Tainted Blood by M.L. Brennan

I normally don't read books with vampire protagonists, but when I do they're written by M.L. Brennan. Vampires are probably the most overused trope in urban fantasy, and many discerning readers turn their noses up at books that focus on the vampire as the hero. I am one of those readers, by and large. M.L. Brennan's Generation V novels are the exception. With a protagonist that is far from the popular image of the brooding, preternatural predator, flawless and unconventional world building and a light-hearted sense of humor that keeps me in stitches, these books have earned a proud place on my overflowing bookshelves. The latest installment, Tainted Blood continues to deliver everything I come to expect from the adventures of Fortitude Scott but takes great pains to remind both readers and protagonist alike that being a vampire isn't all superpowers and wisecracks.

Midnight Blue-Light Special by Seanan McGuire

Midnight Blue-Light Special is the fourth book of Seanan McGuire's I've read. The second installment of the InCryptid series, shares many of the elements that made Discount Armageddon so enjoyable, but suffers from some problematic issues with narrative voice and plot tension that hampered my enjoyment. McGuire is a prolific writer, putting out an impressive number of titles in a relatively short length of time, so it's no surprise that not every offering will be as strong as the last. Feed released under the pseudonym Mira Grant remains one of my favorite discoveries of the last few years, and I will certainly tune in for the rest of the Newsflesh trilogy, but I'm not so sure I'll be showing up for the further adventures of Verity Price.

Iron Night by M.L. Brennan

Urban Fantasy has a bit of a mixed reputation. Many folks see it as an excuse to write erotic detective novels with a cast made up of undead, werewolves, and as many other supernatural beasties as possible. I've never really gotten the appeal of that style novels preferring my urban fantasy to be a more action flick than soap opera. Which puts me firmly in the camp of avoiding any novel with a protagonist that seems to fit that mold. Which basically means vampires as a major part of the cast are essentially a deal breaker for me. M.L. Brennan's Generation V was an exception to that rule. With a protagonist is who is still refreshingly human despite his vampire status and an intriguing, original take on the vampire mythos Brennan set the stage for a urban fantasy novel that I could not only enjoy, but I could recommend to friends without fear of anyone casting aspersions on my masculinity. The sequel, Iron Night was one of my most anticipated novels of the year, and Brennan didn't let me down delivering a superior sequel that offers the perfect balance of humor, heart and action that left me hating myself for devouring the novel so quickly.

Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire

Seanan McGuire is one of the notable female authors who I decided to make a point of reading this year. It's only appropriate that I end this year's reviewing with the last of her novels I've read this year. After being thrilled with Feed and finding Discount Armageddon a serviceable start to a series, I was looking forward to starting McGuire's October Daye series. Rosemary and Rue doesn't disappoint and given its status as McGuire's first novel, I am certain that the series will reach even greater heights. With lush world building, a engaging and unexpectedly human protagonist and plenty of action, the adventures of October Daye will appeal to fans of the works of Jim Butcher, Patricia Briggs, and Kevin Hearne. In spite of some flaws, this is a fantastic start from the pen of one of the genre's most well respected names.

Discount Armageddon by Seanan McGuire

Urban fantasy is a tricky business, especially when the author uses a first person point of view.  But when it’s done well, the results can be exceptional. Seanan McGuire’s Discount Armageddon is a good example of how the strength of the viewpoint character’s voice can carry the story in spite of some questionable story choices.

Discount Armageddon is the story of Verity Price, a crypto-biologist who dreams of a being a professional ballroom dancer but is torn between her personal ambitions and her place in the family business studying cryptids, monsters of both the sentient and non-sentient variety. When female cryptids begin to disappear, Verity discovers Dominic Deluca, a member of the Covenant of St. George, an ancient organization that views cryptids as threats to humanity that should be exterminated operating in Manhattan. Is he the culprit or is there a larger threat to both humanity and cryptids alike?

Happy Hour In Hell by Tad Williams

As I've stated before, I've always found Tad Williams’ body of work a mixed bag. I loved Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn but everything since has left me cold. Until I read The Dirty Streets of Heaven, Williams’ first foray into urban fantasy. The first of the Bobby Dollar series moved Tad back to my must read list. I was fortunate to get a review copy directly from the author, and spent most of my Labor Day weekend following the further adventures of Heaven’s most love struck angel. I won’t sugar coat it, fans of the rapid fire pacing of the stereotypical urban fantasy novel may find Happy Hour in Hell to be a step backward from the frenetic pace of its predecessor, but those who are accustomed to the door-stopper sized novels from Williams’ previous work, will find the richer world building comforting and familiar. Happy Hour in Hell may suffer a bit from middle-book syndrome, but it is still a worthy addition to the series and Tad’s oeuvre as well.

The Woken Gods by Gwenda Bond

I’m fairly certain that The Woken Gods is only the fourth YA novel I've read this year. But the blurb sounded promising and the idea of gods walking among men seemed close enough to my wheel house to all but guarantee that I would enjoy it, so I took the plunge. After reading, I've decided that the novel is pretty typical of the reasons why I read so little Young Adult fiction, yet continue to dip my toe in the water from time to time. This is not to say that I didn't like the novel. I did. Despite some disconnects, The Woken Gods gets a lot of things right and makes for an interesting and easy read. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Generation V by M.L. Brennan

I normally don’t read much in the way of vampire fiction, having little interest in the sub-genre long before it became the hot property following the success of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series. But being a genre reader, especially considering the amount of urban fantasy I read, coming across vampires is unavoidable. I just rarely read a novel with a vampire as the lead character. I find the inherent cliche and unavoidable attempt to make something as antique and overdone more modern and relevant to be largely off putting. So I’d dismissed M.L. Brennan’s debut, Generation V, as not my bag, and moved on. But when Brennan contacted me directly for a review, I accepted. It’s always incredibly rewarding when an author likes your reviews of other work enough to seek out your opinion. I will admit to some trepidation before cracking the cover, but Brennan quickly set me at ease with her unconventional and quirky tale of fledgling vampire, Fortitude Scott.

Fortitude Scott is not your typical vampire. For in Brennan’s mythology, vampires are bred not made. And Fortitude has yet to embrace his sinister genetics, choosing to be a vegetarian to abate the cravings that hint at his gradual descent into full blown monster status. He lives apart from his family, who rule over a large swathe of the United States from their palatial estate in the playground of the wealthy and powerful, choosing to live an impoverished existence while working a thankless job at a local coffee shop. But try as he might to ignore his parentage and the supernatural forces moving beneath the surface of his community, Fortitude is drawn into the very world he has spent his entire life trying to avoid. When Luca, a European vampire, enters the territory controlled by Fortitude’s mother, and uses her promise of hospitality to allow him to abduct and murder young girls without fear of consequences, Fortitude cannot stand idly by and continue to think of himself as human.

Brennan does an excellent job of separating Generation V from the run of the mill vampire tale right out of the gate. Readers spend the first few chapters thoroughly immersed in the mundane aspects of Fortitude’s life. Even though Scott’s elder brother Chivalry makes an appearance, it only serves as a counter point to just how different Fortitude is from the full-fledged vampires of his family. His job is a nightmare as is his impoverished living situation and his train wreck of a relationship. Fortitude is nothing like your typical vampire protagonist, seemingly content to let life run roughshod all over him. While this approach might be a little short on action, making the story a bit of a slow starter, it is absolutely necessary to establish Fortitude’s humanity. This is the crux of his character and what drives his choices throughout the novel. Fortitude is a person first and a vampire second, and this is what gives Generation V enough legs to get past the vampire fatigue that many long term genre fans experience.

Brennan’s world building also does an excellent job of distancing the novel from others of its ilk. The nature of vampirism is very different from the age old model of each new vampire being the victim of an attack from its sire, with each new vampire being bred from human hosts in a perilous and disturbing process, which I will leave for readers to explore more fully on their own. This distances Brennan’s vampires from the tortured victims of many vampire tales of the past, and instead paints them as monsters that are more and more removed from their residual humanity as they age. Fortitude’s siblings, Chivalry and Prudence are used to demonstrate this to good effect. Chivalry is emotionally cool but still has his own code of morals, while Prudence is a chilling example of a supernatural sociopath. This is a stroke a real genius, allowing Brennan to use the familiarity of the concept to her advantage while paving the way for more original ways of approaching the trope. The contrast between Fortitude and his siblings also serves to better illustrate what Fortitude has to lose if he embraces his supernatural heritage.

Vampires aren’t the only supernatural beings in the world of Generation V. Brennan also includes the kitsune of Japanese folklore, elves, and witches in her world building. Other than the kitsune, who get major screen time due to Fortitude’s bodyguard, and seeming love interest Suzume, the other supernatural elements are mainly window dressing, though they are used to hilarious effect and defy reader expectation at almost every turn. The kitsune are an ingenious addition to Fortitude’s story, especially since the reader’s exposure is almost completely due to the presence of Suzume, who chews up the scenery with her antics and pop culture rich wise cracks as she steals almost every scene in which she appears. But Suzume is far more than comic relief and literary eye candy. She’s the catalyst that sets Fortitude in motion, not just against the novel’s antagonist but to a place where he finally begins to take charge of his life rather than letting others bully him at every turn. Suzume is rife for more exploration and I look forward to learning more of her back story as this series continues.

While the story starts at a slower pace, it really picks up a head of steam around the midpoint as Fortitude and Suzume start to get traction in their pursuit of Luca. The action sequences are pulse pounding and feel surprisingly harrowing since Fortitude is more than over matched at almost every turn. I applaud Brennan’s restraint in not turning Fortitude into a super human ass-kicking machine for her convenience. Keeping Fortitude an every man keeps the story from derailing into stereotypical territory and ups the ante for the reader in the final scenes.

Taken as a whole, Generation V is a fresh take on an old saw that benefits from Brennan’s excellent world building and the authenticity of its cast. Fans of urban fantasy who are weary of the same old, same old shouldn’t miss this engaging mix of action, humor, and coming of age tale. I’ll definitely be around for round two.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

As a child there were few stories I loved more than those by Rudyard Kipling, especially his Just So Stories. The lyrical quality of his prose and the simple magic of his fables such as The Elephant’s Child and The Cat That Walked by Himself were the beginning of my love for fantasy. I haven’t read Kipling in years, but within pages of cracking the cover of Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane I was transported back three decades. Gaiman has penned a fable for adults, a deceptively complex alloy of mystery, magic, and truth that as just as powerful as any of his previous works and is destined to land on award ballots and “best of” lists alike.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is the story of a nameless narrator, who upon returning to his hometown in his forties for the funeral of an equally nameless relative, finds himself drawn to the sprawling farm near his boyhood home only to relive the events of his seventh year, where he made his first and truest friend in the person of eleven year old Lettie Hempstock and experienced events both horrible and magical that left their mark on him forever.

Gaiman has said that this novel is his most personal, and I could imagine these events happening to the child that eventually grew up to give us such master works as Sandman and American Gods. That there are monsters and beings of unknown power tangled up with this story of lonely boy who escapes his loneliness in the pages of books makes no difference. Gaiman’s prose is so full of truth that the fantastic elements of the story borrow that authenticy as easily as a neighbor asking for a cup of sugar. And by leaving his narrator nameless it is far simpler to imagine that this is Gaiman’s story and by extrapolation our own.

Constant readers of Gaiman’s work will find much familiar ground here. Hints of popular themes of growing up and the transformative nature of maturing are just below the surface, as is the experience of viewing horror through the eyes of the very young. Gaiman tackles this common theme from a different perspective here, allowing us to simultaneously see the adult narrators reflection on his childhood memories, while still experiencing the simpler, dare I say more pure, perspective. It’s an inspired choice that elevated the tale above similar works such as Coraline and The Graveyard Book. Ocean at the End of the Lane has much to say about both childhood and how that formative experience shapes the persons we become, but I will leave that interpretation to the readers, as I believe each will bring their own particular perspective to this both very specific and completely universal story.

Gaiman also shows of his mastery of world building. Few authors can create such a complete mythology with so little specifics. This is a story of very specific and narrow scope, being confined to essentially just one street but Gaiman reveals glimpses of the world beyond and the forces at work just beneath the painted surface of the world. He never wastes time with exposition, allowing the characters in the know to simply state facts without the need for explanations our sever year old narrator is completely incapable of understanding. Things simply are what they are and the lack of explanation only amplifies the horror and mystery of it all, transporting the reader back to childhood where the truly wonderful and terrifying aspects of life were beyond understanding.

As expected Gaiman’s prose is elegant, effortless and reflects the decades of experience Gaiman has with crafting tales of this kind. It is next to impossible to find a page of this novel that doesn’t burst with insight and truth. Ocean at the End of the Lane, is infinitely quotable and relatable for readers at any stage in life, though I would not recommend it for children, though teenagers would likely find much to enjoy here. I would not be surprised to find this novel on a summer reading list in the future so profound is Gaiman’s mastery of the craft and insight into the human condition.

I cannot recommend Gaiman’s latest effort highly enough, and imagine that we will see his name on virtually every short list during awards season. I imagine most of my readers have already devoured The Ocean at the End of the Lane. If not, don’t waste any more time. Gaiman has delivered yet another gem of tale that all but the busiest of readers will consume in scant little time.

Mayhem by Sarah Pinborough

It's been almost a year since I started this blog, and I am just now starting to see a trickle of review copies coming in from publishers. Jo Fletcher Books, was the first company to send me more than a single title, and Sarah Pinborough's Mayhem was the first to arrive. After the Victorian themed disappointment of The Iron Wyrm Affair, I was a little hesitant to dive into another novel set in London during a similar time period. But Pinborough had me at Jack the Ripper, even though the infamous serial killer serves only as background to the infinitely more interesting tale of another set of grisly murders that were eclipsed by the Whitechapel killings. Pinborough does a superb job of threading historical fact with just the right blend of creeping and unsettling horror producing a novel of exceptional elegance and mood despite the viscera and violence of its premise.

Publisher's back copy follows:

A new killer is stalking the streets of London’s East End. Though newspapers have dubbed him ‘the Torso Killer’, this murderer’s work is overshadowed by the hysteria surrounding Jack the Ripper’s Whitechapel crimes.

The victims are women too, but their dismembered bodies, wrapped in rags and tied up with string, are pulled out of the Thames – and the heads are missing. The murderer likes to keep them.

Mayhem, not surprisingly, opens with a murder. Pinborough plays it shrewdly though, focusing in on the fear and confusion of the victim rather than gratuitous blood splatter and screaming, and allowing the reader to catch the smallest of glimpse of the madness gripping this unknown killer. With the initial hook set, we are quickly drawn into the investigation through the eyes of Dr. Thomas Bond.

Bond feels a bit like a combination of Sherlock Holmes and his constant companion Dr. John Watson. A Police Surgeon with an uncanny ability to read people as well as their lifeless remains, Dr. Bond is also an opium addict, seeking out seedy opium dens at night for relief from his crushing insomnia and anxiety. Bond is the lens of much of Pinborough's narrative, and his struggles with addiction and the increasing horrors of both Jack the Ripper and the Torso Killer's murders lend the telling a sense of foreboding and brooding intensity. Pinborogh does a wonderful job of showing Bond in various social settings as befits a man of his stature, giving us a view not only of the man haunted by the horrors of his work but the man as seen by his peers, collegues and friends. Bond is not simply a means to supply the truth of the killings, an investigative paper doll, if you will. He is a living, breathng, complex and conflicted person. It is that depth of character that sustains Mayhem during its quiter moments.

As Bond delves deeper into the mystery of the Torso Killer, he finds himself allied with a nameless priest and the fictionalized real life personage of Aaron Kosminski, a suspect judged insane in the investigations of the Ripper murders. Kosminski is afflicted by terrible visions and is linked to the malevolent entity that is responsible for the Torso Murders, and perhaps the Ripper murders by the maddening influence its presence has on London itself. Kosminski and the priests absolute belief in the supernatural nature of the murders is directly at odds with Bond's more rationale approach. This dichotomy as well as the fact that Bond, a respectable gentleman, is now allied with people from such a completely different social strata gives the reader a real sense of the time period. Pinborough shows it all, from high society to gut knotting poverty and as a result London comes alive in the telling, a real character of its own rather than a convienient backdrop for her murder mystery.

Pinborough reveals the identity of the killer at near the halfway mark, and surprisingly it doesn't weaken the tale in the slightest. Most of this is due to her choice to give us the killer's point of view in flashback as he finds himself saddled with a supernatural creature that is slowly driving him mad. The sympathy created in this telling is important and adds to the horror that this "killer" will not be redeemed, and is just one more victim of the entity now haunting London. My only compaint is that the final confrontation could have been a bit more pulse pounding and acton  packed, but that wouldn't have fit with the creeping horror and descent into despair and madness that permeates the story. The ending is exactly what it should have been, my minor quibble aside.
Despite the fact that Mayhem works perfectly well as a stand alone novel, I was quite pleased to learn that Pinborough intends to return to Dr. Bond in a sequel. I'm not sure what the future holds for Pinborough's alternate London or her engaging protagonist, but you can rest assured I'll be along for the ride. 


 

The Iron Wyrm Affair by Lilith Saintcrow

Long before I made my first foray into fantasy novels aimed at adults, I was fascinated with Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. For many years, my collection of all of the Holmes stories was the largest and most well worn book on my shelf. So when I saw the cover of The Iron Wyrm Affair and was immediately reminded of not only the Guy Ritchie movie featuring Tony Stark, but of some of my fondest reading memories from my adolescence. The back cover copy only further peaked my curiosity, teasing me with a seminal quote from Doyle as a final line. Take a look for yourself.

Emma Bannon, forensic sorceress in the service of the Empire, has a mission: to protect Archibald Clare, a failed, unregistered mentath. His skills of deduction are legendary, and her own sorcery is not inconsiderable. It doesn't help much that they barely tolerate each other, or that Bannon's Shield, Mikal, might just be a traitor himself. Or that the conspiracy killing registered mentaths and sorcerers alike will just as likely kill them as seduce them into treachery toward their Queen.

In an alternate London where illogical magic has turned the Industrial Revolution on its head, Bannon and Clare now face hostility, treason, cannon fire, black sorcery, and the problem of reliably finding hansom cabs.

The game is afoot..

Based on that information alone, you might think I'd love this book. It has magic, mystery, and what sounds like a mechanical dragon based on the title, and it is influenced by one of the most beloved authors of my adolescence. I approached The Iron Wyrm Affair from that place, ready to be thrilled and entertained. Sadly, while the concept is certainly compelling, the execution left quite a bit to be desired. The Iron Wyrm Affair is a mess on so many levels that even Saintcrow's best efforts are buried under the weight of her awkward prose and poor execution of some of the most basic concepts of good storytelling. I desperately wanted to like this novel, but try as I might I just couldn't look past its flaws.

My largest gripe with this first installment of the Bannon and Clare series, is the prose. While I certainly understand what Saintcrow is attempting, using the prose to convey an homage to the language of the stories that inspired the novel, to ground it and give it a familiar feel for the reader, the execution is simply too poor to be anything but a distraction from the tale itself. Full of awkward phrasing and repetitive descriptions the prose bears little real resemblance to the writings of Doyle or his contemporaries. Peppering the prose with indulgent word choices with very little in the way of context, really hampered my enjoyment of the novel. A simpler, less stylized prose would have served the novel much better in my opinion. As it stood, the barrier of the language used was almost too much to overcome.

The thing that kept me reading past my issues with the narrative voice, was the concepts Saintcrow used when constructing her alternate London (Londinium in the books). I was intrigued by many of the concepts, sorcerors working hand in hand with mentaths (though I was often reminded of Herbert's Dune, every time I saw the title), ancient dragons sharing the page with clockwork constructs that resemble powered armor or mecha, and a spirit that rules through choosing hosts from British royalty. While none of this is new, the particular mix that Saintcrow devises is full of its own particular flavor and begs for exploration. It's how these elements are explored that left me cold.

While I'm a big fan of writers who exemplify the "show don't tell" philosophy of storytelling, there are times when telling is the only option, and Saintcrow does precious little of it. The particulars of sorcery or Clare's abilities as a mentath are only loosely explained and rarely in the moment when the reader needs answers to better frame the current action. Magic is ever present in Londinium, but Saintcrow seems content to just throw term after term at the reader with zero exposition to frame it. I usually can overlook these things, being patient enough to wait for things to be made clear, but Saintcrow delivers these explanations and clarifications far too late, and I felt that some light exposition should definitely be present far earlier in the narrative.

There are other issues, such as the heroine of the story being seemingly irresistible to every male character she encounters despite the fact her personality is simultaneously cold and thorny for most of her interactions with her male cast mates. Clare's deductive capabilities are poorly used, with Saintcrow never showing the sequence of logic that leads to the mentath's leaps of understanding. Clare's big moments are often just a mess of dialogue that equates to magic hand waving, and is ultimately unsatisfying and make it harder to maintain my suspension of disbelief.

Despite all of the clever ideas and intriguing premises, I doubt I will give the Bannon and Clare series another go. The antiquated and poorly executed prose and unsatisfying level of exposition on critical concepts left me too cold, for even the most engaging of other aspects to keep me reading.

And Blue Skies From Pain by Stina Leicht

Stina Leicht was one of the first authors that I reviewed and interviewed when starting the blog last summer. Since then she has been generous with her time, contributing not only our original interview, but also a guest post for the Spec. Fic. 101 project, and is currently pitching in on a top secret project that will be coming soon. Needless to say, I think Stina is a wonderful person, and one of the most compassionate, articulate, and intelligent people I've met since my journey as a reviewer began. I waited quite a while, almost a year before diving into her second novel, And Blue Skies From Pain, mainly because I didn't want to review two works from the same author too close together, and then my copy was shelved and I quite literally forgot I had it. I'm kicking myself for that decision now. And Blue Skies From Pain shows not only Leicht's considerable talents as a fantasist but incredible growth as an author as well. Fans of Charles De Lint and Emma Bull are probably well aware of Leicht's The Fey and the Fallen series, but if they aren't, they should waste no time in rectifying that fact.

The publisher's synopsis follows:

Northern Ireland, 1977. Liam Kelly is many things: a former wheelman for the IRA, a one-time political prisoner, the half-breed son of a mystic Fey warrior and a mortal woman, and a troubled young man literally haunted by the ghosts of his past. Liam has turned his back on his land’s bloody sectarian Troubles, but the war isn’t done with him yet, and neither is an older, more mythic battle between the Church and its demonic enemies, the Fallen.

After centuries of misunderstanding and conflict, the Church is on the verge of accepting that the Fey and the Fallen are not the same. But to achieve this historic truce, Liam must prove to the Church’s Inquisitors that he is not a demon, even as he wrestles with his own guilt and confusion, while being hunted by enemies both earthly and unworldly.

A shape-shifter by nature, Liam has a foot in two worlds and it’s driving him mad.

Sequels are frequently dicey affairs, especially when the first novel was so well received. The sophomore slump is a constant fear, but Leicht turns in a remarkable moving and hard charging return to the world of Liam Kelly. The pathos, unflinching realism, and eye for authenticity that permeated Of Blood and Honey are all in attendance here, but in this go around Leicht turns the volume up loud enough to rattle the windows.

Liam Kelly is a hard luck case, make no mistake about it. And from the opening pages, it's obvious that his suffering is just started. Convinced by Father Murphy and his father Bran, Liam agrees to be studied by the Catholic Church in an attempt to prove that the Fey are not one and the same as the demonic Fallen, and should not be targets of the militant arm of the Church as they have been for centuries. But prejudice and politics rear their ugly heads and once again Liam finds himself prisoner and in greater danger from these men of God than he would be out in the turbulent streets of Ireland during the Troubles.

In many ways, Leicht mirrors the real world political strife of 1970's Ireland through her explorations of the inner workings of the Catholic Church as well as the war between the Fey and the Fallen that takes place in the magical world the mystical beings inhabit. This mirroring tactic serves the narrative well, allowing for precious little info dumping and leaves it to the reader to draw their own conclusions. Leicht never spoon feeds her readers, confident that they are intelligent enough to put the pieces together.

Liam is a pawn, caught up in a war he doesn't understand and as is his character he bucks the system at every turn. But it's not his conflicts with the Church or even the revolutionary army that he used to be a part of that really drive the narrative. Leicht wisely chooses to focus on the internal conflicts of her main character, not shying away from the damage done to young Liam's psyche by the merry-go-round of loss, grief and shame that has been his life since he was imprisoned in the infamous prison of Long Kesh. There's a lot more pain than blue skies for Liam, but more so than in the first installment, Liam finally decides to take a more active role in deciding his place in the world. He's still stubborn and youthfully foolish, refusing help when he so obviously needs it, but he's growing up, even if it is painful to watch. Leicht doesn't shy away from even Liam's darkest moments and that is the real genius of her writing. Liam is not a collection of words on the page, he is a person with failings, baggage, pains and joys. Through the uncompromising lens of the narrative we get to see them all.

There are more urban fantasy tropes in this volume, with Liam spending time with the Fey away from the real world and the Fallen are much more in evidence. But Leicht handles them with a remarkably light touch, never giving explanations or background the reader doesn't need. We may want it, but the information only serves reader curiosity rather than the story and Leicht wisely doesn't take the bait. The resulting novel has absolutely nothing in common with the throngs of run of the mill urban fantasy offers with a scantily clad woman with a sword, gun, or bullwhip on the cover. And Blue Skies From Pain would be more at home next to the latest Stephen King novel.

With the collapse of Night Shade books, I'm fearful that we may not see any more of The Fey and The Fallen, but am pleased that Leicht closes this novel in a natural place that while leaving readers wanting more allows the story a natural place to rest. Whether or not I ever see Liam Kelly again or not, I will continue to follow Leicht's career with great interest.

Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig

My love for Chuck Wendig is a new-fangled thing. It sparkles like a freshly minted coin. On the heels of reading his excellent new novel The Blue Blazes and the blast I had interviewing him not long after the review went live, I snatched up a copy of the first of the Miriam Black novels, Blackbirds with a promise to not crack the cover until I'd whittled down the books waiting in my Netgalley account. But Miriam Black just kept staring at me from the nightstand, whispering "You know you want to.." in my ear, night after night. I did a fine job of resisting until one night about a week ago, when I decided I'd just take a look at the first chapter. Big mistake. Miriam Black had me hooked by the lip by page five.

Synopsis:

Miriam Black knows when you will die.

She’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, and suicides.

But when Miriam hitches a ride with Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees that in thirty days Louis will be murdered while he calls her name. Louis will die because he met her, and she will be the next victim.

No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.

Blackbirds is vintage Wendig in every way. The novel feels like the bastard child of Tarantino's True Romance and Stephen King's The Dead Zone; an unflinchingly brutal road trip, disturbingly familiar underneath its otherworldly strangeness. This is a lushly profane novel with characters careening off one another in a twisted violent ballet of their own violence and vulnerability. If you came to the table thinking this is something akin to Mercy Thompson or Sookie Stackhouse, you'd better step slowly away from Miriam Black and try not to make any sudden movements. Psychic talent aside, Black has as much in common with Sookie Stackhouse as Amy Winehouse has with Annette Funicello. And that's the twisted genius of Wendig at work.

Miriam Black carries the novel on her weary cocksure shoulders, swearing like a sailor as she chain smokes her way through the narrative. Describing Wendig's protagonist in such simple terms may give a false impression though. Black is far more than that caricature allows. With an upbringing eerily similar to that of Carrie White, from the King novel that bears her name, Miriam reacts to series of traumas that leave her with a burden that removes the comfort of human touch and saddles her with a knowledge that is certain to haunt her. Knowing the intimate moments of death of any person she touches changes her into a tragic hero, a broken and defiant figure trying desperately to survive in a world filled with solitude and the ever present pall of mortality. And it's that vulnerability and Black's defiance of her 'curse' that makes her such a compelling protagonist, dragging readers in her wake full of hope that she'll find away to cope with the brutality of her circumstances with nothing more than bad attitude and a flea market butterfly knife.

Wendig does an excellent job grounding Miriam's tale with an atmosphere perfectly suited to the particular brand of story he's shilling. Miriam ricochets along a snarled chain of abandoned warehouses, grimy roadside hotels, murder scenes, and out of the way kill rooms. There is a stark discomforting familiarity to these locales, like a trash choked gutter best turned away from lest you stare too long and see something moving in the offal. And the other characters that populate this landscape are just as disconcerting, broken, damaged and often deranged, willing victims of their own psychology. No character is left without pathos, even if it's only by the smallest scrap. Some are horrifyng in their brutality, others heartbreakingly sympathetic as they are swept along in the crazed current of Miriam Black, twenty-something harbinger of death. I dare to say that at least one of these characters will live in the mind of any reader long after the final page is turned.

The action sequences in Blackbirds are a far cry from the bombastic gleeful slug fests that I loved so much in The Blue Blazes, but Wendig still knocks it out of the park in a completely different direction. The violence is matter of fact, unapologetic, and sickeningly brutal in the way only the mentally damaged and dispossessed can be. There is a loosening of social mores and inhibitions in the trailer park, truck stop, and roadkill strewn highways of the Miriam's stomping grounds, and it permeates the easy violence with it's casual indifference until Wendig turns up the volume and then the horror of human cruelty stuns you like an axe handle between the eyes.

In conclusion, I cannot recommend Blackbirds enough. Fans of The Blue Blazes will find just enough of Wendig's unmistakable voice to feel comfortable while ride along with the unforgettable Miriam Black as she smokes, curses and rages her way into the dark and warm center of their hearts. I'll be keeping my newly acquired copy of Mockingbird in a drawer so I can get some other reading done.

Gameboard of the Gods by Richelle Mead

Richelle Mead apparently has quite a following. Having discovered Gameboard of the Gods on Netgalley, I did a little research and found out about Mead's other works, falling squarely in the paranormal romance/urban fantasy category along with her young adult offerings. The reviews were very positive and the publisher's blurb sounded promising, so I bit. The meal was more fast food than fine dining, largely empty calories but flavorful nonetheless.

The back cover copy follows:

In a futuristic world nearly destroyed by religious extremists, Justin March lives in exile after failing in his job as an investigator of religious groups and supernatural claims. But Justin is given a second chance when Mae Koskinen comes to bring him back to the Republic of United North America (RUNA). Raised in an aristocratic caste, Mae is now a member of the military’s most elite and terrifying tier, a soldier with enhanced reflexes and skills.

When Justin and Mae are assigned to work together to solve a string of ritualistic murders, they soon realize that their discoveries have exposed them to terrible danger. As their investigation races forward, unknown enemies and powers greater than they can imagine are gathering in the shadows, ready to reclaim the world in which humans are merely game pieces on their board.

Sounds pretty promising doesn't it? And for the most part, Mead delivers on that promise. The 'uptopian' world that she's created for her characters is intriguing and poses some thoughtful questions about what happens when religion is outlawed. Sadly those questions get short shrift in favor of world-building and the obligatory romantic entanglements between our two main protagonists.

With that said, there is still plenty to like about Mead's first foray into a new subgenre. The pairing of the super analytical Justin March, with the genetically superior and technologically enhanced soldier Mae is a welcome one, with a faint shadow of Holmes and Watson running throughout. Both are conflicted but obviously destined for each other, due not only to authorial fiat but the actual will of meddling gods. Not that either March or Mae make the pairing especially easy, fighting the magnetism between them almost every step of the way. As far as romantic subplots go, Mead crafts one that is compelling enough that it outweighed my general dislike of the trope. That's no small feat, and I was pleasantly surprised. It's ironic that the aspect of the story that I expected to like the least ended up being the highlight of the novel for me.

Which brings me to the parts of the novel that left me wanting better. While I really like the premise of the novel and the interesting questions such a setting asks of the characters and the society, I felt that the exploration of the setting left something to be desired. While there was no real info dumping, and Mead does an excellent job of showing rather than telling, I felt the world building could have been better explained through the narrative. All the puzzle pieces are there, but they don't quite fit together into a coherent picture.Most of that is the delayed pace that Mead uses to deliver important information about nearly everything. She just throws it at you, and you are left to wonder until she gets around to explaining it, sometimes after a hundred pages have gone by.

In addition, I felt that the murder investigation should have been the focus of the storytelling, but was really nothing more than a vehicle for the romance of March and Mae. There was so much more that could have been explored that was sadly left on the shelf. It seems that everything took a back seat to the romance, and that weakened what could have otherwise been a much better novel. Sex sells, I get that, but there needs to be more, and Mead teases us with hints of what could be a very compelling series, but never quite gets there.

The Lives of Tao by Wesley Chu

I've noted previously that I'm not a huge fan of science fiction stories preferring blades and magic to aliens and spaceships. But when I read the synopsis for Wesley Chu's The Lives of Tao I knew I had to give this sci-fi tale a run. Some may classify Chu's debut as urban fantasy, and I can certainly see their argument, but genre hardly matters when talking about a book that is as much fun as The Lives of Tao. Chu's cunning and hilarious mash-up of comedy, coming of age drama, espionage thriller, and science fiction has something for everyone.

When out-of-shape IT technician Roen woke up and started hearing voices in his head, he naturally assumed he was losing it.

He wasn’t.

He now has a passenger in his brain – an ancient alien life-form called Tao, whose race crash-landed on Earth before the first fish crawled out of the oceans. Now split into two opposing factions – the peace-loving, but under-represented Prophus, and the savage, powerful Genjix – the aliens have been in a state of civil war for centuries. Both sides are searching for a way off-planet, and the Genjix will sacrifice the entire human race, if that’s what it takes.

Meanwhile, Roen is having to train to be the ultimate secret agent. Like that’s going to end up well…

The heart of The Lives of Tao is its protagonist, the tubby, socially awkward, and unmotivated Roen Tan. Tan is dissatisfied with his life as a cog in the corporate machine, but lacks the strength of will necessary to lift his tires out of the rut he's been travelling on for years. I'd venture we all know someone just like Roen Tan, or have been more like him than we are comfortable admitting in some time of our lives. That's the genius of Chu's choice of protagonist, he is instantly relatable. A true everyman  if you will. I'm strongly reminded of Zachary Levi's portrayal of Chuck Bartowski in the television series Chuck in all the best ways. Roen starts off the novel as a whining, slovenly, schlub of a man and the heart of the novel is about his transformation into something much more.

Chu shows us the direction Roen will be heading in, before we even meet our protagonist. We meet Edward Blair, a suave and capable agent of the alien Prophus in the opening chapter ostensibly to see how Tao comes to choose Roen as his next host. Chu certainly accomplishes that goal in short order, but showing the contrast between what Roen is and what he is expected to become is an excellent, if intentional, bonus.

Roen's path is not an easy one. While a great deal of the novel concerns Roen's training to be an agent of the Prophus, there are no uplifting training montages with a soundtrack by Survivor. Chu chooses to go the honest route and show Roen getting his head and ass handed for page after page. He doesn't learn kung fu in three months or become a crack shot. Instead, Tan gets beat up by women and senior citizens with impunity. Chu's decision to forego the allure of the secret agent lifestyle is an inspired one, allowing readers to focus on the journey of his unlikely hero.

And what a journey it is. Guided by the wisecracking Tao, whose taunts are so close to the schoolyard jibes that nerds everywhere will instantly recognize, Roen transforms before our eyes into a fitter, more confident, and more engaged person. Chu draws this element of the story out and strip mines the comedic gold from Roen's every bumble and misstep. The interplay between Roen and Tao, reminiscent of countless buddy cop comedies, is Chu's secret weapon. Between Roen's self depreciating sense of humor and Tao droll sarcasm, readers are all but guaranteed to laugh out loud as they read.

But don't let Chu's propensity for drawing laughs fool you. The more dramatic and emotional moments are handles with care that never feels forced or out of place. The action sequences are incredibly tight, effortless straddling the line between cinematic and realistic. Roen may not be the James Bond action hero that one usually sees in espionage thrillers, but readers will more than satisfied in his transformation.

There's a lot to love about The Lives of Tao. Ancient aliens playing chess with the human race as the pieces, first hand accounts about Gengis Khan and the Black Plague, historical Easter eggs for the sharp eyed reader, and so much more. It's easy to forget about all of that science fiction stuff when you are busy laughing at and cheering for Roen Tan. And that, more than anything else, makes The Lives of Tao one of the best debuts I've read this year.

Grimoire of the Lamb by Kevin Hearne

Kevin Hearne's Iron Druid Chronicles has been one of my favorite urban fantasy finds of the last few years. It like Michael J. Sullivan's Riyria series, has a lighter, more nostalgic tone that I find refreshing in between darker, more serious books. True to form, Hearne has released a novella to tide fans over until his next novel hits shelves. Having really enjoyed the last of Hearne's shorter work, the excellent Two Ravens and One Crow, I was excited to delve into this look into the early days of Atticus O'Sullivan.

The publisher's synopsis is as follows:

When he’s not vanquishing villainous gods or dodging demons, two-thousand-year-old Druid Atticus O’Sullivan can be found behind the counter of Third Eye Books and Herbs in modern-day Tempe, Arizona, literally minding his own business. But when an evil sorcerer—and amateur shoplifter—snatches an ancient Egyptian tome of black magic, The Grimoire of the Lamb, Atticus is not sheepish about pursuing him to the ends of the earth . . . or at least to the Land of the Pharaohs.

Unfortunately, Atticus already has enemies in Egypt—including cat goddess Bast, who wants her own book of mischief back from the Druid. In the streets of Cairo, she sends a feline phalanx after Atticus and his Irish wolfhound, Oberon. With fur still flying, Atticus must locate the sorcerer’s secret lair—where he will face killer crocodiles, spooky sarcophagi, and an ancient evil Egyptian who’s determined to order the sacrificial lamb special tonight.

Set before the events of Hounded, there is a certain amount of nostalgia to be found in seeing Atticus once again in his familiar stomping grounds. Readers are treated to characters and locals that have for the most part been abandoned as the series has taken Atticus far from the setting where the series began. While this is certainly a treat, the lack of fan favorite characters such as the Morrigan and Atticus' apprentice Granuaile is a bit of a let down. Oberon, Atticus' Irish wolfhound is present to provide his particular brand of canine hilarity, which is always a highlight of Hearne's work. The scene in which Atticus and Oberon are being herded by a literal phalanx of cats is a definite standout on the humor front.

All of the things you know and love about Hearne's work are present here. Pop culture references and sarcastic humor are everywhere, and the action sequences are as pulse pounding as ever. But somehow Grimoire of the Lamb manages to miss the mark some how. I believe the removal from the current time line and the absence of some of the standout characters of the series combined left me wanting something different from what I got.

That said, I don't fault Hearne for my disappointment. He delivers a rewarding story, adds mythos to the setting, made me laugh, and I enjoyed spending time with Atticus and Oberon again. At the end of the day, this novella is an appetizer when what I really wanted was a full course meal. Lucky for me, Hunted is slated for a June release. I'll be more than ready to pull up a chair at Hearne's table again.

Gunmetal Magic by Ilona Andrews

I read a pretty large amount of urban fantasy, but tend to stay away from the paranormal romance sub genre. But I'd heard good things about Ilona Andrews so decided to give Gunmetal Magic a go, having been convinced that Andrews' novels were more urban fantasy than paranormal romance. I won't say I was mislead, because Andrews certainly has some good things going on in the novel, but the protagonist's preoccupation with her romantic entanglements and relationship issues diluted my enjoyment of what could have been, in my estimation a much better book.

The publishers blurb is as follows:

After being kicked out of the Order of the Knights of Merciful Aid, Andrea's whole existence is in shambles. She tries to put herself back together by working for Cutting Edge, a small investigative firm owned by her best friend. When several shapeshifters working for Raphael Medrano--the male alpha of the Clan Bouda, and Andrea's former lover--die unexpectedly at a dig site, Andrea is assigned to investigate. Now she must work with Raphael as her search for the killer leads into the secret underbelly of supernatural Atlanta. And dealing with her feelings for him might have to take a back seat to saving the world...

The novel opens well with Andrews using a flashback sequence to give some set up on both the protagonist, the were-hyena Andrea Nash and the setting simultaneously. All of this information is delivered in fairly large brush strokes, and I was initially disappointed by this approach, but once I determined that Gunmetal Magic is part of an ongoing series, I was able to get past the scarcity of details. Andrews actually does an excellent job of keeping the story self-contained, while making nods to the other books in the series. Gunmetal Magic may be a richer novel with knowledge of the previous installments, but I never felt like I was lost because of lack of relevant information.

The setting certainly compelling was missing a great bit of detail that I suppose was covered in the earlier books in the Kate Daniels series. I found myself wanting more information about certain elements of the setting and characters, but since Gunmetal Magic is Andrea's story Andrews wisely keeps the narrative tightly focused on her first person narrator. Which is where my disconnect begins.

Andrea Nash is in many ways the stereotypical 'kick-ass urban fantasy heroine', though luckily the novel's cover doesn't pander to the artistic stereotyping that plagues most other novels of its type. Andrea is a dogged investigator, capable warrior, and powerful shapeshifter. All of these traits are on full display within the opening scenes. But once the action dies down, this capable heroine immediately dissolves into a whining love obsessed teenager. All she seems to focus on is her failed relationship with Raphael, and the pair of them spend most of the book sniping at each other rather than grow up and handle their problems like the adults they appear to be in all other aspects of their lives. The pervasiveness of this material made the investigation plotline and the battles seem like a subplot more often than not, and it really limited my ability to enjoy the otherwise well constructed story.

Thankfully, Andrews is more than awareness of the childishness of her characters behavior. During a conversation with the star of the rest of the series, Kate, Andrea's relationship troubles are likened to a Spanish soap opera and I couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. That self awareness was was a treat albiet a temporary one. Becasuse immediately after that conversation, both Andrea and Kate play the mother of all childish pranks on Raphael. Thankfully there is growth at the end of the story for both Andrea and Raphael.

All in all, I can see why Andrews is one of the most popular of urban fantasy writers, she's created a memorable world, compelling characters, and plenty of action. I am curious enough about the world she's created that I may give the beginning of the Kate Daniels series a try. But I can only hope that the maturity level of the relationships in those books is higher than what I saw in Gunmetal Magic.

Libriomancer by Jim C. Hines

Lovers of books, especially science fiction and fantasy owe it to themselves to take a look at Jim C Hines' Libriomancer. Hines manages to take the bibliophile's love of books and the omnipresent wish that genre fans everywhere express, if only we could take the wonderments of fiction and bring them into our dull and mundane world and make it the central theme of not only his magic system but of the novel itself. The result is an overpouring of love for the written word and science fiction and fantasy specifically, that practically drips from the page. Despite some minor bobbles, all but the most cynical of readers will be hard pressed not to be infected with Hines' obvious joy in telling this tale about the magic of a true and well loved book.

Isaac Vainio is a Libriomancer, a member of the secret organization founded five centuries ago by Johannes Gutenberg.  Libriomancers are gifted with the ability to magically reach into books and draw forth objects. When Isaac is attacked by vampires that leaked from the pages of books into our world, he barely manages to escape. To his horror he discovers that vampires have been attacking other magic-users as well, and Gutenberg has been kidnapped.

With the help of a motorcycle-riding dryad who packs a pair of oak cudgels, Isaac finds himself hunting the unknown dark power that has been manipulating humans and vampires alike. And his search will uncover dangerous secrets about Libriomancy, Gutenberg, and the history of magic...

Hines' sticks to the tried and true urban fantasy format of a first person narrator, but his choice of Isaac Vainio is inspired. Isaac is rapidly shown to be a small fish in a very large pond, full of sparkling vampire piranha. Vainio is the bumbling, earnest sort that is instantly recognizable to his intended audience. Isaac is no Harry Dresden, but his love of books and the steady stream of pop culture references make for a likeable narrator. The rest of the principle cast consists of the dryad, Lena and Vainio's pet fire spider, Smudge. The fire spider is especially well done, providing far more nuance than any reader could expect from a character with no dialogue.

The pacing is robust and the action well balanced with quieter character moments. Hines' world building is fantastic, full of in jokes about the varieties of vampires, plenty of good natured pop culture references, and interesting use of real world historical figures. The magic system allows for a lot of creative applications and Hines' showcases some ingenious choices along with ones that demand inclusion. There's plenty that will resonate with the daydreamers that have turned into voracious lovers of genre.

I had some trouble with the romantic subplot. Hines goes to fairly impressive lengths to sell the unusual situation between Lena and Isaac, and I admire his not taking the easy route given the specifics of the dryad's personal history. Isaac's hesitation is well done, but I think it could have played for a good bit longer. That being said, the romantic subplot is not so heavy handed or ill-conceived as to detract from the overall ambition and execution of the other elements. It wasn't to my tastes, but what fictional romance tickles everyone's fancy?

Hines and Vainio's love of books is the real star here. From the 'so ingeniously simple, I can't believe no has done this before" magic system, to the omnipresent references both overt and subtle to so many genre titles that there is an appendix for them in the back, to the loving depictions of archives, bookstores, and libraries, there is hardly a page where love for the written word doesn't shine through. And that is the real strength of both Hines' writing and the novel as a whole. Its none of the things that serve as the sound bites of book reviews or marketing material.  It's not cinematic, epic, grimdark, steampunk, or genre bending. Libriomancer is made of simpler and perhaps more powerful stuff than any of those handful of those labelling adjectives. It's a tale made out of youthful joy and the miraculous daydreams of genre lovers since the very first fairy tales. Which is a different sort of sound bite all together.  



The Blue Blazes by Chuck Wendig

Chuck Wendig has been on the periphery of my to read list for a while. I'll admit, I'd mentally placed him in the same category as Richard Kadrey, whose Sandman Slim I'd enjoyed, but decided against devoting anymore time to. Grindhouse urban fantasy just isn't my thing. I probably wouldn't have ventured into Wendig's fiction, if I hadn't run across a EARC on Netgalley. After deciding to give The Blue Blazes a run, I'm happy to report that Chuck Wendig has a new fan. The easiest way to describe The Blue Blazes is to imagine Sin City after doing an 8-ball of mystic cocaine. I know that makes no sense, but Wendig's blend of pulp noir sensibilities with an interesting take on urban fantasy tropes defies conventional description. Unless awesome is descriptive enough for you.

The publisher's blurb is pretty basic, but I'm including it because it echoes Wendig's writing style fairly well.

Meet Mookie Pearl.

Criminal underworld? He runs in it.

Supernatural underworld? He hunts in it.

Nothing stops Mookie when he's on the job.

But when his daughter takes up arms and opposes him, something's gotta give...

Wendig's protagonist, Mookie Pearl is cut from the same cloth as other noir heroes, but the closest comparison that comes to mind for me is Warden from Daniel Polanski's Lowtown. These two are no choirboys, both violent and conflicted men with complicated histories. But unlike Warden, Mookie is actually a very sympathetic character. I wouldn't go so far as to say he has a heart of gold, but Wendig does an excellent job of showing that even the brutal and vile among us, still have families and people that they love. In spite of his violent nature, Mookie is a character that readers can cheer for. He may be a leg breaker and a poor excuse for a father, but he tries and there is value in the attempt.

The secondary cast is also well drawn, especially Mookie's wayward daughter Nora. Her tough as nails facade is deeply rooted in her psychology and Wendig does an excellent job making her far more three dimesional than she initially appears. The other denizens of Wendig's fictional New York are as varied and unique as you would expect, if a bit more outrageous in response to a world were goblins and naga prowl the streets in human guises. Between low level mobsters, roller-derby themed gang members, city maintenance workers, and an undead stunt driver Wendig keeps the cast well rounded and always entertaining.

The pacing is just short of break neck, but Wendig gives readers a well placed moment or two to catch their breath. But don't be shocked to find yourself reading well into the night. The action sequences are bombastic, brutal set pieces that leave the surrounding landscape in reduced to gleefully described rubble. It's all a hair's breadth from over the top, but Wendig manages never to lean on the gas enough to send the story into a tail spin. It's a blancing act to keep from slipping into parody  but Wendig manages it deftly.

The plotting is a bit predictable at times, but Wendig overcomes that with the character and panache of his prose, and the insightful characterization of his principle cast. I may have seen some of the concluding plot threads coming, due to Wendig's own foreshadowing, but the emotional resonance of those moments was no less palpable with foreknowledge.

As I've said, the real star of The Blue Blazes is the prose. Wendig writes with blunt force choreography, full of brutally disturbing descriptions, and wrecking ball action. Noir sensibilities are in full force here, and Wendig uses them brilliantly to craft a portrait of a New York that is at the same time instantly recognizable and disturbingly alien.  The staccato rhythm of Wendig's prose fits beautifully with the story he tells, and I've rarely seen such an usual voice used so effectively.

Fans of noir fantasy and urban fantasy with a bleeding edge should definitely explore the world of The Blue Blazes. I'll definitely be checking out Wendig's back catalog while I wait anxiously on a possible continuation of Mookie and Nora's dysfunctional family drama.

Coming Attractions: Grimoire of the Lamb by Kevin Hearne

Fans of Kevin Hearne's Iron Druid Chronicles, won't have to wait for the next installment to get their fix of Atticus O'Sullivan. Hearne is releasing a new novella that predated the opening of the series in Hounded. If this novella is half as good as the previous novella, Two Ravens and One Crow then fans will be treated to a further expansion to the world of the Iron Druid. The cover illustration and synopsis are provided below.

When he’s not vanquishing villainous gods or dodging demons, two-thousand-year-old Druid Atticus O’Sullivan can be found behind the counter of Third Eye Books and Herbs in modern-day Tempe, Arizona, literally minding his own business. But when an evil sorcerer—and amateur shoplifter—snatches an ancient Egyptian tome of black magic, The Grimoire of the Lamb, Atticus is not sheepish about pursuing him to the ends of the earth . . . or at least to the Land of the Pharaohs.

Unfortunately, Atticus already has enemies in Egypt—including cat goddess Bast, who wants her own book of mischief back from the Druid. In the streets of Cairo, she sends a feline phalanx after Atticus and his Irish wolfhound, Oberon. With fur still flying, Atticus must locate the sorcerer’s secret lair—where he will face killer crocodiles, spooky sarcophagi, and an ancient evil Egyptian who’s determined to order the sacrificial lamb special tonight.

So what say you, readers? Will you be pre-ordering Atticus' latest adventure?