Review of the Week: Scourge of the Betrayer by Jeff Salyards

Jeff Salyards' debut novel Scourge of the Betrayer has drawn a lot of comparison to Glen Cook's Black Company novels. His brooding and unflinching tale of a feared group of mercenaries is reminiscent of genre standouts such as Joe Abercrombie and Mark Lawrence. In less than half the size of most fantasy novels, Salyards delivers a story that is packed with bloody action, political intrigue, gallows humor, and truly compelling characters while showing only the tip of the iceberg in the opening volume of the series. Readers who enjoy their heroes dark and the stakes dire should definitely add Salyards to their must read list.

Here's the blurb from book jacket: 

Many tales are told of the Syldoon Empire and its fearsome soldiers, who are known throughout the world for their treachery and atrocities. Some say that the Syldoon eat virgins and babies-or perhaps their own mothers. Arkamondos, a bookish young scribe, suspects that the Syldoon's dire reputation may have grown in the retelling, but he's about to find out for himself. Hired to chronicle the exploits of a band of rugged Syldoon warriors, Arki finds himself both frightened and fascinated by the men's enigmatic leader, Captain Braylar Killcoin. A secretive, mercurial figure haunted by the memories of those he's killed with his deadly flail, Braylar has already disposed of at least one impertinent scribe . . . and Arki might be next. Archiving the mundane doings of millers and merchants was tedious, but at least it was safe. As Arki heads off on a mysterious mission into parts unknown, in the company of the coarse, bloody-minded Syldoon, he is promised a chance to finally record an historic adventure well worth the telling, but first he must survive the experience! A gripping military fantasy in the tradition of Glen Cook, Scourge of the Betrayer explores the brutal politics of Empire-and the searing impact of violence and dark magic on a man's soul.

Salyards sets himself apart from the very beginning. His protagonist, the scribe, Arkamandos, while similar to the protagonist of Cook's Black Company novels, is far too naive and wet behind the ears to rate anything more than the most cursory of comparisons. Arki is a fish out of water, thrust into the company of Syldoon mercenaries whose bloody reputation seems all too well deserved. This choice only serves to spotlight the differences between the Syldoon and the young chronicler, who is far more like most genre readers than the typical viewpoint character.  This similarity, while possibly off-putting for those who like their protagonists larger than life, adds a level of deeper connection to the protagonist that is often lacking in genre novels. Adding depth is the fact that Arki is, for all intents and purposes, an orphan, and it seems that with his joining the Syldoon he may have found a family at last, if only he can survive the experience.

Arki, while naive, is profoundly observant. Through this lens Salyards delivers a complex and compelling account of the small brutalities and abrasive personalities of the Syldoon, while simultaneously capturing the deep bonds of friendship and loyalty between these hard men and women. While the leader of the Syldoon, Braylar Killcoin, gets the most screen time, all of the supporting cast are fleshed out so well that they easily slip the bonds of the page, elbowing and jostling their way into the reader's thoughts long after the novel is finished.

Arki's budding friendship with the outcast Grass Dog Lloi is particularly well handled. As the only woman in the company, the Grass Dog is almost as much of an outsider as Arki himself. She is still a hard woman, but serves as a somewhat softer counter balance to the harsh and critical Killcoin. Also of note are Killcoin's lieutenants, Hewspear and Muldoos. Although they are placed further in the background than Killcoin and Lloi, their bickering and bravado serves to hide the deep sense of loyalty and respect they have for one another and the rest of the company. It is through the smaller moments and often using his supporting cast that Salyards reveals the layered truth of this band of mercenaries. They may be violent, vulgar and brash, but they are good men that can be counted on to stand by their own.

For most readers, Braylar Killcoin will be the star of the novel. The Slydoon Captain is a man of many moods, so mercurial that I was left wondering if he suffers from bi-polar disorder in addition to the haunting effects of his cursed flail, Bloodsounder. Killcoin is at turns cruel and kind, understanding and quick to anger at the smallest slight. Salyards' dialogue shines when Killcoin speaks and the reader never knows which aspect of the Captain's fractured personality will appear. We learn about Killcoin in fits and starts and even by the end of the novel he is far from a solved puzzle. There is a sense that we have only seen a glimpse of the depths of the tortured Captain.

Much the same could be said about Salyards' approach to worldbuilding. The novel seems far more a character study than most books in the genre, and as a result, there is precious little info-dumping in Scourge of the Betrayer. It would almost be fair to say that there is little worldbuilding at all. Salyards' doles out information on the setting sparingly, only hinting at bigger mysteries to be revealed later. I'm definitely looking forward to learning more about Bloodsounder and its curse, the inner workings of the Syldoon, the Godsveil, and more. If Salyards picks up the pace in that department, I think Bloodsounder's Arc will find even more fans.

The pace is quick even in quieter moments, and Salyards manages to pack quite a lot of story into a very small space with the novel clocking in at just over 300 pages. That pace is used to great effect in the battle scenes that permeate the story. With the inept Arki as the sole viewpoint, we get a very different perspective on violence and Salyards wisely shows both Arki's fear and revulsion at the very realistic depictions of the carnage and brutality that are common place in the world of the Syldoon. The prose is equally dark and brooding, easily accenting both the themes of the novel and the characters that populate it.

All in all, Scourge of the Betrayer is a tale of startling violence told through one of the most unique protagonists I've seen in recent memory. Salyards draws a world full of dark atmosphere, complex and richly drawn characters, and more mystery than James Patterson's back catalog, Those searching for something to fill the space between the works of Abercrombie and Lawrence
 should look no further than this excellent start to a promising series.

Review of the Week: Trapped by Kevin Hearne

Most people would call Kevin Hearne's The Iron Druid Chronicles a kind of Harry Dresden lite. A less filling, tastes great kind of proposition, if you will. Initially, I would have agreed with such a comparison, but not any more. With the fifth installment of the series, Trapped, I am convinced that Atticus O'Sullivan is much more than Dresden's slightly goofier cousin and that those earlier comparisons were nothing more than a convenient pigeon holing on my part.

After twelve years of secret training, Atticus O’Sullivan is finally ready to bind his apprentice, Granuaile, to the earth and double the number of Druids in the world. But on the eve of the ritual, the world that thought he was dead abruptly discovers that he’s still alive, and they would much rather he return to the grave. 

Having no other choice, Atticus, his trusted Irish wolfhound, Oberon, and Granuaile travel to the base of Mount Olympus, where the Roman god Bacchus is anxious to take his sworn revenge—but he’ll have to get in line behind an ancient vampire, a band of dark elves, and an old god of mischief, who all seem to have KILL THE DRUID at the top of their to-do lists.

In that brief synopsis is found the secret to Hearne's success. The blending of countless mythologies into a cohesive mythology to serve as the backdrop to a high octane thrill-ride full of chases, classic sword and sorcery, and bucket loads of side splitting humor set the Iron Druid Chronicles into a class all their own. Some might say that Butcher did it first, but I think that Dresden is far more serious and relies more on the tropes of the pulp detective novel than Heare's Atticus. It's the lighter touch that separates the two, and Trapped is a worthy addition to the series.

While both Butcher and Hearne revel in placing their protagonists in nearly impossible predicaments against overwhelming odds, Hearne's series lacks the sense of darkness that is all but omnipresent in Butcher's work. There is a sense of optimism that permeates not just the character of Atticus but all of the supporting cast as well. I believe that is because Hearne's intentions toward his hero are different. Harry Dresden always manages to emerge victorius from his battles, but there is a much heavier sense of consequence. Atticus may face consequences for his actions but they never seem to have enough weight to burden his soul. I believe that is because of the strong and largely uncomplicated relationships he has with his supporting cast. Granuaile is an excellent example of this. While very similar to Dresden's teacher/apprentice relationship with Molly Carpenter, Hearne eventually allows this subplot to reach its natural maturity and in less than a third of the time. This allows Atticus a measure of real world happiness that lightens the mood of the series significantly.

Both series have a similar mythology blending elements of the supernatural with religions and dieties from other cultures. While Butcher usually focuses on a relatively small number of elements per novel, Hearne's stories seem to be more a free for all. All of this gives Hearne's stories a more frentic pace but a certain lack of depth to the setting. The pacing is tight and the story moves ahead at a clip full of chases, battles and reversals that keep the reader engaged.

Long term readers will doubtlessly enjoy this most recent addition to The Iron Druid Chronicles. Hearne delivers another fast paced, humorous yarn, with several long awaited resolutions and a changing of the status quo that will propel the series forward in new dirrections. For those who have yet to give the series a try thinking it a 'poor man's Dresden Files', I strongly reccomend that you give Hearne a chance on his own merits and set aside the convienent comparisons.

Review of the Week: Daughter of the Sword by Steve Bein

Daughter of the Sword has been on my radar for a while now. As a martial artist who loves Japanese culture and swordsmanship and a long time reader of crime fiction, the premise of Bein's debut novel was near irresistible. A Japanese themed crime story with magic swords, you say? From a expert on Japanese history and a twenty year martial artist to boot? Well lets just say that there was little chance that I wouldn't give Daughter of the Sword a try. And I'm glad that I did. Bein turns in a story that is captivating, authentic, and full of history, character, and mythology that is handled with the delicate artistry of a the warrior poets of old. 

And here's the story summary from the publisher:

Mariko Oshiro is not your average Tokyo cop. As the only female detective in the city’s most elite police unit, she has to fight for every ounce of respect, especially from her new boss. While she wants to track down a rumored cocaine shipment, he gives her the least promising case possible. But the case—the attempted theft of an old samurai sword—proves more dangerous than anyone on the force could have imagined.

The owner of the sword, Professor Yasuo Yamada, says it was crafted by the legendary Master Inazuma, a sword smith whose blades are rumored to have magical qualities. The man trying to steal it already owns another Inazuma—one whose deadly power eventually comes to control all who wield it. Or so says Yamada, and though he has studied swords and swordsmanship all his life, Mariko isn’t convinced.

But Mariko’s skepticism hardly matters. Her investigation has put her on a collision course with a curse centuries old and as bloodthirsty as ever. She is only the latest in a long line of warriors and soldiers to confront this power, and even the sword she learns to wield could turn against her. 

Bein's protagonist, despite the somewhat stereotypical female bad-ass pose she's placed in on the cover has very little in common with the much maligned urban fantasy heroine. Sure Mariko is tough, as any women working in the misogynistic environs of the police force in Japan would have to be. But she never uses her gender as a weapon, wanting more than anything to be seen as an equal to her male counterparts. Her strength comes not from supernatural gifts or even from her eventual training from a renowned sword master, but from her dogged determination to see things through despite the obstacles placed before her. The genre needs more female characters like her.

The supporting cast is equally well rounded. Professor Yamada, while certainly falling into the trope of wise mentor and teacher, never chews the scenery, even when he's easily dispatching a quartet of murder-minded yakuza. He's more Miyagi than Kenobi, and injects every scene he graces with a quiet dignity and dry humor.  He's every sensei I've ever had, and all the ones I wished for all in one. Even the villian of the piece isn't as two dimensional as he appears at first glance, though he is serves more like a force of nature than an actual character.

And all of this doesn't even touch the secondary story lines that run through out the novel. Bein tells the stories of the Inazuma blades at varying times in history ranging from the feudal period to World War II. Even the characters who are "throw away" are well drawn and engaging and I was often sad to see their stories come to end. Bein does a fantastic job of making the blades themselves characters in the story. Not in the awakened blade tradition of table top role-playing games, but through the subtle  and some times terrifying influence they exert on their bearers. The layering of the present and the past is deftly handled and I never felt an ounce of frustration or anxiety when the story shifted away from the present.

The plot while largely unremarkable was nonetheless effortless and entertaining, with a few twists that I didn't see coming. But the lack of jaw-dropping revelations and unexpected twists didn't hamper my enjoyment in the least. Bein's prose is understated and almost invisible allowing me to escape into the story almost as if I were watching it unfold. But at certain key moments I found myself transfixed by a bit of imagery or simple elegance in the prose that showcased just how much the culture of the novel was woven into its physical substance. Bein's knowledge of the setting and themes in play really shines, giving the novel an authenticity that the reader can feel as early as the first few pages. His proper use of terminology and excellent handling of the customs and language of Japan elevate the writing far beyond the Wikipedia and anime driven research methods I've seen in some novels set in the Land of the Rising Sun. Bein's Tokyo is rich with detail as are the different historical periods visited through the course of the novel.

I wholeheartedly recommend Daughter of the Sword to all fans of urban fantasy, crime procedurals, and historical fiction. Bein is a talent to watch and I am anxious for the next installment in the Fated Blades series.

Review of the Week: Fortress Frontier by Myke Cole

Myke Cole's debut effort Control Point was one of the standouts of 2012 for me. So I was pumped to get an EARC of its sequel, Fortress Frontier, late last year. I dove in, getting about a third of the way in before finding out that reviews needed to be held until January. I had other books in queue, so I set it aside and didn't get back to it until shortly after the holidays. I was afraid that breaking up the reading might hurt my enjoyment of the story but my fears were quickly proved groundless. With Fortress Frontier, Cole dodges the sophomore slump and turns in a sequel that not only builds on the momentum and success of its predecessor but surpasses it in almost every way.

Here's the story summary provided by the publisher: 

The Great Reawakening did not come quietly. Across the country and in every nation, people began to develop terrifying powers—summoning storms, raising the dead, and setting everything they touch ablaze. Overnight the rules changed…but not for everyone.

Colonel Alan Bookbinder is an army bureaucrat whose worst war wound is a paper-cut. But after he develops magical powers, he is torn from everything he knows and thrown onto the front-lines.

Drafted into the Supernatural Operations Corps in a new and dangerous world, Bookbinder finds himself in command of Forward Operating Base Frontier—cut off, surrounded by monsters, and on the brink of being overrun.

Now, he must find the will to lead the people of FOB Frontier out of hell, even if the one hope of salvation lies in teaming up with the man whose own magical powers put the base in such grave danger in the first place—Oscar Britton, public enemy number one…

Cole's choice to start with a completely new viewpoint character instead of jumping directly back into the story of Oscar Britton, the protagonist from Control Point, was an unexpected surprise. Cole has taken a lot of criticism on the character's constant waffling and poor decision making and deftly dodges that hot button by introducing readers to Col. Bookbinder.

While I didn't find Britton's character in the least bit as objectionable, I instantly found Bookbinder to be more relatable. As a officer with no combat experience who has risen through the ranks for his organizational skills and military bureaucracy, Bookbinder was a man who is more like the rank and file reader than the battle hardened soldier, Britton. This fact made his underlying conflict of trying to navigate not only his new found magical gifts but his place as a leader of men of violence much more intriguing than Britton's angst of duty versus personal ethics if for no reason that the answers are much easier to navigate. Bookbinder, like Britton, doesn't always make the right decision but the results are in some ways a bit more satisfying in their conclusion.

Which is not to say that Oscar Britton is left behind. Cole catches us up with Oscar as he tries to make amends for the destruction his escape from the FOB wrought, before he can attempt to find his place as a fugitive from the nation he served for so long. Britton comes off better here, as he has a clearer course of action and I believe he is much more sympathetic as a result.

We also catch up with some of the secondary characters from Control Point, including Downer, Swift, and Truelove with some surprising additions that I, for one, never saw coming. Which is welcome, because I felt the new supporting cast was a bit weaker than those from the first novel.

The only thing I felt was missing was a truly compelling antagonist. With Fitzy removed at the end of Control Point, I had hoped that Cole would provide another foil for Britton to fill the gap, but with Fortress Frontier being more Bookbinder's tale than Britton's, I was left wanting.

Cole also expands the world itself, showing us not only more of the magical world of the Source and the workings of other nations within it, but also introduces a subplot of a resistance movement on the home plane against the impressment of magic users into military service. I found the differences between the U.S. and India's operations in the source and their reactions to the Great Reawakening interesting and hopes that we see more of other cultures represented in future volumes of the series. The resistance angle, while definitely nothing new was also welcome, reminding me of classic comic story lines of my youth. I think Cole could do new things with this subplot and would welcome more in this vein.

As before the actions sequences are visceral and chaotic showcasing Cole's real world knowledge of the subject and if anything they've improved from Control Point. I followed along a bit better this time, but whether or not that was due to my experience with Cole's style or a subtle shift in the writing, I couldn't say. The prose and dialogue has improved as well, showing Cole's growing maturity as a writer. While it could still be called workman-like, I don't think of that as a criticism. Every sentence propels the reader forward to the action packed conclusion, which makes setting the book down a challenge. Not a damn thing wrong with that.

If you were on the fence about Control Point, you should definitely give Fortress Frontier a go. Cole delivered a rousing sequel with all of the high stakes action and drama of the original all while expanding the world in new and exiting ways. Myke Cole is here to stay and so should you.

Review of the Week: Cycle of the Werewolf by Stephen King

With NaNoWriMo currently kicking my butt, I've found it hard to find the time to read let alone post a review. But since I promise one review a week, I went looking for something short to read and found something that I had been meaning to add to my collection for a while at a used book store while on a visit to Nashville. Stephen King has always been a favorite of mine, and I've read almost everything in his considerable body of work. Cycle of the Werewolf has been one of the holdouts, and I'm glad to report that despite its relatively short length, barely 100 pages, it's definitely worth the read. Adding to the presentation are the fantastic illustrations by Bernie Wrightson, best known for his work on DC Comics Swamp Thing.

Cycle of the Werewolf is the story of the small town of Tarker's Mills and the series of werewolf attacks that plague its citizens over the course of a year. King divides the larger story into twelve smaller short stories, one for each of the months of the year. It is reminiscent in structure to the much more popular The Green Mile, which was released in a similar format but with more significant content in each section of the story.

The first few chapters center on the victims, where King does an excellent job letting us slip into these characters' hearts and minds just moments before their grisly demise. These doomed townspeople are shown to be meaningful and at times you'll find yourself feeling sorry for the lives they have endured, or secretly pleased that they've gotten their just deserts.

We also learn about Tarker's Mills through the seemingly insignificant details scattered throughout the short chapters. King is a master of short stories, able to paint a vivid and meaningful scene in very little space. He wastes no words, often making phrases and descriptions pull double and triple duty addressing character, tone, and theme at the same time.

The werewolf meets his nemesis on July 4th in the form of a paraplegic boy, Marty Coslaw. Marty narrowly escapes being the monster's latest victim and is the first to confirm the rumors that a monster is terrorizing the town, rather than some deranged drifter or local psychopath. Not that anyone takes his account seriously, and he is left to fend for himself. When he discovers the creature is a well respected member of the community a few months later, he concocts a plan to rid Tarker's Mills of the monster for good.

Cycle of the Werewolf is not a complex story, the plot is basic and has very little of the twists and turns of King's longer works. But King's mastery of character and tone make it a work worth reading to anyone who enjoys a well crafted short story. Each 'month' chronicled in the larger arc has something to recommend it, and the way King builds tension, pathos, and setting layer by layer as we move closer to the inevitable confrontation between Coslow and the werewolf is a masterclass on how to do a lot with a little. The price is high, given the amount of actual content, but it is well worth picking up at a used bookstore. King has been awarded the prestigious Medal of Distinguished Contribution to American Letters and while Cycle of the Werewolf is not his most prestigious or familiar work, even in this more obscure and admittedly thin volume you can catch a glimpse at what makes him one of the most popular and celebrated authors in recent history.

Review of the Week: Spellwright by Blake Charlton

Blake Charlton has a rather unusual pedigree. From the author profile of his debut novel, Spellwright, we learn that he has served as an English teacher, a technical writer, a learning disabilities tutor, football coach and is a medical student at a prestigious university. Needless to say this is a group of somewhat disparate career choices, especially when considered under the light of his severe dyslexia. But, as with most writers, his varied life experiences have served him well in his latest career as a novelist.

Spellwright is the story of Nicodemus Weal, a young spellwright who was once thought to be a prophesied hero that would protect humanity against the return of an ancient and evil god. Spellwriting uses magical texts written by the caster in his own flesh to accomplish a variety of spell-like effects. Spellwrights can also create constructs akin to golems and gargoyles with the same magical scripts. Complicating Nicodemus' use of his magical talent is his cacography, a form of magical dyslexia that causes him "to misspell" not only the texts he creates, but any text he comes into contacts with, often to disastrous result. Nicodemus seems destined to remain an apprentice at the magical university at Starhaven for the rest of his life, or have his magic censored from his mind. His mentor, the blind Master Shannon, has other ideas believing that Nicodemus can overcome his disability. But when one of Shannon's rivals is killed and his mentor is investigated for the murder, Nicodemus finds himself at the center of a mystery with ties to prophesy, political intrigue, and the machinations of gods and demons alike. 

The hero of prophecy is definitely a familiar theme, especially to anyone who grew up reading the fantasy of the late eighties and nineties. While there is a resurgence of these themes in the works of authors such as Peter V. Brett, Michael J. Sullivan and Brandon Sanderson, Spellwright feels less like these more contemporary works and more like those of Eddings, Feist, and Tad Williams, largely due to very clear lines drawn between the heroes and their enemies. Those looking for a story populated by the morally gray characters found in George R.R. Martin or Joe Abercrombie's work should look elsewhere. Which is not to say that Charlton's characters are two dimensional because they are not, they are simply good or evil. 

One of the best things that Charlton does to differentiate Nicodemus from the glut of prophesied saviors so common in the genre is to make the use of his considerable magical gifts complicated by his cacography. The real heart of this story is about Nicodemus' coming to grips with and in some cases using his disability to his own advantage. Charlton's own personal experience with dyslexia give Nicodemus' struggles the weight of authenticity and make for a story significantly removed from the boy heroes of the novel's ancestors. Nicodemus wants to be free of his cacography and is willing to take foolish risks to do so, even though in his heart he knows that cacography is an important part of who he is. Nicodemus' journey to find his own identity and place in the world is more than engrossing enough to keep the reader turning pages, but Charlton also involves the character in an age old conflict with powerful demonic forces which provides for the action and intrigue elements necessary to move the plot forward. 

Fans of detailed magical systems that have a real impact on the world around them, like those of Brett and Sanderson, will find much to like in Spellwright. However, Charlton's system of spellwriting is far less intuitive and seems almost mathematically complex which requires a great deal of explanation early on in the novel. The weight of that exposition slows down the pace of the beginning of the novel and may take more than a little time to wrap your head around the concepts, but once that is accomplished, the pace improves dramatically. Spellwriting is very flexible and Charlton uses it in some very inventive and cinematic ways that allow for some excellent action sequences in the latter half of the novel. With the necessary explanation out of the way, I am confident that Charlton's subsequent novels will have a more fluid and organic pace. 

While Spellwright definitely has many of the earmarks of epic fantasy, the opening volume only hints at the grander scale of the genre. The cast of characters is small, the setting of Starhaven fairly closed, and the conflicts are fairly immediate and localized, but there are definite hints that the scope of the series will expand in the next volume. Charlton does an excellent job of hinting at the greater conflicts and the true scope of the world without taking long detours into things that only tangentially affect the main plot. As the story moves from the confines of Starhaven in the last third of the novel, the story gains speed and a sense of scope that is far from obvious from the rather confined beginnings. 

While there is a definite feeling of the author getting his balance, Spellwright has plenty to recommend itself. Its inventive magic system, truly likeable protagonist, and Charlton's willingness to breathe new life into old tropes should please all but the most jaded of fantasy readers. If you long for a return to the fantasy of your youth and want a hero you can pull for with zero reservations then you should definitely spend some time with Nicodemus Weal. 

Review of the Week: Tomorrow the Killing by Daniel Polansky

The sophomore slump is a common term in the music world. Often an artist rushes a second album in an attempt to cash in on the success of a well-received debut. The rushed work is rarely as strong as its predecessor. Writers aren't immune to this phenomenon, though the longer production time usually prevents it from being as common. One need only look at reviews to the sequels of highly acclaimed debuts of such standout titles as Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind to prove my point. Daniel Polansky's debut, Low Town, left me hungry for more of his genre bending setting, his complex and troubled narrator Warden, and most of all for the gritty beauty of his prose. So when I received my review copy of Tomorrow the Killing, I will admit to feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. What if Low Town was a fluke, a perfect storm of engaging premise and startling choice of protagonist? Now that the newness of the premise and characters has worn off, will this newest installment fall short of the high expectations of Polansky's debut?

Tomorrow the Killing answered all of my fears with a resounding no. Polansky more than avoids the sophomore slump, delivering a sequel that builds upon the strengths of its predecessor but delivers even an even more complex and engaging plot, more compelling character study, and a surprising amount of compelling back story about the protagonist, Warden, all delivered in Polansky's sparse yet elegant prose.

Set three years after the conclusion of Low Town, Tomorrow the Killing retains most of the elements of the previous story. Warden is still a low level crime lord and drug peddler with a penchant for sampling his own wares far more than is healthy. He still owns a half share of the Staggering Earl, with the even tempered war hero Adolphus, and still serves as a mentor of sorts to the former street urchin, Wren. When General Edwin Montgomery's daughter disappears into the slums of Low Town on a mission to find those responsible for the decade old murder of her brother, Roland., he knows there is only one person who can find and return his wayward child before she suffers the same fate as her brother. Having served with both the General and his son during his time as a soldier, Warden finds himself drawn into a confrontation between   powerful forces despite his numerous attempts to disengage from both the dangerous storm that is brewing in Rigus and his own inconvenient conscience.

Polanksy alternates between the present day story line of Warden's investigation into the whereabouts of General Montgomery's daughter and flashbacks to his time as soldier, fighting the Dren miles from his homeland. We learn more about the infancy of his friendship with Adolphus, and his relationship to the General's murdered son Roland, who was one of Warden's commanding officers. While the fleshing out of our protagonist's backstory is certainly more than welcome, it is absolutely not a matter of Polansky adding filler material. Warden's history informs the present day as it becomes apparent that the Veteran's Association, that Roland Montgomery championed before his untimely and mysterious death, is mobilizing its members to protest a tax on their hard earned benefits and may hold the key to the fate of missing Montgomery girl. Complicating matters is Adolphus' growing involvement with the leadership of the Veteran's Association who have asked him to take part in their protests against the crown. Even Wren is drawn into their web through his growing admiration of his adoptive father, complicating Warden's attempts to keep his growing magical abilities under control and far from the grasping hands of the Empire.

These flashback chapters are some of the best in the novel. Polansky paints a harrowing picture of war, with not an ounce of nostalgia or glorification. Incompetence, illness, and long hours spent cold in the rain and mud before the crash of arms are the order of the day. Warden is never painted as a hero, not in his own mind any way, and he even goes out of his way to avoid recognition for a moment of supposed heroism. This is in direct contrast with the self-aggrandizement and rose-colored memories of the Veteran's Association and Adolphus. This unflinching approach to one of the genres most utilized topics reminds me of nothing so much as Clint Eastwoods's masterful final word on the American western, Unforgiven. Lovers of Joe Abercrombie's or Glen Cook's novels should definitely give this book a look.

Various criminal elements as well as members of Warden's former employer, Black House, also make appearances. True to form, Warden shrewdly plays the various factions against each other, making him a target if his manipulations are discovered. The political machinations at work in the plot also give Tomorrow The Killing a much larger sense of scope as Warden is dealing not just with the problems of the his own neighborhood but those of the Empire. The stakes are higher, the enemies more numerous, and in some cases all but faceless. Warden is in over his head, and struggles against forces that tax his considerable intelligence and cunning to levels even he cannot imagine.

Polansky seems to be taking steps to make Warden a somewhat more sympathetic protagonist this time around. While his gallows humor and propensity for violence and cruel sarcasm are very much intact, his drug use, while still present, is far less prevalent. A growing focus on his personal relationships particularly with Adolphus, also paint him in a more favorable light than the more introspective narrative of Low Town. While Warden may not view himself as redeemable, feeling the weight of his past sins and current situation are too vast for any hope at redemption, the readers may catch glimpses of the inherent goodness of his character that he drowns with drugs, violence, and risk taking.

As in Low Town, Warden often misjudges his enemies capabilities and suffers for his arrogance, adding high stakes and even higher tension to the latter half of the novel. The reversal at the end of the novel is far better than the one at the end of Lowtown. While there are plenty of reasons for readers to suspect things are not as they seem, Polansky manages not to telegraph his intentions, resulting in a far more satisfying ending.

Polansky's writing is top notch, as expected. The pacing is tight, keeping the reader engaged despite the frequent detours into the past. In fact, the flashbacks provide readers a chance to catch their breath and always furthers the plot in some way. The prose remains packed with the weary wit and bitter sarcasm that makes Warden such a memorable protagonist. Underneath is a stark beauty hinting that some part of our narrator has managed to stay untouched by his life of savagery and disappointment. I have small hope that Warden may eventually find peace if not happiness at the end of the Low Town tales, but my hopes for Polansky's future in the genre are anything but small.

Review of the Week: The Dirty Streets of Heaven by Tad Williams

I covet review copies. As a fledgling blogger, I had dreams about boxes of new releases arriving at my house free of charge of ARC's cluttering my already full bookshelves. Well reality and dreams rarely have much in common, and I quickly learned that it takes quite a while to build a reputation and the contacts necessary to start receiving books to review from the publisher. So I soldiered on, read the books I could afford and posted my thoughts. It's been great fun and rewarding to get to know some of the authors that I admire and to begin to be a part of the community of bloggers and reviewers. A few weeks back, I was shocked to find a message from Tad Williams asking to send me a review copy of his newest book. Tad wrote one of the first epic fantasy novels I ever read, The Dragonbone Chair and was instrumental in cementing my love for the genre. But I must confess, everything I read of Tad's post To Green Angel Tower left me cold, and I eventually stopped reading him. Some of that was my own personal distaste for anything even remotely sci-fi (Don't worry, I out grew that) which made his multi-volume Otherland series something I just wasn't interested in. I read War of the Flowers as well, but it didn't gel for me either. When I first heard about the premise of The Dirty Streets of Heaven with it's earthbound angels serving as celestial attorneys for the recently departed, I was intrigued. It sounded fresh while similar to Jim Butcher's Dresden Files, a series that I burned through like a crack addict a few years back. But I was unsure about it, having had mixed opinions on Williams' work. So I purchased other books, promising myself I'd check reviews and pick it up later if they were favorable. Tad's message promising a review copy of course moved his novel to next on the pile.

Life got in the way a bit, and it took me a little longer to finish the book than I would have liked, but I'm so glad Tad sent me that message. The Dirty Streets of Heaven is a must read for all fans of Urban Fantasy, especially fans of Harry Dresden. Williams combines a startlingly fresh concept and a relatable, yet flawed protagonist and then surrounds him with a supporting cast of offbeat misfits in typical Tad Williams style. Top it all off with gun-battles, car chases, celestial politics, suspicion and frequent flirtation with spiritual philosophy and you have a definite A-list entry into the urban fantasy milieu.

The Dirty Streets of Heaven follows the story of Doloriel, known to all but his heavenly employers as Bobby Dollar. Dollar is an angel, inhabiting a human body and serving the Most High as an advocate, arguing against the representatives of Hell to decide whether souls ascend to Heaven or find themselves in eternal torment. When a respected citizen of San Judas unexpectedly commits suicide, Bobby is assigned to be the man's advocate. What seems to be a fairly straightforward case, quickly becomes a deadly mystery with Bobby at its center. The man's soul is missing, and neither Bobby's superiors in heaven or his demonic adversaries know where it has gone or why. And this is not the last soul to vanish, raising the stakes all the more. Add in an age old, nearly unkillable monstrosity that is suddenly stalking our hero for reasons unknown and Bobby has his hands more than full.

One of the strengths of The Dirty Streets of Heaven is the voice of its protagonist. Considering that any urban fantasy story with a male protagonist is going to face the unavoidable comparison to the 800-pound gorilla of the genre, Harry Dresden, I think Williams has something special in Bobby Dollar. Dollar is at once everything we expect; sarcastic, a ladies man, but unable to form any lasting bonds with anyone of the opposite sex. But he's an angel which comes with its own set of expectations, and Bobby meets none of them. He has no wings or flaming sword, would rather hang out with his fellow advocates at the bar than do any actual work, and is openly critical of his heavenly masters. Oh and all of those things that make him a typical urban fantasy hero don't fit very well either. For an angel, Dollar seems, well, rather weak. He battles demons with wits, fists, and bullets. No excessive displays of heavenly might, or smiting the souls of the wicked going on here. At first description, it may seem dull, but it is the secret to the character's success. Bobby's resemblance to the reader, his humanity, is what makes him such a remarkable protagonist and Williams never shies away from it.

Williams also populates the story with a memorable supporting cast. Standouts include, a chronically Caucasian who talks like a gangster rapper and desperately wants to be Dollar's wingman (no pun intended, I promise), a were-pig who can only carry on a conversation while in porcine form, who serves as the intel-specialist in the investigation, and Sam, a fellow advocate who has shares a surprising history with our protagonist. But the breakout star is Caz, a demoness who serves as Bobby's principle love interest. She steals every scene she's in with mercurial moods and ferocity, but Williams wisely adds surprising depth by fleshing out her back story, making her just as human as Bobby. Some readers may be bothered by the sudden change in her perceived character after this revelation, saying it weakens her as a character, but I disagree. I found her more believable and sympathetic afterwards, as I have known many women who have responded in similar fashion. The seemingly doomed romance between angel and demon seems to be here to stay and I am looking forward to more of Caz in the projected sequels.

The world building that was such a integral part of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn may seem to be missing in The Dirty Streets of Heaven, but I would say that Williams' has elected to paint this setting in more subdued strokes here. Heaven, like the angels, are not what one might expect. Sure everything is full of radiance and happy feelings, but the resemblance to corporate hierarchy in the day to day operations of Heaven may be jarring to some readers. This is not the Heaven that religion promises, especially since most of the rank and file inhabitants seem more like ghosts that have drank liberally of the celestial Kool-Aid. Williams; Heaven is subversive and definitely prompts more disturbing questions than anything else in the novel. There is a sense that there are leviathans swimming just below the surface of Bobby's home away from home. Williams seems content to leave almost all the specifics of heaven to our imagination, through the fact that Bobby's memories of Heaven are misty and vague whenever he returns to Earth.

The pacing is fairly standard for an urban fantasy novel, with short chapters that propel us along with plenty of surprises and problems to distract Bobby from his task to solve the mystery of the missing souls. There is paranoia and suspicion a aplenty, and while I won't say I didn't see some of the revelations coming, I was never disappointed by the results. Bobby seems poised for many more adventures, and there are just enough loose plot threads left dangling that I need to know the answers. Much like the Dresden Files, I feel that the story will only become more complex, and the world more detailed as we follow each subsequent adventure. Williams has the makings of series that could challenge the seeming supremacy of Butcher's eponymous hero.   More the merrier, indeed.

Review of the Week: Low Town by Daniel Polansky

I owe Myke Cole a drink, should I ever get the chance to meet him. It'll be a high dollar one too, no PBR for Mr. Cole. Not because I am a gushing fanboy (though that probably has some truth to it) but because of a tweet that led me to Daniel Polansky's fantastic debut novel, Low Town. When I saw Cole's assertion that he would buy Polansky's grocery lists, should he ever decide to publish them, I was intrigued. A quick glance at the synopsis, and I was set to go.

Describing Low Town in simple terms is more difficult than most fantasy novels. Imagine that Quentin Tarantino, possessed by the ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien, did an eight-ball of cocaine and wrote a novel to be read by the late Johnny Cash. Low Town is something like that, only better. I've heard it called noir fantasy. I suppose if you have to put a label on it that one will do. I just call it a trope-breaking tour-de-force with the elegant savagery of a rusted switchblade. But you can take your pick.   

The book's back copy does an excellent job of setting the stage, so I'll leave it to the professionals this time. 

Rigus is the greatest city in the Thirteen Lands, a glittering metropolis of crystalline citadels and sumptuous manors, where gentlewomen hide delicate smiles behind silken sleeves and bored nobles settle affairs of honor with cold steel. But light casts shadow, and in the darkness of the spires the baseborn struggle, eking out an existence amidst the cast-offs of their betters. This is Low Town, a sprawling warren of side streets and back alleys, of boarded up windows and false storefronts. Here the corner boys do a steady trade to the dead eyed and despairing, and a life can be bought with a clipped copper penny.

Low Town is an ugly place, and its champion is an ugly man. A former war hero and intelligence agent, now a crime lord addicted to cheap violence and expensive narcotics, the Warden spends his days hustling for customers and protecting his turf, until the chance discovery of a murdered child sets him on a collision course with the life he'd left behind. As bodies bloat in the canal and winter buries the city, he plays a desperate game of deception, pitting the underworld powers against his former colleagues in the secret police, hoping to find the source of the evil before it consumes him, and perhaps the city itself.

But virtue is rarely repaid in kind, and Low Town is no place for the righteous.

Sounds pretty awesome, right? Like other standouts in the sub-genre of fantasy with less than heroic protagonists, such as The Lies of Locke Lamora and Among Thieves, Low Town limits the setting to a narrow, but well realized area. The squalor and grit of Low Town is a tangible presence and Polanski milks it in every description, making the setting the most omnipresent character in the novel. Readers can almost feel the dirt collecting under their fingernails as they read and smell arcane sounding narcotics like dreamvine seem to linger in the air.

Polansky chooses an ugly man to tell an equally ugly story of drugs, foul sorcery, and murder. Warden's first person narrative is moody, tense, and unflinchingly honest. Readers may not like the drug addicted crime lord much, but Polansky makes sure they'll understand the path he's trod to become so broken. There is a filthy sort of poetry to Warden's voice as he riffs on the slum of his birth, his time spent in the military and as member of the feared intelligence agency, Black House. Warden is a broken addict with few real friends who sees no hope for redemption. He has no purpose other than to carve out a life of crime in between vials of pixie's breath and smoking dreamvine, until he is pulled into investigating a string murdered children that endangers not only his life but his callous and unfeeling existence.

Readers hoping for a story of redemption and real change in the character will find themselves disappointed though. Polanky seems to understand that, like in real life, addiction and recovery aren't easy and Warden's story arc, while showing glimmers of redemption and subtle character growth, reflect that reality. While it is easy to pull for Warden to get to the bottom of the mystery of the slaughtered children, hoping for Warden to return to the life he led before his addiction derailed his life is much harder. Nonetheless, Warden is a sympathetic and likeable narrator, largely because Polansky shows his admirable qualities through his interactions with the denizens of LowTown. Each character gets their moment to shine, either in action or by impacting our narrator in some significant way. A moment where the usually mild tempered and motherly Adeline gives Warden the sharp end of her tongue and the flat of her hand is a definite standout.

Of particular interests are Warden's interactions with Wren, a street urchin who is pulled into the former intelligence agent's wake through a chance encounter. The adolescent serves as a reflection of Warden's childhood living on the streets, more street tough and petty thief than precocious child. Though our protagonist takes great pains to appear to be more than comfortable letting Wren fend for himself, there is a glimmer of parental instinct and protectiveness that may be the fragile core of Warden's possible redemption. Rounding out the cast of Warden's extended and only family are Adolphos and his wife, Adeline, who tend the inn that Warden calls his home, and the patron sorcerer of Low Town, The Blue Crane and his apprentice, Celia, who figure heavily in Warden's childhood years. The Crane and Celia get more face time than their more common counterparts, but Polansky does an admirable job making all of these secondary characters have agendas and personalities that never seem created simply to toss the irascible Warden against.

The antagonists fair just as well. The heretic Ling Chi, with his insistence on courtly manners and maddening indirect way of speaking, was a standout, even if he is only marginally important to the main plotline. Lord Beaconfield, the principle antagonist, is gleefully unafraid of Warden's brutal reputation and is his equal not only in intelligence but in his taste for violence. Even conversations between the two read like a well orchestrated fight scene, with parries and ripostes that ring like invisible blades. We get to see Warden's former boss, the head of Black House. While he serves as a driving force for Warden's investigation and growing sense of peril, Polansky seems poised to use him to greater effect as the series continues.

The plot is fast paced with as many blind turns and reversals as the landscape of Low Town itself. The chases and battles are swift and packed with tension. Warden is a man who kills without rage, wrapped in a merciless practicality that life in Low Town demands. Polansky manages to inject enough of Warden's backstory to further flesh out his protagonist without slowing the plot in any noticeable way, leaving the reader without any excuse to stop reading. Polansky concludes with a twist ending that I suspected, though the telegraphing was fairly slight. That said, it was set up brilliantly and looses no points from me. In fact, it seems to be the only fitting end, as much as I wanted something else.

But for me the biggest selling point is Polansky's prose itself. Warden's narration is as dense a first person narration as I've ever seen. Every line of dialogue, exposition, and description seems to serve multiple masters; informing, suggesting, and adding to the mood of the novel. This tightness and attention to utility coupled with the obvious love for language gives Low Town a distinctive voice that, when blended with the weary cynicism of Warden's voice, marks Polansky as an author that genre fans would do well to watch. I've not been this excited about a new voice of fantasy since Patrick Rothfuss. Let's hope that the next Low Town novel, Tomorrow the Killing fares better than The Wise Man's Fear. 

Review of the Week: The Blinding Knife by Brent Weeks

Obviously, I read a lot. I'm at fifty two books so far this year. And this year hasn't been a year with a string of mediocre fiction. 2012 has been the year of Ready Player One, Control Point, The Night Circus, Wool and World War Z. I'll just come out and say it, The Blinding Knife is the best book I've read this year.

I've not been bashful about my love for Brent Weeks' books. My original intention was to write a You Should Be Reading post about him before reviewing The Blinding Knife. But this book was too good to wait even a week to review. Justin over at the excellent Staffer's Musings has this to say:

"I've read all five of Brent Weeks' published novels and it's a certainty that he's evolving with every book. With The Blinding Knife, I believe he's entered a new stratosphere and one that puts him on par with anyone who's written these kinds of stories. It isn't only the best book he's written; I consider it one of the best epic fantasies I've read."  

I couldn't agree more. Like Justin, I've read all of Weeks' fiction, and it's all been excellent. The Night Angel trilogy was excellent and is often a feeder series I recommend to friends unfamiliar with the genre. The Black Prism, which starts the Lightbringer series that The Blinding Knife continues, has one of the best plot twists that I can recall in any book I've read. I often compare that reveal to the end of The Sixth Sense when describing the book to friends. So yeah, I'm a fan. But I felt like Weeks' was either holding back or getting ready for something even better, and boy was I right. The Blinding Knife is a masterwork of a novel (I know at least eighty percent of you get the reference) full of exquisitely drawn and believable characters, a surprisingly intricate magical system, break-neck pacing and more "no he didn't" moments than Rush Limbaugh's entire career.

Since The Blinding Knife is the second installment in a series, I'll start with some background information. The Lightbringer series is set in the Seven Satrapies loosely reminiscent of the Mediterranean. The Satrapies are ruled by two part government consisting of the more secular Prism and the White, a religious leader not unlike the Pope. The Black Prism spends a lot of time explaining the intricacies and history of the setting as well as explaining the magical system of drafting different colors of light into varying types of matter. Drafting impacts society on almost every level. Architecture, religion, and education are all effected and Weeks lays the groundwork well, even if it is understandably a bit long winded at points. With all of the groundwork established, The Blinding Knife jumps right in assuming the readers are more than familiar with the premise and all of its considerable detail. Even though I didn't remember every nuance of the magic system or setting, Weeks layers reminders though out the plot in a fashion that never felt forced and in no time at all, the mechanical bits faded into the background allowing me to fully engage in the gripping tale of Weeks' cast of characters.

Weeks' created a truly extraordinary magical system. With drafters able to create virtually anything through drafting the portion of the spectrum that they can control, Weeks' would seem to be in danger of falling into Green Lantern territory. But he sidesteps any but the most superficial comparison because of the depth of detail built into the magic system. The material created through drafting, called luxin, has physical properties that change depending on its color. Adding even more depth is the psychological implications of drafting, each color exerts a different influence on the drafter. Some make the user more impulsive and others more emotionally detached. Weeks uses all of these details to good effect through the course of the novel, giving drafters unwanted side effects to using their magic. I love this system of magic, finding it on par with the creations of other industry heavyweights such as Brandon Sanderson and the late Robert Jordan.

As deft as Weeks' magic system and setting are, what sets The Blinding Knife apart from the many excellent novels I've read this year is Weeks' gift for characterization. Weeks continues with the adventures of the cast from The Black Prism; Gavin, Kip, Karris, and Liv adding a handful of other characters along the way. His handling of Kip and Liv impressed me the most, as both adolescents struggle to find where their true identity separates from the people their station and circumstances dictate that they should be. Their voyages couldn't be more dissimilar by the end of the novel, but the common thread of facing the consequences of their own mistakes binds them together to form the heart of the book for me. Weeks embodies them both with the foolishness and vulnerability of youth in a way that makes the reader cringe when they choose poorly against all sense, and cheer when they triumph not only against those who would attempt to control them. The other characters, including the secondary ones are equally conflicted while faced with their own moral and ethical dilemmas. This is a novel about choices, and Weeks' characters don't hesitate to make mistakes and the price is often dearer coin that they ever expected.

Weeks does wonders with the antagonists in The Blinding Knife, particularly with Gavin's father Andross Guile, member of the Spectrum who rules the Seven Satrapies under the guidance of the White and the Prism. Every scene that Andross appears in positively drips with menace even though their is little to no threat of actual violence. Andross is a puller of strings, a master of working from the shadows and much like our characters I started to see his skeletal hand everywhere. I found myself looking forward to his meetings with the other members of the Guile family more than any scene with the more obvious threat of the Color Prince who was moving to invade the Seven Satrapies at the head of a nearly unstoppable army of drafters. If you love to hate Lord Littlefinger in George R. R.Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, you should do yourself a favor and get to know Andross Guile right away.

Another standout aspect of The Blinding Knife is the pacing. This book reads more like a James Patterson thriller (one of the good ones, anyway) than Frodo's adventures in Middle Earth. There are over a hundred chapters in six hundred and twenty-five pages. Readers will have a hard time putting this book down to sleep, work, or spend time with their families. The plot is intricate with plenty of twists and turns and Weeks surprised me over and over again to the point that I was almost weary with the shock. Amazingly enough, even with the exhausting pace and metric ton of twists I never saw coming, I could have easily have read for another hundred chapters. To tell it true, I would have read this book until my eyes bled and called it a joy.

I think that in a few years readers will look back at The Blinding Knife as the point where Brent Weeks went from being an up-and-comer to an author whose name belongs next to stalwarts of the genre like Martin, Jordan, and Brooks. Run, don't walk and get this book. You won't regret it.

Review of the Week: The King's Bastard by Rowena Cory Daniels

I'll admit that I bought The King's Bastard based on nothing more than the title. Insane, right? The cover did absolutely nothing for me. The shadowy color scheme and vaguely ominous backdrop took away from what could have been an intriguing figure I assumed was the protagonist. The back copy wasn't much better, leaving me wondering whether it was wise for the author to choose a concept that seemingly falls so close to the shadow cast by one of the giants of the genre. But the title is so close to an unfinished manuscript I spent some months on, that I had to check it out just for my own curiosity's sake.

The King's Bastard focuses on the family of King Rolen, whose reign over Rolencia is supported largely through his alliance with the warlords of the borderlands that stand between his kingdom and the rival nation of Merofynia, with whom he's kept an uneasy peace. Unlike in Merofynia, magic use is restricted in Rolencia.  All who possess Affinity are pressed into mandatory service in one of two religious orders or be executed. But untamed magic is loose in the land, causing more and more mystical creatures to surface threatening the peaceful and largely orderly kingdom. We meet our protagonist, Byren Kingson, who's lack of real political responsibility as the second born son of his family makes him a natural fit for hunting the Affinity touched creatures. Hi-jinks ensue and Byren meets a rouge sorceress who foretells that he will eventually shed the blood of his brother, Lence, and thus become heir to the throne. With no interest in ruling Rolencia and a deep bond with his older twin, Byren dismisses the prophesy but fate and the heir's increasingly hostile and erratic behavior seem to be propelling Byren towards his prophesied fate.

Also taking center stage are Byren's younger siblings; Fyn and Piro. Fyn is Affinity touched and has been a novice at the abbey of one of the two gods of Rolencian religion. Halycon is the god of summer and his acolytes serve the crown, most notably as a militant order and in the production of food that will protect the nation's population during the harsh winter months. Fyn, now on the brink of choosing his path within the ranks of the monastic brothers, discovers that the political maneuverings and subsequent dangers of life at the Abbey are not so different than those that plague the more noble members of his family. The youngest member of the family, Piro is nearing an age where she will be expected to marry to strengthen the peace her father has managed to craft through three decades of compromise and swift retribution to those that would threaten Rolencia, but she has been hiding her own Affinity and that secret won't stay hidden for long.

With its surface similarities to George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire, I really wanted to enjoy this first installment of Daniels' trilogy. The trio of young protagonists remind me of the children of House Stark, some of my favorites in the genre. But shaky execution and a lack of depth kept this story from really taking root and even less than a week after reading it, I find myself having a hard time remembering the things that I enjoyed, while its flaws are all too apparent.

I'll start with the characters. Daniels' manages to create a trio of characters that seem at first glance to be incredibly capable and intriguing, but upon further inspection seem to have little to no agency and are simply locked into a course of events that their station or stated character traits dictate. Despite growing evidence that that the future king is hot headed, self-important, and power mad, our principle protagonist, Byren, is dedicated to doing the right thing even if it means living in his brother's shadow.  His love for his family and friends is important to him even when it stands to cost him dearly. While loyalty is to be lauded, Byren often takes it beyond all reason. Byren chooses to believe in Lence even when it is obvious that he has ill intentions not only towards Byren but to those he holds most dear. He runs all over the kingdom, cleaning up after his siblings and generally is forever reacting to the actions of others.

That by itself would be forgivable, but neither Fyn or Piro are any different. Fyn is forever being threatened, bullied, or framed and his only solution, despite being well liked and a capable warrior besides, is to plan to run away. Piro's case seems a little easier to take because of her gender and younger age, but her sole purpose in the plot seems to be to sow chaos wherever she goes, and she never seems to pay the price for it.  Daniels' seems to think her thoughtless behavior and impulsiveness can be explained away, simply by pointing out that she in on the cusp of marriage every time she does something juvenile and foolish.

Most of the secondary characters suffer from a lack of development and come off rather flat. My main complaint is that Byren's love interest, Orrade's sister Elina, has virtually no redeeming qualities and is so under developed that when her fate takes a shocking turn, I couldn't bring myself to care. Byren's reactions seemed less authentic because I felt I was being told how much she meant to him without ever being shown a compelling reason why. Other characters seem one or two note caricatures at best, even cast members as important as King Rolen and Byren's brother, Lence.

There are a few other inconsistencies that bother me about Daniels' writing. The first is that despite telling us time and time again that Affinity beasts are rare, Byren seems to encounter one every time he ventures outside of civilization. If they are rare, then by all means, let them be rare. They begin to feel like random monster encounters from a D&D game when used this frequently. More bothersome is Daniels' handling of the homosexuality of Byren's best friend, Orrade. Orrade is in love with Byren, and has taken to wearing a symbol of a traitorous warrior society that has a reputation of being composed of homosexuals. His identification with the notorious cult causes both he and Byren no end of heartache. Nothing wrong with any of this, after all ancient Greece is full of this sort of thing. The problem comes with the tendency for every person to focus on the "lover of men" label as being synonymous with being a traitor to the crown. Almost every character in the novel reacts this way, regardless of their relationship to Orrade. If Daniels really wants to explore homophobia, why not drop the attachment to this traitorous organization entirely and deal with it head on. The obfuscation doesn't help and feels like cheating to me.

There was a lot of promising world building that never seemed to bear fruit, and the secondary plot line at the Abbey was full of potential, but the flatness and lack of agency in the characters make it doubtful that I will return to the characters of The King's Bastard. Which is a shame, because I wanted to like these characters and the world they inhabited. I had hoped Rolencia would be a welcome vacation home from Westeros, but sadly it's not.

Review of the Week: Unclean Spirits by M.L.N. Hanover

I really wish I didn't know M.L.N. Hanover was actually Daniel Abraham. Unclean Spirits was a birthday present and an apt one given my love for Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series. Looking at the cover we have all of the usual suspects for urban fantasy with a female lead. Scantily clad woman wielding a weapon? Check. Obligatory tattoo on said scantily clad woman? Check. Look at my tight and revealing ensemble pose? Check. Based on that, I expected to find a fairly paint by numbers urban fantasy novel. And if the author wasn't a favorite of mine masquerading under a pseudonym, that would have been just fine. I tend to be slightly less critical on debut authors. After all, they are just getting started and I have found several excellent series that started out with less than stellar opening volumes including the adventures of the only wizard listed in Chicago's phone book. I suspect this first book of The Black Sun's Daughter will likely fall into the same category. But knowing that this novel came from the author of The Long Price Quartet and the excellent The Dagger and the Coin series, I, perhaps unfairly, expected better.

Which is not to say that Unclean Spirits isn't a good book, because it definitely is. You just have to take a closer look to see discover how good it really is. On its face, the concept doesn't seem anything earth shattering but in true Abrahamian fashion, Hanover manages to make it somehow more than your father's urban fantasy story. If that's not enough to get your attention, it definitely should be.

Unclean Spirits is the story of Jayné Heller, who when settling the estate of her suddenly deceased uncle, finds herself thrust into a world that she doesn't understand. While she is the inheritor of her uncle's surprisingly vast fortune she also inherits his problems and, it seems, his occupation. And as an exterminator of those possessed by evil spirits that turn them into things out of nightmare, her deceased Uncle Eric's problems are extremely dangerous. Making things worse, her uncle's murderers have decided that anyone poised to inherit their greatest enemy's estate is a threat best eliminated. Jayné has to adapt to these shocking revelations quickly, or she'll never have the chance to enjoy or understand her strange inheritance.

Even looking at that synopsis, it isn't really obvious just how far from the urban fantasy norm Abraham is straying. He puts his own unique stamp on genre tropes is everywhere. His unifying explanation for the supernatural elements of the setting is a thing of pure genius. In essence every type of supernatural creature can be explained by a variation of the same possession mechanism. I have a strong suspicion that this ground level change in the common premise will lead to some very interesting world building, but sadly there seems little time for this as Abraham sets up the pieces of this inaugural tale. But in a first volume that is so expected as to be forgivable.

Another more subtle point is that our protagonist is actually quite different from that staple of urban fantasy that the cover art suggests.While she has some small protection granted to her as the heir to whatever supernatural gifts her uncle obviously possesses, Jayné has no idea how any of it works. In addition, she is caught completely unprepared for the circumstances the author hurls her into. This is a college drop out in water far over her head. Understandably, Jayné has almost no control over her own trajectory for at least the first two thirds of the novel. That lack of agency makes her a definite change from the Anitas, Harrys, and Mercys that seem to clog the genre. One might think that choice would lead to a boring protagonist, especially in the unsurprisingly first person narrative. But Abraham wisely makes Jayné likeable enough that her lack of aptitude is endearing and sympathetic rather than frustrating. Hints at her back story, including her unexplained exit from college and her adversarial relationship with her overbearing and parochial parents leave us with questions about Jayné that we want answers too.

The supporting cast is motley assortment of cliches turned on their heads and completely unexpected and refreshing choices. The stand out for me is Midian, the vampiresque epicurean who dispenses much needed world building while preparing meals that actually made me hungry as I read about them. As her uncle's last client Midian is much more than just one of Jayné's eventually band of merry men, but a potential antagonist whose goals only temprorarilly coincide with her own. Throw in a couple of decidedly ordinary folk who are pressed into service after Jayné narrowly manages to save them from the spirit that shoved the husband's mind into the family dog before possessing his body, and you are in for a wild ride. Abraham gives plenty of glimpses of potential for character depth and exploration, but most are not exploited to anything resembling the level of any of his other novels. We are often left seeing the ripples of something interesting in the undercurrents of the largely predictable plot, but very rarely does the author do anything other than tantalize.

My largest complaint with the characterization is that the villains of the piece, get an embarrassingly minuscule amount of development. Which is what leaves me hoping that Midian comes back in an antagonistic role. All of the baddies we meet are straight from central casting, including the big bad himself. When contrasted with the attention to detail we see in the Jayné and crew, it was terribly jarring. It seemed as if the author had no real intentions of these villains being anything more than glorified cannon fodder as he set up the characters he really wanted to write about.

The plot is full of the things you would expect in urban fantasy, increasingly difficult opposition as the heroes move up the pyramid of villainy, best described by Midian as something like Amway, but with possession, wounded allies, reversals of fortune, and victory through unexpected means. Its entertainingly familiar and the people going jumping through the hoops are fare more compelling than the hoops themselves. The pacing is tight, but leaves room for quieter character moments without ever dredging itself in seemingly needless tedium. Nothing to brag about per se, but definitely not unsatisfying either.

I'd say Unclean Spirits definitely has the ingredients to be a refreshing re-imagining of the urban fantasy genre, but it has yet to deliver on that potential. My personal opinion, a little more Abraham and a little less Hanover will go along way to establishing Jayné Heller as contender for membership in the heavyweight division beside the Dresdens and Blakes of the genre.

Review of the Week: Partials by Dan Wells

Imagine my surprise when I see a familiar, yet unexpected name on the cover of promising looking dystopian sci-fi tale in the young adult section of my local book store. And here I was, ready to pigeonhole Dan Wells into the supernatural horror category. Since I loved the John Wayne Cleaver trilogy, I had no problem bringing Partials home.

The human race is on the verge of extinction. Eleven years ago, genetically engineered soldiers called partials revolted and decimated the human population, releasing the RM virus that killed not only 99.9% of the population of the United States, but also kills every new child brought into the world. The partials have withdrawn leaving the remaining forty thousand humans trapped in the isolated community of East Meadow in what was Long Island, New York. The humans have rebuilt as best they can, forming a new government, education system and defense force, but the looming spectre of RM infected babies threatens to extinguish all hope for long term survival. The senate institutes the Hope Act, requiring all women under sixteen years of age to have as many children as possible in hopes that a RM resistant child will be born, and a cure can be developed. Predictably, the Hope Act is unpopular giving rise to a revolutionary group known as the Voice who are determined to force its repeal along with other unpopular policies.

Wells opens with our protagonist Kira Walker, a medical intern and virology expert watching yet another newborn die minutes after its birth from the ravages of RM. Kira fears that the Hope Act has little hope of producing an immune child. Convinced that the key to saving the species lies with source of RM, Kira puts together a group of other "plague babies" to travel outside of the safety of East Meadow and capture a partial for study.

With the massive success of Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games trilogy, there was a lot of the premise that felt like ground previously trod, but Wells' manages to turn enough elements on their heads that after just a few chapters I forgot about Katniss, Peeta and crew. Both books feature teen-aged female protagonists, a gritty dystopian future, and a shaky love triangle, but Wells grounds his tale with enough allusions to the world outside the reader's window that East Meadow feels much more tangible than Panem ever does. The political intrigue is well written and reasoned and even the villains both human and partial have a sensible rationale for their behavior.

Our protagonist, Kira, has very little in common with Katniss Everdeen. She is only passibly trained as a soldier and her real contribution to the action is that she is the one that is driving it. Kira's stubborn dedication to making a difference and curing RM is the glue that holds both the plot and her ragtag group of plague babies together. Wells does an excellent job of making Kira and her friends talk like the teenagers they are. They definitely have more adult functions in their society and more life experience than most teenagers in Well's audience, but they banter and moon over the opposite sex often enough that readers will have no trouble seeing themselves in the plague babies. As an adult, some of the more juvenile conversations seem to distract from the plot, but even then Wells keeps these character moments in their proper place, and the pacing never really suffers.

Partials tackles some pretty heavy themes in a way that is accessible for the YA market. The question of when the needs of the society outweigh the rights of the individual is front and center here. The Hope Act, while drafted to address a vital need of the human race, is vastly unpopular and impacts the rights of many of our young heroes. The opinions of Wells' cast are varied and he wisely doesn't pander to one point of view over the other, at least when it comes to the in narrative debates.

Partials concludes in a predictable manner but Wells manages to add more than a few twists and turns along the way, providing a feel good ending with room for future installments. A quick look at Amazon shows another full length novel and an upcoming novella. Based on his first installment, I'd say Wells has another hit series on his hands, and fans of the adventures of young Miss Everdeen, should definitely give this series a look.

Review of the Week: The Dragon's Path by Daniel Abraham

I want to love Daniel Abraham's books. Really, I do. I discovered Abraham through his good friend and genre legend, George R. R. Martin. Martin's sterling recommendation sent me directly to the book store to pick up the first book in The Long Price Quartet and immediately dove into its pages. Abraham's epic fantasy debut was intriguing with a world unlike anything I'd read in the genre, and with nary a trope in sight, full of unique characters and a deeply personal story arc.  It was like an exotic dish from a culture I knew absolutely nothing about; I savored and enjoyed every bite. I read the rest of the series as they were released. While I enjoyed them just as much I realized that Abraham's novels, like exotic food, would never replace my love for an old fashioned cheeseburger. I like these novels, but I wanted to love them. So when Abraham's next novel, The Dragon's Path debuted I was excited. Maybe I'd love this one.

 The Dragon's Path is definitely a departure from The Long Price Quartet, introducing readers to a world that is infinitely more recognizable. Tropes of the genre are very obviously present this time around. Abraham has filled this world with dragons, strange new races, political upheaval, ancient tomes that promise to reveal mysterious secrets, and even some swordplay. The magic is minimal, at least thus far, which could be the influence of Abraham's good friend and eloquent pitchman, Martin. Abraham is setting the table for a familiar feast early on, and I found myself ready to settle down for a meal. However, Abraham's choice of utensils led to a little fumbling.

The characters of The Dragon's Path are a quartet of seemingly easily recognizable archetypes. A troubled, yet capable soldier, Marcus, is charged with guarding Cithrin, a young apprentice of the Madean bank, as she attempts to smuggle its treasures out of the Free City of Vanai before enemy troops can occupy the city. In addition, we are introduced to two noblemen who are embroiled in a political conflict that is poised to shake the halls of power throughout the realm. Dawson, the childhood friend of King Simeon, is a man of vast influence and power who stands at the head of a faction desperate to protect the rights of the privileged noble class against a growing cry for substantial political change. Geder is the awkard bookish minor lordling who finds he must take drastic measures to stay afloat in the shark infested waters of his birthright or be drowned under the weight of their machinations.

But rather than tell a comfortable if predictable story, Abraham delves into these characters with an eye for the intensely personal and through that unflinching lens we find that while all of these characters seem poised for heroics, none of them are entirely likable. Even the most likeable of the four, Marcus and Cithrin, display traits that make it difficult to see them in a wholly favorable light. When these stories are viewed as a study in character, Abraham shows a genius for uncovering what really motivates and impacts these characters. Even when they make foolish or questionable decisions readers can easily understand why. But without a standout character that readers want to cheer for the novel's lack of a true hero is keenly felt.

Another of Abraham's numerous strengths is his ability to make elements that might seem boring at first glance very compelling. The exploration of commerce and the inter-workings of banking are explored through Cithrin's character arc. Abraham does this with a deft hand that manages to fascinate with its depth of detail while always moving the plot along. The political maneuverings of Dawson and Geder get similar treatment though the political angle is not so unique and startling as the economical one. Sadly, Abraham's strengths plays a part in the novels weakness once again. The Dragon's Path, while always entertaining, lacks any real sense of action. That is not meant as a criticism for a lack of sword waving or epic battles, though both are glaringly absent. It's more pervasive than that. There are few places where the story has a real sense of momentum. I waited desperately for a tipping point where the narrative picks up speed and feels in danger of running away with our characters, but it never came.

With that said, it seems that The Dragon's Path is more about declaring the combatants and defining the field of battle than anything else, which in a projected quintet of novels is no small feat. I have every hope that the newly released The King's Blood will up the ante on the action, while still delving deep into what makes these so wonderfully drawn characters fit to be the heroes of this epic tale. And given the growth in Abraham's writing since The Long Price Quartet, I'm confident that I'll eventually find the story I'm meant to fall in love with. I'll definitely keep reading until I do.