Review of "Stormbringer" by Michael Moorcock

For those who enjoy reading Greek myth for its style, Michael Moorcock’s Elric may be for you.  Event-based rather than dialogue- or emotion-based, these stories of the albino warrior Elric and his soul-stealing sword Stormbringer are written in terse, quickly paced prose that is action packed.  Like Theseus killing the minotaur, escaping the labyrinth, and losing/leaving Ariadne within a few scant sentences, so too does Elric have a host of adventures in each of the interconnected novellas of this collection.  Chaos in an eternal fight against Law, he meets all manner of friends and enemies, magic and the fantastic.  There is no shortage of demons, mages, and monsters to be swallowed by the unquenchable thirst of his Stormbringer—the sword with a mind of its own—accompanying Elric to the end.   

Certainly not classic literature, Moorcock’s Elric stories can nonetheless be credited as an artistic statement that consistently embody the same themes of honor, duty, virtue, heroism, human flaw, etc. which make Greek mythology classic.  The result is one of the most uniquely human characters of epic fantasy: Elric, a man torn by fate.  That it’s written in the same style as Greek myth, however, should come as a warning for those seeking sword and sorcery with a narrative more lush and evocative.  

(See also my review of The Stealer of Souls for more info on Elric.)

Review of "The Stealer of Souls" by Michael Moorcock

The dark, brooding nature of Moorcock’s prose—flying in the face of conventional, happy-ending fairy tales—is perhaps why I rate the rather simplistic novellas of The Stealer of Souls so high.  The fatalistic tone lifts Elric, the flawed hero of the narrative, above the often comedic and wooden comic book heroes Moorcock is riffing on. Perhaps as close to the classic presentation of myth as has been published in recent centuries, Moorcock is undoubtedly aware of the archetypes of sword and sorcery.  But that he employs them in such a cold, distant tone adds an element of drama that the warm and fuzzy happenings of Harry Potter, Eragon, and the like cannot match.   Many writers would try to embellish a soul-stealing sword with melodrama, but not Moorcock.  He delivers indifferent to the hero and his sword’s plight, relating action, events, and outcomes as they occur, nothing more.  The result is that the structure of Elric’s soul is laid bare.  But what can one see?  One sees that the choices he makes, good and bad, make him as human as Achilles. Though written  in a paucity of words, the novellas contained within The Stealer of Souls contain enough tragedy and myth to be more interesting than the run of the mill fantasy.

(See also my review of Stormbringer for additional commentary on Elric. )

Review of "Red Seas under Red Skies" by Scott Lynch

Allow me to digress from the get-go to establish context.  Mel Gibson and Danny Glover prove a somewhat interesting duo in their first pairing Lethal Weapon.  The first film featuring the tandem, viewers watch with a sense of trepidation as the plot unfolds, wondering whether each will survive the action.  With character and routine established, Lethal Weapon 2, 3, and 4 affect far less suspense, however.  Red Seas under Red Skies, the follow up to Scott Lynch’s success, The Lies of Locke Lamora, suffers the same problem.

Lies established Locke and Jean as untouchable.  No matter how they are threatened, the reader turns the pages of Red Seas under Red Skies knowing the end will find the two on their way to another adventure.  All suspense temporary, the story must be endured rather than enjoyed as a result.  Red Seas being the second in a planned series of seven, how Lynch intends to maintain drama until the end is beyond this reviewer.  We know how fresh Lethal Weapon feels after three sequels…

But the problems get worse.  Anyone who has seen a Bollywood film knows that presenting a singing and dancing routine followed by a bloody shoot-em up simply doesn’t work.  Integrity fades as the moods are spliced.  Red Seas (like Lies) does the same—though without the singing and dancing, thankfully.  Numerous scenes find Locke and Jean under severe duress, but in the next line a buddy-buddy joke—a la Mel and Danny G.—completely distracts from the crisis at hand.  Is it drama or comedy—or drama-comedy?  The resulting lack of sincerity fails to endear Locke and Jean anymore than Lies.  This largely stems from:

Fritz Leiber is one of few writers who can pull off the combination of humor and action.  And it is the strength of his style that makes readers enjoy turning the pages.  Lynch, unfortunately, is not a stylist.  Better at profanity than prose, the jarring language—both vulgar and syntactical—of Lies returns in Red Seas.  Dialogue is also just as forced and wooden.  “Locke, what do you think about the men chasing us?”  “They can suck on (enter scatological joke here).”  Narrative, well, it’s more bloated and clichéd.  Lynch, who used half of Lies to establish character back-stories, faced the challenge of filling a whole narrative with a single plot in Red Seas.  The result only a moderate success, Disney still does a better version of pirates.  

But topping all of this is the continued failure of Lynch to be ingenious.  The wily trickery and clever ruses of Lies are once again hopelessly weak and anti-climactic once revealed in Red Seas.  There is one setup in Red Seas in particular that Lynch keeps secret from readers, but hints that later in the story will have important consequences.  When the secret setup is finally revealed, nothing could be more disappointing.  A child could think of a better ruse, and the air Lynch has put into the balloon deflates in slow, zig-zag fashion across the room.  

In the end, Lethal Weapon was liked by enough to spawn three sequels, meaning Locke has a similar chance.  Thus, readers who loved Lies will probably also like Red Seas.  The series remains an easy to digest, adventure/revenge story that requires zero engagement.  Full of juvenile humor (often of the toilet variety), the disjointed, erratic prose does not help.  The “what scheme that Locke has cooked up will fail now” storyline also gets old quick.  For those interested in fantasy and pirates, I suggest Tim Powers’ On Stranger Tides as a better conceived alternative.

Review of "Dark Moon" by David Gemmell

 (This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com)

In writing reviews of fantasy, everybody makes mention of those derivative books of sword and sorcery which lack imagination and either borrow exclusively from previous works (think Terry Goodkind) or possess so many archetypes that the whole book becomes cliché (think the Dragonlance series).  Everybody knows these cardboard Conans and Gandalfs wielding battleaxes, wands, and uttering the worst one-liners published today.  But these comments about garbage fantasy are always directed to the “others”—someone else—never the work under review.  Nobody wants to step on any toes.

David Gemmell’s Dark Moon is pure genre fantasy.  This is one of the books everyone is indirectly referring to when they mention derivative fantasy.  Reptilian uni-mind creatures attack innocent people for no reason. Check.  A female fighter who acts and talks like a man.  Check.  Gouts of random magic within an undefined system.  Check.  Castle wall siege including tunneling.  Check.  And so on.  I read an interview with Gemmell who said something to the effect: “I don’t plan anything when I’m writing.  I just take an idea and run with it.”  Well, it shows in Dark Moon.  The story is a jumbled mess.  Too many things are packed in disorderly fashion into such a small book.  Ultimate evil cannibal bad guys have a sudden change of heart and promise to love everybody.  Aliens appear on the medieval scene to bring peace (yes,aliens!).  A man invents a catapult that didn’t exist (in a time of castles, swords and shields, go figure).  And all this rubbish does is bring heartache., because after all, the story began with such promise: the main character, a man at war with a demon trapped inside himself, tries to come to terms with who he is.  What better a premise to start a good fantasy novel?

In summary, if you’re already a lover of those books everyone refers to disparagingly—women warriors with impressive breasts, a young orphan boy becomes king,  dragons, dragons, dragons—then this book may be for you.   Otherwise, if you’re looking for a fantasy story that works within the genre but offers a new take, operates within a larger structure, has logical outcomes, as well as characters more human than wood, look elsewhere.  In the meantime, we need to find an author to take Gemmell’s premise and flesh it out into a real story. 

Review of "The Lies of Locke Lamora" by Scott Lynch

Continually disappointing, The Lies of Locke Lamora is mafia fantasy written in nearly unreadable “prose” that proves anybody can be a writer these days.  Set in a carnaval city trying so hard not be fantasy Venice but actually is, Lies is the story of a thief and the adventures he and his crew have ripping off the wealthy and the subsequent trouble they get into with organized crime.  It can also be summed up as follows: take the plot line of The Godfather, remove the sincerity and emotion, add the comedy-drama styling of Lethal Weapon, and voila, The Lies of Locke Lamora!  

This formula leads to some pretty nauseating dialogue.  Apart from lacking depth, it sounds like middle school boys making potty jokes when their parents are not around.  I have no problem with bad language, but it should sound natural, like a drunk in a bar, not someone learning how to curse watching dubbed Chinese action movies.  More disappointing is the lack of intelligent plotting.  Throughout Lies we are told of the main character’s wits and cleverness.  But nary is there a moment he displays such talents.  Readers will be frustrated to the last page waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Lynch to spring that ultimate twist that satisfies all of the build-up.  But it never happens.  That ship sails, followed any chance of the book being taken seriously.  

If you want cheesy dialogue, random violence, clichéd plot devices, and a completely unbuckled prosaic shoe slapping in the mud, by all means invest the money.  But if you require more than a 13 year old Johnny burping the alphabet to interest you, look elsewhere.  The glowing reviews are the result of the book’s strong mainstream appeal, and you know what that means...  (For proof, see back cover copy comparisons to Oceans Eleven.)

Review of "A Canticle for Leibowitz" by Walter M. Miller

A Canticle for Leibowitz has stood the test of time for a reason: the issues under discussion remain as poignant in the 1950’s when it was published as they do today.  What is the value of knowledge, and how should it be used?  Is technology productive or destructive in the hands of government?  What role does religion play in a technologically advanced society?  Under discussion in the work—and the reason it has garnered so much critical attention—are these profound themes, as well as Catholicism, scientific discovery and its subsequent application, the importance of preserved knowledge, and euthanasia.  

 Told in three windows of time, the narrative focuses on three basic steps of social evolution (from a technological standpoint) and what role the church plays throughout.  Though classed science fiction, two of the post-apocalyptic eras Miller describes are not wholly unlike civilizations and cultures that exist in the world today.   The only complaint about the book is its bias toward Catholicism; there are no Inquisitions or Crusades and the subjectivity of its beliefs is never questioned.  The issues discussed, however, are important enough to ignore this flaw, as what remains becomes more pertinent with every technological advance society makes. All in all, one of the most interesting examinations of technology and religion literature has ever produced.

Review of "A Wizard of Earthsea" by Ursula Le Guin

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea is one of fantasy fiction’s most unique and endearing series.  The world she has created is vivid with culture, magic and mythos, the first installment of which is A Wizard of Earthsea.  The novel tells the coming-of-age story of Ged who must solve a riddle to find the hero in himself.  Throughout his transformation, Le Guin avoids most cliché fantasy tropes and renders a very refreshing human story written in simple, flowing prose.   

Set in a southeast Asian style archipelago, magic, ancient wisdom and dragons decorate the pages as Ged chases a shadow he's foolishly unleashed around the world.  But it is his wits that he must depend on the most to absorb the lessons he learns along the way and develop into a man in the process.  Filled with profound dialogue and touching characters, the story is geared towards young people, but undoubtedly adults can find something novel and worthy of note as well.  Eschewing Tolkien-esque fantasy, the fundamental ideology of the novel is Daoist in nature, with a dose of Jungian psychoanalysis thrown in for good measure.  

This book is highly recommended for those who are interested in knowing what a fantasy world influenced by the teachings of Daoism may be like, or, in a much simpler fashion, as a great way of introducing one’s children to the world of fantasy literature with a warm message at its heart.

(For those who have read the book and the Earthsea Cycle as a whole, you may be interested in reading a paper I wrote on its Daoist tenets and angles on contemporary theory called "Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle: Paralleling Contemporary Theory with an Eye to the Past".  Part I is here and Part II, here.)

Review of "Tigana" by Guy Gavriel Kay

Guy Gavriel Kay’s 1990 Tigana is lauded across the net, and the praise is deserved.  Revered by the average fantasy fan on through to the most avid, this story of a banished leader trying to reclaim not only his homeland but the very memory—the essence—of its cultural heart, is both epic and humane in scope and written in sublime prose.  Kay readily admits using the effect of communist-style brainwashing as a plot device for the protagonists’ plight to recover their lost Tigana.   

The result is the book's plot centers on a group of rebels posing as itinerant musicians, criss-crossing the land in search of political connections and sympathizers to help rebuild their country.  Providing impetus, the group’s search and survival are in constant peril due to an ongoing war between two powerful wizards, the most powerful of which being the one who cast the spell that literally erased the country of Tigana from people’s minds.  Set on an Italian peninsula reminiscent of the Renaissance, Kay’s tale is bejeweled with honor, integrity, sacrifice, mythos, virtue, music, and magic.  Through elegant dialogue and rich, detailed characterization, the reader is left mesmerized by a story of belief in country, belief in culture, and belief in the future.  The faults of the novel lie in its digressions; the sex scenes only stir the pot rather than serve the meal and could have been done without.  Likewise, a couple of minor action scenes seemed to have been inserted merely to spice up a section of dialogue that was compelling enough in itself, the added suspense unnecessary.   

Though perhaps still a step or two away, Tigana has nearly become a must read for anyone wishing to call themselves a fan of fantasy, and perhaps will achieve this distinction someday in the not so distant future. The storytelling here is just fantastic.