both feature magic, and Chrestomanci shows up in both of them. However, the great wizard only makes brief appearances in the book, leaving centre stage to child protagonists who save society from an awful lot of harm by a combination of courage, brains, imagination and magic.
The first book in the volume, The Magicians of Caprona, is set in a world reminiscent of Renaissance Italy. It's basically Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet), except with added magic. As Diana Wynne Jones tells the tale, two wizarding families are responsible for the spells that keep the city of Caprona flourishing: the Montanas and the Petrocchis, who have been feuding for generations and seem unlikely ever to patch things up. When the city's spells start weakening, it looks like Caprona may be usurped by other cities. Obviously something is very wrong, but who is causing the mischief? Is it the Montanas, the Petrocchis, or is there a third party involved? Montana and Petrocchi children start investigating the matter, saving Caprona from perdition and unifying their houses in the process. Well, what did you expect?
The second book, Witch Week, is set in a completely different milieu: a boarding school in a modern England which is remarkably like ours, except that magic of any kind is strictly forbidden and witches are burnt at the stake. One day, a teacher finds a note advising him there is a witch in his class. This leads to a genuine witch hunt in which several pupils who might be witches (but aren't sure themselves) are accused of witchcraft by nasty classmates. The accused try to save their hides by hiding, pretending they're completely normal or pointing their fingers at others. And then rumours start spreading that the Inquisition is about to pay a visit to the school, bringing equipment with them which will surely help them find the witch, and suddenly a whole lot of people seem to get very nervous. Could it be that there's more than one witch at the school? And if so, what are they going to do when the Inquisition shows up?
This second volume of Chrestomanci stories (there is a third one, too, but I haven't read that yet) is less impressive than the first one, but still compulsively readable. The first story is charming but predictable -- a three-star affair with some good characterisation and amusing set pieces but little genuine development. Adult readers will spot the plot twists a mile off, and the fact that Chrestomanci's cameo is completely bland doesn't help, either. The second story, however, is very strong -- worth a full five stars for its great and ever so recognisable depiction of an adolescent witch hunt and adolescence in general. Apart from the very real possibility that they'll die at the stake, the protagonists of Witch Week are teenagers like people we've known and may well have been ourselves. They are intelligent but unpopular kids who are bullied by popular cliques and alternate between trying to avoid trouble and plotting subtle revenge on those who have caused them harm. The tone of the story is pleasantly rebellious and anarchic, and it's well crafted, keeping you guessing at the witches' identities and crossing your fingers for the underdogs until the very end. Chrestomanci makes an appearance in this story, as well, and it's considerably more fun than the one in The Magicians of Caprona.
In short, Volume II of the Chronicles of Chrestomanci is a solid addition to the series -- not as original as Volume I, but definitely worth checking out if you like Harry Potter-style fantasy. Just read Volume I first to get a feel for the world in which the stories are set and Chrestomanci's role in it... ...more
Long before J.K. Rowling ever invented Harry Potter, Diana Wynne Jones penned the Chrestomanci series, in which children perform magic (or fail to do Long before J.K. Rowling ever invented Harry Potter, Diana Wynne Jones penned the Chrestomanci series, in which children perform magic (or fail to do so) in worlds which resemble ours but are ever so slightly different. Like Rowling, Jones infused her fantasy novels for children with enough wit and interesting ideas to make them appealing to adult readers; unlike Rowling, she never made it big, although one of her books, Howl's Moving Castle, was adapted into an enjoyable anime movie by Hayao Miyazaki a few years ago. It's a pity Jones is not better known in the world of children's fiction, as her work is as good as Rowling's, if not actually better. While they lack the puns and pseudo-Latin that make the Potter books such a delight, Jones' stories are exciting and well-paced -- more so than some of Rowling's books. They feature great magic, superb world-building and a psychological insight which I think beats Rowling's. Jones understands children well, which makes it easy to identify with her young protagonists, even if they occasionally perform acts of magic to which few of us can aspire.
The first story in this two-book volume, Charmed Life, is set in a world which vaguely resembles today's England but seems a bit more old-fashioned and, well, magical. The protagonists are two orphaned siblings -- Eric Chant, nicknamed Cat, and his sister Gwendolen, a young witch of quite formidable powers. When the story opens, Cat and Gwendolen are taken to live with Chrestomanci, a mysterious man whose castle oozes magic and whose assistants are to teach them witchcraft. As always, Cat proves to be useless at magic. He feels stupid, doesn't feel at home in his new surroundings and generally spends a lot of time moping and feeling sorry for himself. Meanwhile, Gwendolen obviously excels at magic, but doesn't quite get the adulation she was expecting. Feeling ignored and insulted, she starts doing all sorts of terrible things to prove how powerful a witch she is. A battle of wills between Gwen and Chrestomanci ensues. Needless to say, things go horribly wrong, and people not just in this world but in all the parallel worlds of the universe may end up suffering for it, unless Cat and Chrestomanci can do something about it.
Charmed Life is a great minor classic. It was my favourite book when I was twelve, and I can still see why -- it's bold, it's inventive, it has funny touches and it's very well put together (although the beginning is a tad slow). Like all good fantasy, it deals with big issues (who should be in charge of magical powers? What are the consequences of our deeds?), but what really makes the book the gem it is, is the characterisation. Cat is a bit too weak and passive to make for a dashing hero, but his frustration and loneliness are genuine, which makes his betrayal at the end all the harsher. For her part, Gwendolen makes a fabulously spoiled and selfish older sister; her tantrums rank among the highlights of the book, and her magic, while nasty and self-serving, undeniably has flair. As for Chrestomanci, who looks vague but might just be the most powerful enchanter in the world (or indeed in all the worlds), he's a brilliant character whom Jones rightly felt deserved a few more appearances in her oeuvre. Thus she devoted the second book in this volume, The Lives of Christopher Chant, entirely to Chrestomanci. A prequel to Charmed Life, The Lives of Christopher Chant tells the story of Chrestomanci's childhood. Like Charmed Life, it features the usual fantasy staples of larger-than-life characters, travel between worlds and the discovery of unsuspected talents, but there's more to it: living goddesses, animals with magical powers, and heaps of spectacular action. For all its magic and non-stop action, though, what sets this book apart from other fantasy fare is the excellent way it deals with the more mundane aspects of life: divorce, friendship, loyalty, betrayal and thwarted dreams. Adult readers will find the story a bit more predictable than Charmed Life, but it's undeniably gripping and imaginative and features a great cameo by a cat. If you like magic and cats, chances are The Lives of Christopher Chant will be right up your alley....more
You have to give Susanna Clarke props for ambition. In itself, her combination of fantasy and well-researched historical fiction isn’t new. Guy GavrieYou have to give Susanna Clarke props for ambition. In itself, her combination of fantasy and well-researched historical fiction isn’t new. Guy Gavriel Kay has made a career out of it, and a very good one, too. (If you haven’t read any Kay, do yourself a favour and rectify that situation as soon as possible. Seriously, the man is brilliant.) However, to write a huge historical fantasy novel in the language of the time in which the story is set is a different feat altogether, and in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell Clarke almost pulls it off. Almost, but not quite.
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is the story of two wizards who change the course of early-nineteenth-century history while failing to notice the many strange things that are going on in the lives of those around them. The first quarter of the book centres on Mr Norrell, a reticent old man who believes he is the only practical magician in England and longs to do something great and useful with his powers. After a bit of a struggle for recognition, he is employed as a weapon in England’s struggle against France, which is just then getting a bit uppity in Europe. Then, suddenly, a second magician appears on the scene -- the much younger and more likeable Jonathan Strange. Mr Norrell takes Strange on as his pupil, and for a while the two magicians work side by side, until, in the grand tradition of such things, their relationship turns sour and master and student become rivals. What follows will determine not just their fates, but many people’s, and indeed the fate of magic in England.
Clarke tackles many themes in her 800-page book, both genuine and fantastical. First of all, there’s the pseudo-historical angle in which Strange helps the Duke of Wellington beat Napoleon, tries to cure the madness of King George III and meets other interesting characters of the time. Secondly, there are various social issues, such as the relationship between the classes and the art of knowing one’s place in the greater scheme of things. Last but not least, there’s a spooky alternate universe with which the magicians get to deal, for as they find out rather late in the book, the good old Celtic world of Faerie is far from dead in nineteenth-century England. Clarke doesn’t go in for the kind of thorough world-building many other fantasy authors favour, but her scholarly take on Faerie (set out in weird but oddly entertaining page-long footnotes and journal articles) is consistent, intriguing and original -- a word one doesn’t often come across in reviews of fantasy books.
That said, it took me a bit of time to get into the book. The main problem (as so often with me) was of a linguistic nature -- to wit, the faux-Austenesque quality of the writing. Clarke has an excellent shot at Austen’s dry, witty brand of English, but for the first one hundred pages I simply wasn’t taken in. Rather than being transported straight to Regency England, I was acutely aware of the artificiality of the language, to the point where I occasionally felt like I was reading an unintentional Austen spoof. It didn’t help that the early part of the book centred on a prim, petty, vain old man to whom I couldn’t relate and that the writing was rather detached. I persevered, though, and I’m glad I did, for about 150 pages into the book things began to fall into place. Not only did I get used to Clarke’s language, but I began to enjoy it, finding pleasure in her subtle satire and in such throwaway phrases as ‘there is no word in the English language for a magician’s garden two hundred years after the magician is dead�, which evokes all sorts of things without actually describing them. Even better, Jonathan Strange finally entered the picture, and suddenly the novel got a whole lot better. It got youth. It got flamboyance. It got fabulous feats of magic. It got rivalry. It got loyalty and betrayal, madness and obsessions and characters being redeemed from zombie-like existences. It got a pretty entertaining take on history. It got a cameo by Lord Byron (a boon to any historical fantasy novel -- see The Anubis Gates). And most of all, it got a heart, although the writing continued to be a bit more detached than I liked. Thanks to all these things, I ended up quite enjoying the book, laughing out loud at some of Clarke’s more entertaining notions, such as generals wishing to replace their cavalry’s horses with unicorns so as to gore Frenchmen through their hearts, or Jonathan Strange temporarily moving Brussels to America to get it out of Napoleon’s way because ‘[America] always looks so empty on the maps�. Jane Austen never came up with anything like that, and that’s a compliment.
In the end, then, I enjoyed Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell quite a bit. I didn’t love it as much as I had hoped, but I certainly admired it. If only Jonathan Strange could have entered the story a bit earlier and if only the writing could have been a bit less detached, I'd probably have given the book five stars. Not bad, given my initial frustrations with it.
(One day I’ll learn to write concise reviews. Sigh.) ...more
Guy Gavriel Kay is best known as a fantasy author. However, as far as I'm concerned, he is at his best when he's writing semi-historical novels -- novGuy Gavriel Kay is best known as a fantasy author. However, as far as I'm concerned, he is at his best when he's writing semi-historical novels -- novels in which he re-imagines some historical event or place with just a little recourse to fantasy elements. The Lions of Al-Rassan is such a novel. In it, Kay tells the story of the Spanish Reconquista, a thrilling time during which the Christians drove the Muslims (who had by then ruled the southern half of their peninsula for several centuries) from their country and took back what was theirs. Rather than telling the story from a purely European perspective, Kay uses characters from all the major groups involved (fanatic Christians, less fanatic Christians, fundamentalist Muslims, less fundamentalist Muslims, Jews) and lets them find their own ways towards the inevitable ending -- a holy war. As it happens, the war is dealt with rather perfunctorily in the book; the story mainly deals with the different players' motivations and the decisions leading up to the momentous events which take place later.
Kay's depiction of a polarised society gearing towards war is excellent, and quite topical, given recent history. He ably demonstrates what happens when three hostile cultures have to co-exist in one country and fundamentalists stir up feelings of hatred. Yet it's not all about cultural differences and mutual dislike. A large part of the book deals with friendship and with the romance between a female Jewish doctor and a charismatic Muslim poet/strategist. And lest that get boring, too, there is an amount of intrigue and political skullduggery of which many a thriller writer would be proud. It's a testament to Kay's skill as an author that he combines all these ingredients into a seamless, tightly plotted whole, which is both epic in scope and intensely personal.
As always, Kay's greatest strength is his characterisation, which is superb. Nearly all the main characters of the book (even the ones whose morals are compromised) are remarkable, intelligent and likeable people, which makes it a joy to follow them through their lives. Kay makes the most of their friendships and shared fates. He also makes the most of their divided loyalties, sense of duty and sense of fate, which give the book its tragic quality. For make no mistake: The Lions of Al-Rassan is a tragedy. A country may be regained in the end, but an era is lost, and the loss is made quite tangible. The book has a melancholy end-of-an-era atmosphere which stays with you long after you turn the last page.
If I have any complaints about The Lions of Al-Rassan, they concern the way in which Kay sometimes withholds information from the reader. At several points in the book (but mostly at the end), the reader is led to believe that a certain character has died, only to find out later that it was actually someone else who died. I don't particularly care for this kind of cheating, which feels manipulative to me. However, this is only one minor blemish on an otherwise fine book which shows Kay at the top of his powers, or very near it. ...more
What would happen if Satan were to alight on a modern metropolis like Moscow and wreak havoc in it? That's just one of the questions asked and answereWhat would happen if Satan were to alight on a modern metropolis like Moscow and wreak havoc in it? That's just one of the questions asked and answered in this twentieth-century Russian classic, which is said to have been the inspiration for the Rolling Stones song 'Sympathy for the Devil'.
You can see why Mick Jagger and his cronies would be intrigued by the devil as portrayed in The Master and Margarita. Bulgakov's Satan is not necessarily purely evil; he just punishes sceptics and greedy people, and does so in extremely creative ways. He has a lot of personality, and if that weren't enough, he also has a fascinating retinue of demons and zombies who gleefully go about creating their own brand of creative mischief. The result, as you might expect, is an orgy of chaos in which people get killed, scared out of their wits, humiliated and spirited away, usually in fairly inventive ways. It's hard not to admire Bulgakov's imagination in these scenes; he really does come up with some outrageous stuff, and except for the one chapter in which one of the main characters flies over Moscow on a broomstick, you'll buy it -- even the gun-toting cat who cannot be killed. That's how good his writing is.
It's not all wicked mayhem, though. Interwoven with the main story are descriptions of the last days of Pilate and Christ, which seem a bit disjointed at first but have a strangely beautiful quality. These, it turns out, are chapters from a book written by 'the master', an author (surely an autobiographical representation of Bulgakov himself) whose career has been ruined by the authorities. Soviet Russia is never mentioned in the book (its Moscow has a distinctly timeless flavour), but The Master and Margarita is in fact a surreal parody on what was happening during Bulgakov's lifetime, with Satan carrying out the purges Stalin was carrying out in real life. Among other things, Bulgakov satirises literary life in the Soviet Union, which for him wasn't a tremendous lot of fun. He also defends Christianity (albeit in a way the Church did not really appreciate), which in the atheistic Soviet Union was enough of a no-no that he never even tried getting the book published during his lifetime.
While I greatly enjoyed the panache with which Bulgakov describes the demons' exploits and the various layers he seems to weave into the story, I do have a few quibbles with the book. One is that the author comes up with a tremendous cast of characters, many of whom he leaves just a tad too soon for the reader to care about them. As a result, many parts of the book feel rather episodic, especially in the middle. Furthermore, Bulgakov occasionally lets his imagination get the better of him. Margarita's flight over Moscow was one step too far for me, although I have a feeling it will make more sense to me when I reread the book, which I certainly will at some point.
These are minor quibbles, though. For the most part, The Master and Margarita is a very successful, terrifically original and occasionally funny venture into surrealism with many layers which will undoubtedly make for rewarding rereading. I definitely look forward to rereading it. ...more
Ever wonder what it would be like to travel in time and be able to rewrite parts of history? In The Anubis Gates, Brendan Doyle, a professor of nineteEver wonder what it would be like to travel in time and be able to rewrite parts of history? In The Anubis Gates, Brendan Doyle, a professor of nineteenth-century English literature living in 1983 California, accidentally gets to try his hand at it when he is invited by a mad scientist to attend a lecture given by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1810 London. Needless to say, an accident prevents Doyle from returning to his own time (it always does in these books, doesn't it?), so he is stuck in early-nineteenth-century London, where he gets to deal with gypsies, underground dens of beggars, an unpleasant clown, a body-shifting werewolf, a young woman disguised as a boy, a brain-washed Lord Byron, assassins, homunculi, legendary beasts, life without antibiotics and last but not least, an ancient Egyptian sorceror who seems to want something from him. What ensues is an off-the-wall tale full of outlandish conspiracies, time travel, Doppelgangers and magic, and yes, a bit of poetry. The evocation of nineteenth-century England isn't entirely convincing (there are some glaring historic and linguistic anachronisms), and the narrative gets a bit predictable at times (despite the plot being so insane), but the action is non stop, the story unfolds at a cracking pace and there are enough inventive and amusing links to actual history and literature to make even the harshest critic chuckle. In short, it's a fun read -- not perfect, but perfectly entertaining, with some interesting ideas to ponder afterwards.
I'm now wondering where *I* would go if I could travel in time......more
Neil Gaiman's first novel is an occasionally shocking but frequently funny fantasy thriller set in a London you've never seen before. At the beginningNeil Gaiman's first novel is an occasionally shocking but frequently funny fantasy thriller set in a London you've never seen before. At the beginning of the book, Richard Mayhew, an utterly normal businessman living in a London not too far removed from our own, rescues a damsel in distress: Door, a lovely girl whose entire family has been murdered and who would dearly like to know by whom and what for. Richard would like to help Door, but in order to do so, he has to enter a world whose existence he never even suspected: London Below, a world consisting largely of sewers and tube stations and populated by larger-than-life characters, not all of whom are terribly welcoming. What follows is a delirious journey full of vivid characters, suspense, dark humour and blood-thirsty assassins.
Half the fun of Neverwhere lies in its familiarity -- the way in which Door's bizarre London Below overlaps with the city as we know it. Gaiman has a lot of fun inventing alternative histories for existing London Underground stations, turning household names which most people never give a second thought into actual characters. He also comes up with an interesting interpretation of the endless reminder to "Mind the gap" with which any visitor to the London Underground will be familiar. What with all these specific London references, the book is funnier for readers who actually know the city, but there's plenty left for those who don't. Gaiman is a great story-teller, and the yarn he spins here is quite enjoyable. One thing is certain: after reading this book, you'll never look at a tube station in the same way again....more
A Darkness at Sethanon is the final instalment of Feist's Riftwar saga, and it's a fine one, full of time travel, interdimensional travel, paralleA Darkness at Sethanon is the final instalment of Feist's Riftwar saga, and it's a fine one, full of time travel, interdimensional travel, parallel worlds, dragons, oracles, unexpected discoveries, spectacular battle scenes and a riveting, awe-inspiring finale. The story could do with a little more character development, but hey, who cares about stuff like that when Feist is spinning such a ripping yarn? ...more
Silverthorn continues where Magician left off and follows many of Magician's characters plus a few new ones on their highly perilous quest to find a cSilverthorn continues where Magician left off and follows many of Magician's characters plus a few new ones on their highly perilous quest to find a cure for a lethally wounded princess. The book is a little light on Pug stuff, which is a pity, but the other characters are a likeable enough bunch whose fast-paced adventures are a joy to follow. The fact that they're up against zombies only serves to make the story that much more exciting. Nice characters + quest + zombies = good read! ...more
This sequel to Sailing to Sarantium is even better than the first book. While working on his great work of art, Crispin gets caught up in court intrigThis sequel to Sailing to Sarantium is even better than the first book. While working on his great work of art, Crispin gets caught up in court intrigue, and what intrigue it is! The characters are great, the atmosphere is well drawn, the action is thrilling, the pace is excellent and the ending is as tragic and fitting as it is inevitable. A superb mix of history and fantasy, and then some....more
Guy Gavriel Kay is quickly becoming one of my favourite fantasy authors. The Sarantine Mosaic, a two-book series of which this is the first instalmentGuy Gavriel Kay is quickly becoming one of my favourite fantasy authors. The Sarantine Mosaic, a two-book series of which this is the first instalment, is set in a world clearly based on mediaeval Constantinople (Byzantium), where various cultures clash, sometimes violently so. Its protagonist is Crispin, a master mosaicist commissioned to decorate the greatest church in the empire. His journey to Sarantium is fraught with danger, and life in Sarantium itself proves no less exciting. Many dealings with illustrious personages ensue, as do interesting observations on art and religion. As always, Kay has done his homework; his evocation of Byzantine life (chariot races, partisan crowds) is superb and by all accounts quite historically accurate (except for a few fantasy elements thrown in here and there). The first few chapters are a bit too episodic and action-packed for my taste, but the second half of the book is excellent, and the sequel is even better....more
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